In which his worke he had sixe seruants prest, xxxvi

About the Andvile standing euermore,

With huge great hammers, that did neuer rest

From heaping stroakes, which thereon soused sore:

All sixe strong groomes, but one then other more;

For by degrees they all were disagreed;

So likewise did the hammers which they bore,

Like belles in greatnesse orderly succeed,

That he which was the last, the first did farre exceede.

He like a monstrous Gyant seem’d in sight, xxxvii

Farre passing _Bronteus_, or _Pyracmon_[98] great,

The which in _Lipari_ doe day and night

Frame thunderbolts for _Ioues_ auengefull threate.

So dreadfully he did the anduile beat,

That seem’d to dust he shortly would it driue:

So huge his hammer and so fierce his heat,

That seem’d a rocke of Diamond it could riue,

And rend a sunder quite, if he thereto list striue.

Sir _Scudamour_ there entring, much admired xxxviii

The manner of their worke and wearie paine;

And hauing long beheld, at last enquired

The cause and end thereof: but all in vaine;

For they for nought would from their worke refraine,

Ne let his speeches come vnto their eare.

And eke the breathfull bellowes blew amaine,

Like to the Northren winde, that none could heare:[99]

Those _Pensifenesse_ did moue; and _Sighes_ the bellows weare.

Which when that warriour saw, he said no more, xxxix

But in his armour layd him downe to rest:

To rest he layd him downe vpon the flore,

(Whylome for ventrous Knights the bedding best)

And thought his wearie limbs to haue redrest.

And that old aged Dame, his faithfull Squire,

Her feeble ioynts layd eke a downe to rest;

That needed much her weake age to desire,

After so long a trauell, which them both did tire.

There lay Sir _Scudamour_ long while expecting, xl

When gentle sleepe his heauie eyes would close;

Oft chaunging sides, and oft new place electing,

Where better seem’d he mote himselfe repose;

And oft in wrath he thence againe vprose;

And oft in wrath he layd him downe againe.

But wheresoeuer he did himselfe dispose,

He by no meanes could wished ease obtaine:

So euery place seem’d painefull, and ech changing vaine.

And euermore, when he to sleepe did thinke, xli

The hammers sound his senses did molest;

And euermore, when he began to winke,

The bellowes noyse disturb’d his quiet rest,

Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest.

And all the night the dogs did barke and howle

About the house, at sent of stranger guest:

And now the crowing Cocke, and now the Owle

Lowde shriking him afflicted to the very sowle.

And if by fortune any litle nap xlii

Vpon his heauie eye-lids chaunst to fall,

Eftsoones one of those villeins him did rap

Vpon his headpeece with his yron mall;

That he was soone awaked therewithall,

And lightly started vp as one affrayd;

Or as if one him suddenly did call.

So oftentimes he out of sleepe abrayd,

And then lay musing long, on that him ill apayd.

So long he muzed, and so long he lay, xliii

That at the last his wearie sprite opprest

With fleshly weaknesse, which no creature may

Long time resist, gaue place to kindly rest,

That all his senses did full soone arrest:

Yet in his soundest sleepe, his dayly feare

His ydle braine gan busily molest,

And made him dreame those two disloyall were:

The things that day most minds, at night doe most appeare.

With that, the wicked carle the maister[100] Smith xliv

A paire of redwhot[101] yron tongs did take

Out of the burning cinders, and therewith

Vnder his side him nipt, that forst to wake,

He felt his hart for very paine to quake,

And started vp auenged for to be

On him, the which his quiet slomber brake:

Yet looking round about him none could see;

Yet did the smart remaine, though he himselfe did flee.

In such disquiet and hartfretting payne, xlv

He all that night, that too long night did passe.

And now the day out of the Ocean mayne

Began to peepe aboue this earthly masse,

With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grasse:

Then vp he rose like heauie lumpe of lead,

That in his face, as in a looking glasse,

The signes of anguish one mote plainely read,

And ghesse the man to be dismayd with gealous dread.

Vnto his lofty steede he clombe anone, xlvi

And forth vpon his former voiage fared,

And with him eke that aged Squire attone;

Who whatsoeuer perill was prepared,

Both equall paines and equall perill shared:

The end whereof and daungerous euent

Shall for another canticle be spared.

But here my wearie teeme nigh ouer spent

Shall breath it selfe awhile, after so long a went.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] v 5 _Aridalian_ _1609_

[85] vi 1 _Cestas_ _1609_

[86] viii 1 that] the _1609_

[87] ix 8 Then] The _1609_

[88] xvi 1 that] the _1609_

[89] xxiii 7 since _1609_

[90] xxiv 5 strifull] strifefull _1609_

[91] xxv 5 one] once _1596_

[92] xxvi 2 plac’t _1609_

[93] xxvii 1 chaf’t _1609_

[94] xxviii 5 pursuit _1609_

[95] xxx 8 stryfefull _1609_

[96] xxxi 3 his] her _1596_

[97] xxxv 7 night, _1596 &c._

[98] xxxvii 2 _Pynacmon_ _1596_

[99] xxxviii 8 heare, _1596_

[100] xliv 1 master _1609_

[101] 2 red-hot _1609_

_Cant. VI._

[Illustration:

_Both Scudamour and Arthegall

Doe fight with Britomart,

He sees her face; doth fall in loue,

and soone from her depart._

]

What equall torment to the griefe of mind, i

And pyning anguish hid in gentle hart,

That inly feeds it selfe with thoughts vnkind,

And nourisheth her owne consuming smart?

What medicine can any Leaches art

Yeeld such a sore, that doth her grieuance hide,

And will to none her maladie impart?

Such was the wound that _Scudamour_ did gride;

For which _Dan Phebus_ selfe cannot a salue prouide.

Who hauing left that restlesse house of _Care_, ii

The next day, as he on his way did ride,

Full of melancholie and sad misfare,

Through misconceipt; all vnawares espide

An armed Knight vnder a forrest side,

Sitting in shade beside his grazing steede;

Who soone as them approaching he descride,

Gan towards them to pricke with eger speede,

That seem’d he was full bent to some mischieuous deede.

Which _Scudamour_ perceiuing, forth issewed iii

To haue rencountred him in equall race;

But soone as th’other nigh approaching, vewed

The armes he bore, his speare he gan abase,

And voide his course: at which so suddain case

He wondred much. But th’other thus can say;

Ah gentle _Scudamour_, vnto your grace

I me submit, and you of pardon pray,

That almost had against you trespassed this day.

Whereto thus _Scudamour_, Small harme it were iv

For any knight, vpon a ventrous knight

Without displeasance for to proue his spere.

But reade you Sir, sith ye my name haue hight,

What is your owne, that I mote you requite.

Certes (sayd he) ye mote as now excuse

Me from discouering you my name aright:

For time yet serues that I the same refuse,

But call ye me the _Saluage Knight_, as others vse.

Then this, Sir _Saluage Knight_ (quoth he) areede; v

Or doe you here within this forrest wonne,

That seemeth well to answere to your weede?

Or haue ye it for some occasion donne?

That rather seemes, sith knowen armes ye shonne.

This other day (sayd he) a stranger knight

Shame and dishonour hath vnto me donne;

On whom I waite to wreake that foule despight,

When euer he this way shall passe by day or night.

Shame be his meede (quoth he) that meaneth shame, vi

But what is he, by whom ye shamed were?

A stranger knight, sayd he, vnknowne by name,

But knowne by fame, and by an Hebene speare,

With which he all that met him, downe did beare.

He in an open Turney lately held,

Fro me the honour of that game did reare;

And hauing me all wearie earst, downe feld,

The fayrest Ladie reft, and euer since withheld.

When _Scudamour_ heard mention of that speare, vii

He wist right well, that it was _Britomart_,

The which from him his fairest loue did beare.

Tho gan he swell in euery inner part,

For fell despight, and gnaw his gealous hart,

That thus he sharply sayd; Now by my head,

Yet is not this the first vnknightly part,

Which that same knight, whom by his launce I read,

Hath doen to noble knights, that many makes him dread.

For lately he my loue hath fro me reft, viii

And eke defiled with foule villanie

The sacred pledge, which in his faith was left,

In shame of knighthood and fidelitie;

The which ere long full deare he shall abie.

And if to that auenge by you decreed

This hand may helpe, or succour ought supplie,

It shall not fayle, when so ye shall it need.

So both to wreake their wrathes on _Britomart_ agreed.

Whiles thus they communed, lo farre away ix

A Knight soft ryding towards them they spyde,

Attyr’d in forraine armes and straunge aray:

Whom when they nigh approcht, they plaine descryde

To be the same, for whom they did abyde.

Sayd then Sir _Scudamour_, Sir _Saluage_ knight

Let me this craue, sith first I was defyde,

That first I may that wrong to him requite:

And if I hap to fayle, you shall recure my right.

Which being yeelded, he his threatfull speare x

Gan fewter, and against her fiercely ran.

Who soone as she him saw approaching neare

With so fell rage, her selfe she lightly gan

To dight, to welcome him, well as she can:

But entertaind him in so rude a wise,

That to the ground she smote both horse and man;

Whence neither greatly hasted to arise,

But on their common harmes together did deuise.

But _Artegall_ beholding his mischaunce, xi

New matter added to his former fire;

And eft auentring his steeleheaded launce,

Against her rode, full of despiteous ire,

That nought but spoyle and vengeance did require.

But to himselfe his felonous intent

Returning, disappointed his desire,

Whiles vnawares his saddle he forwent,

And found himselfe on ground in great amazement.

Lightly he started vp out of that stound, xii

And snatching forth his direfull deadly blade,

Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound

Thrust to an Hynd within some couert glade,

Whom without perill he cannot inuade.

With such fell greedines he her assayled,

That though she mounted were, yet he her made

To giue him ground, (so much his force preuayled)

And shun his mightie strokes, gainst which no armes auayled.

So as they coursed here and there, it chaunst xiii

That in her wheeling round, behind her crest

So sorely he her strooke, that thence it glaunst

Adowne her backe, the which it fairely blest

From foule mischance; ne did it euer rest,

Till on her horses hinder parts it fell;

Where byting deepe, so deadly it imprest,

That quite it chynd his backe behind the sell,

And to alight on foote her algates did compell.

Like as the lightning brond from riuen skie, xiv

Throwne out by angry _Ioue_ in his vengeance,

With dreadfull force falles on some steeple hie;

Which battring, downe it on the church doth glance,

And teares it all with terrible mischance.

Yet she no whit dismayd, her steed forsooke,

And casting from her that enchaunted lance,

Vnto her sword and shield her soone betooke;

And therewithall at him right furiously she strooke.

So furiously she strooke in her first heat, xv

Whiles with long fight on foot he breathlesse was,

That she him forced backward to retreat,

And yeeld vnto her weapon way to pas:

Whose raging rigour neither steele nor bras

Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went,

And pour’d the purple bloud forth on the gras;

That all his mayle yriv’d, and plates yrent,

Shew’d all his bodie bare vnto the cruell dent.

At length when as he saw her hastie heat xvi

Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle,

He through long sufferance growing now more great,

Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle,

Heaping huge strokes, as thicke as showre of hayle,

And lashing dreadfully at euery part,

As if he thought her soule to disentrayle.

Ah cruell hand, and thrise more cruell hart,

That workst such wrecke on her, to whom thou dearest art.

What yron courage euer could endure, xvii

To worke such outrage on so faire a creature?

And in his madnesse thinke with hands impure

To spoyle so goodly workmanship of nature,

The maker selfe resembling in her feature?

Certes some hellish furie, or some feend

This mischiefe framd, for their first loues defeature,

To bath[102] their hands in bloud of dearest freend[103],

Thereby to make their loues beginning, their liues end.

Thus long they trac’d, and trauerst to and fro, xviii

Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed,

Still as aduantage they espyde thereto:

But toward th’end Sir _Arthegall_ renewed

His strength still more, but she still more decrewed.

At last his lucklesse hand he heau’d on hie,

Hauing his forces all in one accrewed,

And therewith stroke[104] at her so hideouslie,

That seemed nought but death mote be her destinie.

The wicked stroke vpon her helmet chaunst, xix

And with the force, which in it selfe it bore,

Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst

A downe in vaine, ne harm’d her any more.

With that her angels face, vnseene afore,

Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight,

Deawed with siluer drops, through sweating sore,

But somewhat redder, then beseem’d aright,

Through toylesome heate and labour of her weary fight.

And round about the same, her yellow heare xx

Hauing through stirring loosd their wonted band,

Like to a golden border did appeare,

Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand:

Yet goldsmithes cunning could not vnderstand

To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare.

For it did glister like the golden sand,

The which _Pactolus_ with his waters shere,

Throwes forth vpon the riuage round about him nere.

And as his hand he vp againe did reare, xxi

Thinking to worke on her his vtmost wracke,

His powrelesse arme benumbd with secret feare

From his reuengefull purpose shronke abacke,

And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke

Fell downe to ground, as if the steele had sence,

And felt some ruth, or sence his hand did lacke,

Or both of them did thinke, obedience

To doe to so diuine a beauties excellence.

And he himselfe long gazing thereupon, xxii

At last fell humbly downe vpon his knee,

And of his wonder made religion,

Weening some heauenly goddesse he did see,

Or else vnweeting, what it else might bee;

And pardon her besought his errour frayle,

That had done outrage in so high degree:

Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,

And made ech member quake, and manly hart to quayle.

Nathelesse she full of wrath for that late stroke, xxiii

All that long while vpheld her wrathfull hand,

With fell intent, on him to bene ywroke,

And looking sterne, still ouer him did stand,

Threatning to strike, vnlesse he would withstand:

And bad him rise, or surely he should die.

But die or liue for nought he would vpstand

But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,

Or wreake on him her will for so great iniurie.

Which when as _Scudamour_, who now abrayd, xxiv

Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside,

He was therewith right wondrously dismayd,

And drawing nigh, when as he plaine descride

That peerelesse paterne of Dame natures pride,

And heauenly image of perfection,

He blest himselfe, as one sore terrifide,

And turning his[105] feare to faint deuotion,

Did worship her as some celestiall vision.

But _Glauce_, seeing all that chaunced there, xxv

Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,

Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,

And her salewd with seemely belaccoyle,

Ioyous to see her safe after long toyle.

Then her besought, as she to her was deare,

To graunt vnto those warriours truce a whyle;

Which yeelded, they their beuers vp did reare,

And shew’d themselues to her, such as indeed they were.

When _Britomart_ with sharpe auizefull eye xxvi

Beheld the louely face of _Artegall_,

Tempred with sternesse and stout maiestie,

She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call,

To be the same which in her fathers hall

Long since in that enchaunted glasse she saw.

Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,

And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw,

That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft withdraw.

Yet she it forst to haue againe vpheld, xxvii

As fayning choler, which was turn’d to cold:

But euer when his visage she beheld,

Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold

The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:

But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,

She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold;

Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,

But brought forth speeches myld, when she would haue missayd.

But _Scudamour_ now woxen inly glad, xxviii

That all his gealous feare he false had found,

And how that Hag his loue abused had

With breach of faith and loyaltie vnsound,

The which long time his grieued hart did wound,

He[106] thus bespake; Certes[107] Sir _Artegall_,

I ioy to see you lout so low on ground,

And now become to liue a Ladies thrall,

That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all.

Soone as she heard the name of _Artegall_, xxix

Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings tremble,

For sudden ioy, and secret feare withall,

And all her vitall powres with motion nimble,

To succour it, themselues gan there assemble,

That by the swift recourse of flushing blood

Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble,

And fayned still her former angry mood,

Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.

When _Glauce_ thus gan wisely all vpknit; xxx

Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath brought,

To be spectators of this vncouth fit,

Which secret fate hath in this Ladie wrought,

Against the course of kind, ne meruaile nought,

Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo

Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought,

Fearing least she your loues away should woo,

Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants theretoo.

And you Sir _Artegall_, the saluage knight, xxxi

Henceforth may not disdaine, that womans hand

Hath conquered you anew in second fight:

For whylome they haue conquerd sea and land,

And heauen it selfe, that nought may them withstand.[108]

Ne henceforth be rebellious vnto loue,

That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band

Of noble minds deriued from aboue,

Which being knit with vertue, neuer will remoue.

And you faire Ladie knight, my dearest Dame, xxxii

Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will,

Whose fire were better turn’d to other flame;

And wiping out remembrance of all ill,

Graunt him your grace, but so that he fulfill

The penance, which ye shall to him empart:

For louers heauen must passe by sorrowes hell.

Thereat full inly blushed _Britomart_;

But _Artegall_ close smyling ioy’d in secret hart.

Yet durst he not make loue so suddenly, xxxiii

Ne thinke th’affection of her hart to draw

From one to other so quite contrary:

Besides her modest countenance he saw

So goodly graue, and full of princely aw,

That it his ranging fancie did refraine,

And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw;

Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine,

Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would restraine.

But _Scudamour_ whose hart twixt doubtfull feare xxxiv

And feeble hope hung all this while suspence,

Desiring of his _Amoret_ to heare

Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence,

Her thus bespake; But Sir without offence

Mote I request you tydings of my loue,

My _Amoret_, sith you her freed fro thence,

Where she captiued long, great woes did proue;

That where ye left, I may her seeke, as doth behoue.

To whom thus _Britomart_, Certes[109] Sir knight, xxxv

What is of her become, or whether reft,

I can not vnto you aread a right.

For from that time I from enchaunters theft

Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left,

I her preseru’d from perill and from feare,

And euermore from villenie her kept:

Ne euer was there wight to me more deare

Then she, ne vnto whom I more true loue did beare.

Till on a day as through a desert wyld xxxvi

We trauelled, both wearie of the way

We did alight, and sate in shadow myld;

Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay.

But when as I did out of sleepe abray,

I found her not, where I her left whyleare,

But thought she wandred was, or gone astray.

I cal’d her loud, I sought her farre and neare;

But no where could her find, nor tydings of her heare.

When _Scudamour_ those heauie tydings heard, xxxvii

His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare;

Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard,

But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare,

That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare.

Till _Glauce_ thus; Faire Sir, be nought dismayd

With needelesse dread, till certaintie ye heare:

For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd;

Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd.

Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech xxxviii

Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight

Shew’d change of better cheare: so sore a breach

That sudden newes had made into his spright;

Till _Britomart_ him fairely thus behight;

Great cause of sorrow certes Sir ye haue:

But comfort take: for by this heauens light

I vow, you dead or liuing not to leaue,

Till I her find, and wreake on him that her did reaue.

Therewith he rested, and well pleased was, xxxix

So peace being confirm’d amongst them all,

They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas

Vnto some resting place, which mote befall,

All being guided by Sir _Artegall_.

Where goodly solace was vnto them made,

And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,

Vntill that they their wounds well healed had,

And wearie limmes recur’d after late vsage bad.

In all which time, Sir _Artegall_ made way xl

Vnto the loue of noble _Britomart_,

And with meeke seruice and much suit did lay

Continuall siege vnto her gentle hart,

Which being whylome launcht[110] with louely dart,

More eath was new impression to receiue,

How euer she her paynd with womanish art

To hide her wound, that none might it perceiue:

Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceiue.

So well he woo’d her, and so well he wrought her, xli

With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,

That at the length vnto a bay he brought her,

So as she to his speeches was content

To lend an eare, and softly to relent.

At last through many vowes which forth he pour’d,

And many othes, she yeelded her consent

To be his loue, and take him for her Lord,

Till they with mariage meet might finish that accord.

Tho when they had long time there taken rest, xlii

Sir _Artegall_, who all this while was bound

Vpon an hard aduenture yet in quest,

Fit time for him thence to depart it found,

To follow that, which he did long propound;

And vnto her his congee came to take.

But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,

And loth to leaue her late betrothed make,

Her dearest loue full loth so shortly to forsake.

Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged, xliii

And wonne her will to suffer him depart;

For which his faith with her he fast engaged,

And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart,

That all so soone as he by wit or art

Could that atchieue, whereto he did aspire,

He vnto her would speedily reuert:

No longer space thereto he did desire,

But till the horned moone three courses did expire.

With which she for the present was appeased, xliv

And yeelded leaue, how euer malcontent

She inly were, and in her mind displeased.

So early in[111] the morrow next he went

Forth on his way, to which he was ybent.

Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,

As whylome was the custome ancient

Mongst Knights, when on aduentures they did ride,

Saue that she algates him a while accompanide.

And by the way she sundry purpose found xlv

Of this or that, the time for to delay,

And of the perils whereto he was bound,

The feare whereof seem’d much her to affray:

But all she did was but to weare out day.

Full oftentimes she leaue of him did take;

And eft againe deuiz’d some what to say,

Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make:

So loth she was his companie for to forsake.

At last when all her speeches she had spent, xlvi

And new occasion fayld her more to find,

She left him to his fortunes gouernment,

And backe returned with right heauie mind,

To _Scudamour_, who she had left behind,

With whom she went to seeke faire _Amoret_,

Her second care, though in another kind;

For vertues onely sake, which doth beget

True loue and faithfull friendship, she by her did set.

Backe to that desert forrest they retyred, xlvii

Where sorie _Britomart_ had lost her late;

There they her sought, and euery where inquired,

Where they might tydings get of her estate;

Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate,

Or hard misfortune she was thence conuayd,

And stolne away from her beloued mate,

Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay

Vntill another tyde, that I it finish may.

FOOTNOTES:

[102] xvii 8 bathe _1609_

[103] friend _1609_

[104] xviii 8 strooke _1609_

[105] xxiv 8 his _om. 1609_

[106] xxviii 6 He] Her _1596_: Him _conj. Upton_

[107] certes _1596_

[108] xxxi 5 withstand _1596_

[109] xxxv 1 certes _1596_

[110] xl 5 launc’t _1609_

[111] xliv 4 in] on _1609_

_Cant. VII._

[Illustration:

_Amoret rapt by greedie lust

Belphebe saues from dread,

The Squire her loues, and being blam’d

his dayes in dole[112] doth lead._

]

Great God of loue, that with thy cruell dart[113] i

Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground,

And setst thy kingdome in the captiue harts

Of Kings and Keasars, to thy seruice bound,

What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou found

In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore;

And adding anguish to the bitter wound,

With which their liues thou lanchedst[114] long afore,

By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more?

So whylome didst thou to faire _Florimell_; ii

And so and so to noble _Britomart_:

So doest thou now to her, of whom I tell,

The louely _Amoret_, whose gentle hart

Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,

In saluage forrests, and in deserts wide,

With Beares and Tygers taking heauie part,

Withouten comfort, and withouten guide,

That pittie is to heare the perils, which she tride.

So soone as she with that braue Britonesse iii

Had left that Turneyment for beauties prise,

They trauel’d long, that now for wearinesse,

Both of the way, and warlike exercise,

Both through a forest ryding did deuise

T’alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile.

There heauie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise

Of _Britomart_ after long tedious toyle,

That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.

The whiles faire _Amoret_, of nought affeard, iv

Walkt through the wood, for pleasure, or for need;

When suddenly behind her backe she heard

One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,

That ere she backe could turne to taken heed,

Had vnawares her snatched vp from ground[115].

Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed,

That _Britomart_ heard not the shrilling sound,

There where through weary trauel she lay sleeping sound.

It was to weet a wilde and saluage man, v

Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,

And eke in stature higher by a span,

All ouergrowne with haire, that could awhape

An hardy hart, and his wide mouth did gape

With huge great teeth, like to a tusked Bore:

For he liu’d all on rauin and on rape

Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,

The signe whereof yet stain’d his bloudy lips afore.

His neather lip was not like man nor beast, vi

But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low,

In which he wont the relickes[116] of his feast,

And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow:

And ouer it his huge great nose did grow,

Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;

And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow,

And raught downe to his waste, when vp he stood,

More great then th’eares of Elephants by _Indus_ flood.

His wast was with a wreath of yuie greene vii

Engirt about, ne other garment wore:

For all his haire was like a garment seene;

And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,

Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,

And beath’d in fire for steele to be in sted.

But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,

Of beasts, or of the earth, I haue not red:

But certes was with milke of Wolues and Tygres fed.

This vgly creature in his armes her snatcht, viii

And through the forrest bore her quite away,

With briers and bushes all to rent and scratcht;

Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray,

Which many a knight had sought so many a day.

He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing

Ran, till he came to th’end of all his way,

Vnto his caue farre from all peoples hearing,

And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought fearing.

For she deare Ladie all the way was dead, ix

Whilest he in armes her bore; but when she felt

Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread

Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt,

And eft gan into tender teares to melt.

Then when she lookt about, and nothing found

But darknesse and dread horrour, where she dwelt,

She almost fell againe into a swound,

Ne wist whether aboue she were, or vnder ground.

With that she heard some one close by her side x

Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine

Her tender hart in peeces would diuide:

Which she long listning, softly askt againe

What mister wight it was that so did plaine?

To whom thus aunswer’d was: Ah wretched wight

That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine,

Vnweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight:

Selfe to forget to mind another, is ouersight[117].

Aye me (said she) where am I, or with whom? xi

Emong the liuing, or emong the dead?

What shall of me vnhappy maid become?

Shall death be th’end, or ought else worse, aread.

Vnhappy mayd (then answerd she) whose dread

Vntride, is lesse then when thou shalt it try:

Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead,

Both grace and gaine; but he in hell doth lie,

That liues a loathed life, and wishing cannot die.

This dismall day hath thee a caytiue[118] made, xii

And vassall to the vilest wretch aliue,

Whose cursed vsage and vngodly trade

The heauens abhorre, and into darkenesse driue.

For on the spoile of women he doth liue,

Whose bodies chast, when euer in his powre

He may them catch, vnable to gainestriue,

He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre,

And afterwards themselues doth cruelly deuoure.

Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes of men xiii

Diuide their works, haue past through heuen sheene,

Since I was brought into this dolefull[119] den;

During which space these sory eies haue seen

Seauen women by him slaine, and eaten clene.

And now no more for him but I alone,

And this old woman here remaining beene;

Till thou cam’st hither to augment our mone,

And of vs three to morrow he will sure eate one.

Ah dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare, xiv

(Quoth she) of all that euer hath bene knowen:

Full many great calamities and rare

This feeble brest endured hath, but none

Equall to this, where euer I haue gone.

But what are you, whom like vnlucky lot

Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone?

To tell (quoth she) that which ye see, needs not;

A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot.

But what I was, it irkes me to reherse; xv

Daughter vnto a Lord of high degree;

That ioyd in happy peace, till fates peruerse

With guilefull loue did secretly agree,

To ouerthrow my state and dignitie.

It was my lot to loue a gentle swaine,

Yet was he but a Squire of low degree;

Yet was he meet, vnlesse mine eye did faine,

By any Ladies side for Leman to haue laine.

But for his meannesse and disparagement, xvi

My Sire, who me too dearely well did loue,

Vnto my choise by no meanes would assent,

But often did my folly fowle reproue.

Yet nothing could my fixed mind remoue,

But whether willed or nilled friend or foe,

I me resolu’d the vtmost end to proue,

And rather then my loue abandon so,

Both sire, and friends, and all for euer to forgo.

Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to worke xvii

Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight

To hide th’intent, which in my heart did lurke,

Till I thereto had all things ready dight.

So on a day vnweeting vnto wight,

I with that Squire agreede away to flit,

And in a priuy place, betwixt vs hight,

Within a groue appointed him to meete;

To which I boldly came vpon my feeble feete.

But ah vnhappy houre me thither brought: xviii

For in that place where I him thought to find,

There was I found, contrary to my thought,

Of this accursed Carle of hellish kind,

The shame of men, and plague of womankind,

Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his pray,

Me hether[120] brought with him, as swift as wind,

Where yet vntouched till this present day,

I rest his wretched thrall, the sad _Æmylia_.

Ah sad _Æmylia_ (then sayd _Amoret_,) xix

Thy ruefull plight I pitty as mine owne.

But read to me, by what deuise or wit,

Hast thou in all this time, from him vnknowne

Thine honor sau’d, though into thraldome throwne.

Through helpe (quoth she) of this old woman here

I haue so done, as she to me hath showne.

For euer when he burnt in lustfull fire,

She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire.

Thus of their euils as they did discourse, xx

And each did other much bewaile and mone;

Loe where the villaine selfe, their sorrowes sourse,

Came to the caue, and rolling thence the stone,

Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, that none

Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,

And spredding ouer all the flore alone,

Gan dight him selfe vnto his wonted sinne;

Which ended, then his bloudy banket should beginne.

Which when as fearefull _Amoret_ perceiued, xxi

She staid not the[121] vtmost end thereof to try,

But like a ghastly Gelt, whose wits are reaued,

Ran forth in hast with hideous outcry,

For horrour of his shamefull villany.

But after her full lightly he vprose,

And her pursu’d as fast as she did flie:

Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes,

Ne feeles the thorns and thickets pricke her tender toes.

Nor[122] hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she staies, xxii

But ouerleapes them all, like Robucke light,

And through the thickest makes her nighest waies;

And euermore when with regardfull sight

She looking backe, espies that griesly wight

Approching nigh, she gins to mend her pace,

And makes her feare a spur to hast her flight:

More swift then _Myrrh’_ or _Daphne_ in her race,

Or any of the Thracian Nimphes in saluage chase.

Long so she fled, and so he follow’d long; xxiii

Ne liuing aide for her on earth appeares,

But if the heauens helpe to redresse her wrong,

Moued with pity of her plenteous teares.

It fortuned _Belphebe_ with her peares

The woody Nimphs, and with that louely boy,

Was hunting then the Libbards and the Beares,

In these wild woods, as was her wonted ioy,

To banish sloth, that oft doth noble mindes annoy.

It so befell, as oft it fals in chace, xxiv

That each of them from other sundred were,

And that same gentle Squire arriu’d in place,

Where this same cursed caytiue did appeare,

Pursuing that faire Lady full of feare,

And now he her quite ouertaken had;

And now he her away with him did beare

Vnder his arme, as seeming wondrous glad,

That by his grenning laughter mote farre off be rad.

Which[123] drery sight the gentle Squire espying, xxv

Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest way,

Led with that wofull Ladies piteous crying,

And him assailes with all the might he may,

Yet will not he the louely spoile downe lay,

But with his craggy club in his right hand,

Defends him selfe, and saues his gotten pray.

Yet had it bene right hard him to withstand,

But that he was full light and nimble on the land.

Thereto the villaine vsed craft in fight; xxvi

For euer when the Squire his iauelin shooke,

He held the Lady forth before him right,

And with her body, as a buckler, broke

The puissance of his intended stroke.

And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight)

Whilest he on him was greedy to be wroke,

That any little blow on her did light,

Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight.

Which subtill sleight did him encumber much, xxvii

And made him oft, when he would strike, forbeare;

For hardly could he come the carle to touch,

But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare:

Yet he his hand so carefully did beare,

That at the last he did himselfe attaine,

And therein left the pike head of his speare.

A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht amaine,

That all her silken garments did with bloud bestaine.

With that he threw her rudely on the flore, xxviii

And laying both his hands vpon his glaue,

With dreadfull strokes let driue at him so sore,

That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to saue:

Yet he therewith so felly still did raue,

That scarse the Squire his hand could once vpreare,

But for aduantage ground vnto him gaue,

Tracing and trauersing, now here, now there;

For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes to beare.

Whilest thus in battell they embusied were, xxix

_Belphebe_ raunging in that forrest wide,

The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare,

And drew thereto, making her eare her guide.

Whom when that theefe approching nigh espide,

With bow in hand, and arrowes ready bent,

He by his former combate would not bide,

But fled away with ghastly dreriment,

Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument.

Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed xxx

With winged feete, as nimble as the winde,

And euer in her bow she ready shewed[124]

The arrow, to his deadly marke desynde.

As when _Latonaes_ daughter cruell kynde,

In vengement of her mothers great disgrace,

With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde

Gainst wofull _Niobes_ vnhappy race,

That all the gods did mone her miserable case.

So well she sped her and so far she ventred, xxxi

That ere vnto his hellish den he raught,

Euen as he ready was there to haue entred,

She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught,

That in the very dore him ouercaught,

And in his nape arriuing, through it thrild

His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught,

That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,

And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fild.

Whom when on ground she groueling saw to rowle, xxxii

She ran in hast his life to haue bereft:

But ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle

Hauing his carrion corse quite sencelesse left,

Was fled to hell, surcharg’d with spoile and theft.

Yet ouer him she there long gazing stood,

And oft admir’d his monstrous shape, and oft

His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud

The place there ouerflowne, seemd like a sodaine flood.

Thence forth[125] she past into his dreadfull den, xxxiii

Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,

Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then

Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound.

With that she askt, what ghosts there vnder ground

Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?

And bad them, if so be they were not bound,

To come and shew themselues before the light,

Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight.

Then forth the sad[126] _Æmylia_ issewed, xxxiv

Yet trembling euery ioynt through former feare;

And after her the Hag, there with her mewed,

A foule and lothsome creature did appeare;

A leman fit for such a louer deare.

That mou’d _Belphebe_ her no lesse to hate,

Then for to rue the others heauy cheare;

Of whom she gan enquire of her estate.

Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.

Thence she them brought toward the place, where late xxxv

She left the gentle Squire with _Amoret_:

There she him found by that new louely mate,

Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,

From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet,

Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene,

And handling soft the hurts, which she did get.

For of that Carle she sorely bruz’d had beene,

Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene.

Which when she saw, with sodaine glauncing eye, xxxvi

Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild

With deepe disdaine, and great indignity,

That in her wrath she thought them both haue thrild,

With that selfe arrow, which the Carle had kild:

Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore,

But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld;

Is this the faith,[127] she said, and said no more,

But turnd her face, and fled away for euermore.

He seeing her depart, arose vp light, xxxvii

Right sore agrieued at her sharpe reproofe,

And follow’d fast: but when he came in sight,

He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,

For dread of her displeasures vtmost proofe.

And euermore, when he did grace entreat,

And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,

Her mortall arrowes[128] she at him did threat,

And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat.

At last when long he follow’d had in vaine, xxxviii

Yet found no ease of griefe, nor hope of grace,

Vnto those woods he turned backe againe,

Full of sad anguish, and in heauy case:

And finding there fit solitary place

For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,

Where hardly eye mote see bright heauens face,

For mossy trees, which couered all with shade

And sad melancholy:[129] there he his cabin made.

His wonted warlike weapons all he broke, xxxix

And threw away, with vow to vse no more,

Ne thenceforth euer strike in battell stroke,

Ne euer word to speake to woman more;

But in that wildernesse, of men forlore,

And of the wicked world forgotten quight,

His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,

And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight;

So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne despight.

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, xl

He wilfully did cut and shape anew;

And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet

To be embaulm’d, and sweat out dainty dew,

He let to grow and griesly to concrew,

Vncomb’d, vncurl’d, and carelesly vnshed;

That in short time his face they ouergrew,

And ouer all his shoulders did dispred,

That who he whilome was, vneath was to be red.

There he continued in this carefull plight, xli

Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,

Through wilfull penury consumed quight,

That like a pined ghost he soone appeares.

For other food then that wilde forrest beares,

Ne other drinke there did he euer[130] tast,

Then running water, tempred with his teares,

The more his weakened body so to wast:

That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last.

For on a day, by fortune as it fell, xlii

His owne deare Lord Prince _Arthure_ came that way,

Seeking aduentures, where he mote heare tell;

And as he through the wandring wood did stray,

Hauing espide this Cabin far away,

He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne;

Weening therein some holy Hermit lay,

That did resort of sinfull people shonne;

Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorching sunne.

Arriuing there, he found this wretched man, xliii

Spending his daies in dolour and despaire,

And through long fasting woxen pale and wan,

All ouergrowen with rude and rugged haire;

That albeit his owne deare Squire he were,

Yet he him knew not, ne auiz’d at all,

But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where,

Saluting him, gan into speach to fall,

And pitty much his plight, that liu’d like outcast thrall.

But to his speach he aunswered no whit, xliv

But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum,

Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit,

As one with griefe and anguishe ouercum,

And vnto euery thing did aunswere mum:

And euer when the Prince vnto him spake,

He louted lowly, as did him becum,

And humble homage did vnto him make,

Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.

At which his vncouth guise and vsage quaint xlv

The Prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse

The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint;

Yet weend by secret signes of manlinesse,

Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,

That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene,

Traind vp in feats of armes and knightlinesse;

Which he obseru’d, by that he him had seene

To weld[131] his naked sword, and try the edges keene.

And eke by that he saw on euery tree, xlvi

How he the name of one engrauen had,

Which likly[132] was his liefest loue to be,

For whom he now so sorely was bestad;

Which was by him _BELPHEBE_ rightly rad.

Yet who was that _Belphebe_, he ne wist;

Yet saw he often how he wexed glad,

When he it heard, and how the ground he kist,

Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist:

Tho when he long had marked his demeanor, xlvii

And saw that all he said and did, was vaine,

Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor,

Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine,

He left him there in languor to remaine,

Till time for him should remedy prouide,

And him restore to former grace againe.

Which for it is too long here to abide,

I will deferre the end vntill another tide.

FOOTNOTES:

[112] Arg. 4 _doole_ _1609_

[113] i 1 darts _1609_

[114] 8 launcedst _1609_

[115] iv 6 snatcht vp from the ground _1609_

[116] vi 3 reliques _1609_

[117] x 9 ore-sight _1609_

[118] xii 1 captiue _Collier &c._

[119] xiii 3 doolefull _1609_

[120] xviii 7 hither _1609_

[121] xxi 2 th’ _1609_

[122] xxii 1 Nor] For _Collier_

[123] xxv 1 Which] With _1596_

[124] xxx 3 shewed, _1596_

[125] xxxiii 1 Thenceforth _1596_

[126] xxxiv 1 sad] said _1596_

[127] xxxvi 8 faith _1596_

[128] xxxvii 8 arrowes, _1596_

[129] xxxviii 9 melancholy, _1596_

[130] xli 6 neuer _1609_

[131] xlv 9 wield _1609_

[132] xlvi 3 likely _1609_

_Cant. VIII._

[Illustration:

_The gentle Squire recouers grace,

Sclaunder[133] her guests doth staine:

Corflambo chaseth Placidas,

And is by Arthure slaine._

]

Well said the wiseman, now prou’d true by this, i

Which to this gentle Squire did happen late,

That the displeasure of the mighty is

Then death it selfe more dread[134] and desperate.

For naught the same may calme ne mitigate,

Till time the tempest doe thereof delay

With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can abate,

And haue the sterne remembrance wypt away

Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein infixed lay.

Like as it fell to this vnhappy boy, ii

Whose tender heart the faire _Belphebe_ had[135]

With one sterne looke so daunted, that no ioy

In all his life, which afterwards he lad,

He euer tasted, but with penaunce sad

And pensiue sorrow pind and wore away,

Ne euer laught, ne once shew’d countenance glad;

But alwaies wept and wailed night and day,

As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish and decay;[136]

Till on a day, as in his wonted wise iii

His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle Doue

To come, where he his dolors did deuise,

That likewise late had lost her dearest loue,

Which losse her made like passion also proue.

Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart

With deare compassion deeply did emmoue,

That she gan mone his vndeserued smart,

And with her dolefull accent beare with him a part.

Shee sitting by him as on ground he lay, iv

Her mournefull notes full piteously did frame,

And thereof made a lamentable lay,

So sensibly compyld, that in the same

Him seemed oft he heard his owne right name.

With that he forth would poure so plenteous teares,

And beat his breast vnworthy of such blame,

And knocke his head, and rend his rugged heares,

That could haue perst[137] the hearts of Tigres and of Beares.

Thus long this gentle bird to him did vse, v

Withouten dread of perill to repaire

Vnto his wonne, and with her mournefull muse

Him to recomfort in his greatest care,

That much did ease his mourning and misfare:

And euery day for guerdon of her song,

He part of his small feast to her would share;

That at the last of all his woe and wrong

Companion she became, and so continued long.

Vpon a day as she him sate beside, vi

By chance he certaine miniments forth drew,

Which yet with him as relickes[138] did abide

Of all the bounty, which _Belphebe_ threw

On him, whilst goodly grace she did him shew:

Amongst the rest a iewell rich he found,

That was a Ruby of right perfect hew,

Shap’d like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound,

And with a litle golden chaine about it bound.

The same he tooke, and with a riband new, vii

In which his Ladies colours were, did bind

About the turtles necke, that with the vew

Did greatly solace his engrieued mind.

All vnawares the bird, when she did find

Her selfe so deckt, her nimble wings displaid,

And flew away, as lightly as the wind:

Which sodaine accident him much dismaid,

And looking after long, did marke which way she straid.

But when as long he looked had in vaine, viii

Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,

His weary eie returnd to him againe,

Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,

That both his iuell he had lost so light,

And eke his deare companion of his care.

But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right

Through the wide region of the wastfull aire,

Vntill she came where wonned his _Belphebe_ faire.

There found she her (as then it did betide) ix

Sitting in couert shade of arbors sweet,

After late weary toile, which she had tride

In saluage chase, to rest as seem’d her meet.

There she alighting, fell before her feet,

And gan to her her mournfull plaint to make,

As was her wont, thinking to let her weet

The great tormenting griefe, that for her sake

Her gentle Squire through her displeasure did pertake[139].

She her beholding with attentiue eye, x

At length did marke about her purple brest

That precious iuell, which she formerly

Had knowne right well with colourd ribbands[140] drest:

Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest

With ready hand it to haue reft away.

But the swift bird obayd not her behest,

But swaru’d aside, and there againe did stay;

She follow’d her, and thought againe it to assay.

And euer when she nigh approcht, the Doue xi

Would flit a litle forward, and then stay,

Till she drew neare, and then againe remoue;

So tempting her still to pursue the pray,

And still from her escaping soft away:

Till that at length into that forrest wide,

She drew her far, and led with slow delay.

In th’end she her vnto that place did guide,

Whereas that wofull man in languor did abide.

Eftsoones she flew vnto his fearelesse hand, xii

And there a piteous ditty new deuiz’d,

As if she would haue made him[141] vnderstand,

His sorrowes cause to be of her despis’d.

Whom when she saw in wretched weedes disguiz’d,

With heary glib deform’d, and meiger face,

Like ghost late risen from his graue agryz’d,

She knew him not, but pittied much his case,

And wisht it were in her to doe him any grace.

He her beholding, at her feet downe fell, xiii

And kist the ground on which her sole did tread,

And washt the same with water, which did well

From his moist eies, and like two streames procead,

Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread

What mister wight he was, or what he ment,

But as one daunted with her presence dread,

Onely few ruefull lookes vnto her sent,

As messengers of his true meaning and intent.

Yet nathemore his meaning she ared, xiv

But wondred much at his so selcouth case,

And by his persons secret seemlyhed

Well weend, that he had beene some man of place,

Before misfortune did his hew deface:

That being mou’d with ruth she thus bespake.

Ah wofull man, what heauens hard disgrace,

Or wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake?

Or selfe disliked life doth thee thus wretched make?

If heauen, then none may it redresse or blame, xv

Sith to his powre we all are subiect borne:

If wrathfull wight, then fowle rebuke and shame

Be theirs, that haue so cruell thee forlorne;

But if through inward griefe or wilfull scorne

Of life it be, then better doe aduise[142].

For he whose daies in wilfull woe are worne,

The grace of his Creator doth despise,

That will not vse his gifts for thanklesse nigardise.

When so he heard her say, eftsoones he brake xvi

His sodaine silence, which he long had pent,

And sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake;

Then haue they all themselues against me bent:

For heauen, first author of my languishment,

Enuying my too great felicity,

Did closely with a cruell one consent,

To cloud my daies in dolefull[143] misery,

And make me loath this life, still longing for to die.

Ne any but your selfe, O dearest dred, xvii

Hath done this wrong, to wreake on worthlesse wight

Your high displesure, through misdeeming bred:

That when your pleasure is to deeme aright,

Ye may redresse, and me restore to light.

Which sory words her mightie hart did mate

With mild regard, to see his ruefull plight,

That her inburning wrath she gan abate,

And him receiu’d againe to former fauours state.

In which he long time afterwards did lead xviii

An happie life with grace and good accord,

Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or enuies dread,

And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare Lord

The noble Prince, who neuer heard one word

Of tydings, what did vnto him betide,

Or what good fortune did to him afford,

But through the endlesse world did wander wide,

Him seeking euermore, yet no where him descride.

Till on a day as through that wood he rode, xix

He chaunst to come where those two Ladies late,

_Æmylia_ and _Amoret_ abode,

Both in full sad and sorrowfull estate;

The one right feeble through the euill rate

Of food, which in her duresse she had found:

The other almost dead and desperate

Through her late hurts, and through that haplesse wound,

With which the Squire in her defence her sore astound.

Whom when the Prince beheld, he gan to rew xx

The euill case in which those Ladies lay;

But most was moued at the piteous vew

Of _Amoret_, so neare vnto decay,

That her great daunger did him much dismay.

Eftsoones that pretious liquour forth he drew,

Which he in store about him kept alway,

And with few drops thereof did softly dew

Her wounds, that vnto strength restor’d her soone anew.

Tho when they both recouered were right well, xxi

He gan of them inquire, what euill guide

Them thether[144] brought, and how their harmes befell.

To whom they told all, that did them betide,

And how from thraldome vile they were vntide

Of that same wicked Carle, by Virgins hond;

Whose bloudie corse they shew’d him there beside,

And eke his caue, in which they both were bond:

At which he wondred much, when all those signes he fond.

And euermore he greatly did desire xxii

To know, what Virgin did them thence vnbind;

And oft of them did earnestly inquire,

Where was her won, and how he mote her find.

But when as nought according to his mind

He could outlearne, he them from ground did reare:

No seruice lothsome to a gentle kind;

And on his warlike beast them both did beare,

Himselfe by them on foot, to succour them from feare.

So when that forrest they had passed well, xxiii

A litle cotage farre away they spide,

To which they drew, ere night vpon them fell;

And entring in, found none therein abide,

But one old woman sitting there beside,

Vpon the ground in ragged rude attyre,

With filthy lockes about her scattered wide,

Gnawing her nayles for felnesse and for yre,

And there out sucking venime to her parts entyre.

A foule and loathly creature sure in sight, xxiv

And in conditions to be loath’d no lesse:

For she was stuft with rancour and despight

Vp to the throat, that oft with bitternesse

It forth would breake, and gush in great excesse,

Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall

Gainst all, that truth or vertue doe professe,

Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall,

And wickedly backbite: Her name men _Sclaunder_ call.

Her nature is all goodnesse to abuse, xxv

And causelesse crimes continually to frame,

With which she guiltlesse persons may accuse,

And steale away the crowne of their good name;

Ne euer Knight so bold, ne euer Dame

So chast and loyall liu’d, but she would striue

With forged cause them falsely to defame;

Ne euer thing so well was doen aliue,

But she with blame would blot, and of due praise depriue.

Her words were not, as common words are ment, xxvi

T’expresse the meaning of the inward mind,

But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit sent

From inward parts, with cancred malice lind,

And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind;

Which passing through the eares, would pierce the hart,

And wound the soule it selfe with griefe vnkind:

For like the stings of Aspes, that kill with smart,

Her spightfull words did pricke, and wound the inner part.

Such was that Hag, vnmeet to host such guests, xxvii

Whom greatest Princes court would welcome fayne,

But neede, that answers not to all requests,

Bad them not looke for better entertayne;

And eke that age despysed nicenesse vaine,

Enur’d to hardnesse and to homely fare,

Which them to warlike discipline did trayne,

And manly limbs endur’d with litle care

Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse misfare.

Then all that euening welcommed with cold, xxviii

And chearelesse hunger, they together spent;

Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did scold

And rayle at them with grudgefull discontent,

For lodging there without her owne consent:

Yet they endured all with patience milde,

And vnto rest themselues all onely lent,

Regardlesse of that queane so base and vilde,

To be vniustly blamd, and bitterly reuilde.

Here well I weene, when as these rimes be red xxix

With misregard, that some rash witted wight,

Whose looser thought will lightly be misled,

These gentle Ladies will misdeeme too light,

For thus conuersing with this noble Knight;

Sith now of dayes such temperance is rare

And hard to finde, that heat of youthfull spright

For ought will from his greedie pleasure spare,

More hard for hungry steed t’abstaine from pleasant lare.

But antique age yet in the infancie xxx

Of time, did liue then like an innocent,

In simple truth and blamelesse chastitie,

Ne then[145] of guile had made experiment,

But voide of vile and treacherous intent,

Held vertue for it selfe in soueraine awe:

Then loyall loue had royall regiment,

And each vnto his lust did make a lawe,

From all forbidden things his liking to withdraw.

The Lyon there did with the Lambe consort, xxxi

And eke the Doue sate by the Faulcons side,

Ne each of other feared fraud or tort,

But did in safe securitie abide,

Withouten perill of the stronger pride:

But when the world woxe old, it woxe warre old

(Whereof it hight) and hauing shortly tride

The traines of wit, in wickednesse woxe bold,

And dared of all sinnes the secrets to vnfold.

Then beautie, which was made to represent xxxii

The great Creatours owne resemblance bright,

Vnto abuse of lawlesse lust was lent,

And made the baite of bestiall delight:

Then faire grew foule, and foule grew faire in sight,

And that which wont to vanquish God and man,

Was made the vassall of the victors might;

Then did her glorious flowre wex dead and wan,

Despisd and troden downe of all that ouerran.

And now it is so vtterly decayd, xxxiii

That any bud thereof doth scarse remaine,

But if few plants preseru’d through heauenly ayd,

In Princes Court doe hap to sprout againe,

Dew’d with her drops of bountie Soueraine,

Which from that goodly glorious flowre proceed,

Sprung of the auncient stocke of Princes straine,

Now th’onely remnant of that royall breed,

Whose noble kind at first was sure of heauenly seed.

Tho soone as day discouered heauens face xxxiv

To sinfull men with darknes ouerdight,

This gentle crew gan from their eye-lids chace

The drowzie humour of the dampish night,

And did themselues vnto their iourney dight.

So forth they yode, and forward softly paced,

That them to view had bene an vncouth sight;

How all the way the Prince on footpace traced,

The Ladies both on horse, together fast embraced.

Soone as they thence departed were afore, xxxv

That shamefull Hag, the slaunder of her sexe,

Them follow’d fast, and them reuiled sore,

Him calling theefe, them whores; that much did vexe

His noble hart; thereto she did annexe

False crimes and facts, such as they neuer ment,

That those two Ladies much asham’d did wexe:

The more did she pursue her lewd intent,

And rayl’d and rag’d, till she had all her poyson spent.

At last when they were passed out of sight, xxxvi

Yet she did not her spightfull speach forbeare,

But after them did barke, and still backbite,

Though there were none her hatefull words to heare:

Like as a curre doth felly bite and teare

The stone, which passed straunger at him threw;

So she them seeing past the reach of eare,

Against the stones and trees did rayle anew,

Till she had duld the sting, which in her tongs end grew.

They passing forth kept on their readie way, xxxvii

With easie steps so soft as foot could stryde,

Both for great feeblesse, which did oft assay

Faire _Amoret_, that scarcely she could ryde,

And eke through heauie armes, which sore annoyd

The Prince on foot, not wonted so to fare;

Whose steadie hand was faine his steede to guyde,

And all the way from trotting hard to spare,

So was his toyle the more, the more that was his care.

At length they spide, where towards them with speed xxxviii

A Squire came gallopping, as he would flie;[146]

Bearing a litle Dwarfe before his steed,

That all the way full loud for aide did crie,

That seem’d his shrikes would rend the brasen skie:

Whom after did a mightie man pursew,

Ryding vpon a Dromedare on hie,

Of stature huge, and horrible of hew,

That would haue maz’d a man his dreadfull face to vew.

For from his fearefull eyes two fierie beames, xxxix

More sharpe then points of needles did proceede,

Shooting forth farre away two flaming streames,

Full of sad powre, that poysonous bale did breede

To all, that on him lookt without good heed,

And secretly his enemies did slay:

Like as the Basiliske of serpents seede,

From powrefull eyes close venim doth conuay

Into the lookers hart, and killeth farre away.

He all the way did rage at that same Squire, xl

And after him full many threatnings threw,

With curses vaine in his auengefull ire:

But none of them (so fast away he flew)

Him ouertooke, before he came in vew.

Where when he saw the Prince in armour bright,

He cald to him aloud, his case to rew,

And rescue him through succour of his might,

From that his cruell foe, that him pursewd in sight.

Eftsoones the Prince tooke downe those Ladies twaine xli

From loftie steede, and mounting in their stead

Came to that Squire, yet trembling euery vaine:

Of whom he gan enquire his cause of dread;

Who as he gan the same to him aread,

Loe hard behind his backe his foe was prest,

With dreadfull weapon aymed at his head,

That vnto death had doen him vnredrest,

Had not the noble Prince his readie stroke represt.

Who thrusting boldly twixt him and the blow, xlii

The burden of the deadly brunt did beare

Vpon his shield, which lightly he did throw

Ouer his head, before the harme came neare.

Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous dreare

And heauie sway, that hard vnto his crowne

The shield it droue, and did the couering reare,

Therewith both Squire and dwarfe did tomble downe

Vnto the earth, and lay long while in senselesse swowne.

Whereat the Prince full wrath, his strong right hand xliii

In full auengement heaued vp on hie,

And stroke the Pagan with his steely brand

So sore, that to his saddle bow thereby

He bowed low, and so a while did lie:

And sure had not his massie yron mace

Betwixt him and his hurt bene happily,

It would haue cleft him to the girding place,

Yet as it was, it did astonish him long space.

But when he to himselfe returnd againe, xliv

All full of rage he gan to curse and sweare,

And vow by _Mahoune_ that he should be slaine.

With that his murdrous mace he vp did reare,

That seemed nought the souse thereof could beare,

And therewith smote at him with all his might.

But ere that it to him approched neare,

The royall child with readie quicke foresight,

Did shun the proofe thereof and it auoyded light.

But ere his hand he could recure againe, xlv

To ward his bodie from the balefull stound,

He smote at him with all his might and maine,

So furiously, that ere he wist, he found

His head before him tombling on the ground.

The whiles his babling tongue did yet blaspheme

And curse his God, that did him so confound;

The whiles his life ran foorth[147] in bloudie streame,

His soule descended downe into the Stygian reame.

Which when that Squire beheld, he woxe full glad xlvi

To see his foe breath[148] out his spright in vaine:

But that same dwarfe right sorie seem’d and sad,

And howld aloud to see his Lord there slaine,

And rent his haire and scratcht his face for paine.

Then gan the Prince at leasure to inquire

Of all the accident, there hapned plaine,

And what he was, whose eyes did flame with fire;

All which was thus to him declared by that Squire.

This mightie man (quoth he) whom you haue slaine, xlvii

Of an huge Geauntesse whylome was bred;

And by his strength rule to himselfe did gaine

Of many Nations into thraldome led,

And mightie kingdomes of his force adred;

Whom yet he conquer’d not by bloudie fight,

Ne hostes of men with banners brode dispred,

But by the powre of his infectious sight,

With which he killed all, that came within his might.

Ne was he euer vanquished afore, xlviii

But euer vanquisht all, with whom he fought;

Ne was there man so strong, but he downe bore,

Ne woman yet so faire, but he her brought

Vnto his bay, and captiued her thought.

For most of strength and beautie his desire

Was spoyle to make, and wast them vnto nought,

By casting secret flakes of lustfull fire

From his false eyes, into their harts and parts entire.

Therefore _Corflambo_ was he cald aright, xlix

Though namelesse there his bodie now doth lie,

Yet hath he left one daughter that is hight

The faire _Pœana_; who seemes outwardly

So faire, as euer yet saw liuing eie:

And were her vertue like her beautie bright,

She were as faire as any vnder skie.

But ah she giuen is to vaine delight,

And eke too loose of life, and eke of loue too light.

So as it fell there was a gentle Squire, l

That lou’d a Ladie of high parentage,

But for his meane degree might not aspire

To match so high, her friends with counsell sage,

Dissuaded her from such a disparage.

But she, whose hart to loue was wholly lent,

Out of his hands could not redeeme her gage,

But firmely following her first intent,

Resolu’d with him to wend, gainst all her friends consent.

So twixt themselues they pointed time and place, li

To which when he according did repaire,

An hard mishap and disauentrous case

Him chaunst; in stead of his _Æmylia_ faire

This Gyants sonne, that lies there on the laire

An headlesse heape, him vnawares there caught,

And all dismayd through mercilesse despaire,

Him wretched thrall vnto his dongeon brought,

Where he remaines, of all vnsuccour’d and vnsought.

This Gyants daughter came vpon a day lii

Vnto the prison in her ioyous glee,

To view the thrals, which there in bondage lay:

Amongst the rest she chaunced there to see

This louely swaine the Squire of low degree;

To whom she did her liking lightly cast,

And wooed him her paramour to bee:

From day to day she woo’d and prayd him fast,

And for his loue him promist libertie at last.

He though affide vnto a former loue, liii

To whom his faith he firmely ment to hold,

Yet seeing not how thence he mote remoue,

But by that meanes, which fortune did vnfold,

Her graunted loue, but with affection cold

To win her grace his libertie to get.

Yet she him still detaines in captiue hold,

Fearing least if she should him freely set,

He would her shortly leaue, and former loue forget.

Yet so much fauour she to him hath hight, liv

Aboue the rest, that he sometimes may space

And walke about her gardens of delight,

Hauing a keeper still with him in place,

Which keeper is this Dwarfe, her dearling base,

To whom the keyes of euery prison dore

By her committed be, of speciall grace,

And at his will may whom he list restore,

And whom he list reserue, to be afflicted more.

Whereof when tydings came vnto mine eare, lv

Full inly sorie for the feruent zeale,

Which I to him as to my soule did beare;

I thether went where I did long conceale

My selfe, till that the Dwarfe did me reueale,

And told his Dame, her Squire of low degree

Did secretly out of her prison steale;

For me he did mistake that Squire to bee;

For neuer two so like did liuing creature see.

Then was I taken and before her brought, lvi

Who through the likenesse of my outward hew,

Being likewise beguiled in her thought,

Gan blame me much for being so vntrew,

To seeke by flight her fellowship t’eschew,

That lou’d me deare, as dearest thing aliue.

Thence she commaunded me to prison new;

Whereof I glad did not gainesay nor striue,

But suffred that same Dwarfe me to her dongeon driue.

There did I finde mine onely faithfull frend lvii

In heauy plight and sad perplexitie;

Whereof I sorie, yet my selfe did bend,

Him to recomfort with my companie.

But him the more agreeu’d I found thereby:

For all his ioy, he said, in that distresse

Was mine and his _Æmylias_ libertie.

_Æmylia_ well he lou’d, as I mote ghesse;

Yet greater loue to me then her he did professe.

But I with better reason him auiz’d, lviii

And shew’d him how through error and mis-thought

Of our like persons eath to be disguiz’d,

Or his exchange, or freedome might be wrought.

Whereto full loth was he, ne would for ought

Consent, that I who stood all fearelesse free,

Should wilfully be into thraldome brought,

Till fortune did perforce it so decree.

Yet ouerrul’d at last, he did to me agree.

The morrow next about the wonted howre, lix

The Dwarfe cald at the doore of _Amyas_,

To come forthwith vnto his Ladies bowre.

In steed of whom forth came I _Placidas_,

And vndiscerned, forth with him did pas.

There with great ioyance and with gladsome glee,

Of faire _Pœana_ I receiued was,

And oft imbrast, as if that I were hee,

And with kind words accoyd, vowing great loue to mee.

Which I, that was not bent to former loue, lx

As was my friend, that had her long refusd,

Did well accept, as well it did behoue,

And to the present neede it wisely vsd.

My former hardnesse first I faire excusd;

And after promist large amends to make.

With such smooth termes her error I abusd,

To my friends good, more then for mine owne sake,

For whose sole libertie I loue and life did stake.

Thenceforth I found more fauour at her hand, lxi

That to her Dwarfe, which had me in his charge,

She bad to lighten my too heauie band,

And graunt more scope to me to walke at large.

So on a day as by the flowrie marge

Of a fresh streame I with that Elfe did play,

Finding no meanes how I might vs enlarge,

But if that Dwarfe I could with me conuay,

I lightly snatcht him vp, and with me bore away.

Thereat he shriekt aloud, that with his cry lxii

The Tyrant selfe came forth with yelling bray,

And me pursew’d; but nathemore would I

Forgoe the purchase of my gotten pray,

But haue perforce him hether[149] brought away.

Thus as they talked, loe where nigh at hand

Those Ladies two yet doubtfull through dismay

In presence came, desirous t’vnderstand

Tydings of all, which there had hapned on the land.

Where soone as sad _Æmylia_ did espie lxiii

Her captiue louers friend, young _Placidas_;

All mindlesse of her wonted modestie,

She to him ran, and him with streight embras

Enfolding said, And[150] liues yet _Amyas_?

He liues (quoth he) and his _Æmylia_ loues.

Then lesse (said she) by all the woe I pas,

With which my weaker patience fortune proues.

But what mishap thus long him fro my selfe remoues?

Then gan he all this storie to renew, lxiv

And tell the course of his captiuitie;

That her deare hart full deepely made to rew,

And sigh full sore, to heare the miserie,

In which so long he mercilesse did lie.

Then after many teares and sorrowes spent,

She deare besought the Prince of remedie:

Who thereto did with readie will consent,

And well perform’d, as shall appeare by his euent.

FOOTNOTES:

[133] Arg. 2 _Slaunder_ _1609_

[134] i 4 drad _1609_

[135] ii 2 had, _1596_

[136] 9 decay _1596_

[137] iv 9 pearc’t _1609_

[138] vi 3 reliques _1609_

[139] ix 9 partake _1609_

[140] x 4 ribband _1609_

[141] xii 3 him] her _conj. Church_

[142] xv 6 avise _1609_

[143] xvi 8 doolefull _1609_

[144] xxi 3 thither _1609_

[145] xxx 4 then] them _1596_

[146] xxxviii 2 flie _1596_

[147] xlv 8 forth _1609_

[148] xlvi 2 breathe _1609_

[149] lxii 5 hither _1609_

_Cant. IX._

[Illustration:

_The Squire of low degree releast

Pœana[151] takes to wife:

Britomart fightes with many Knights,[152]

Prince Arthur stints their strife._

]

Hard is the doubt, and difficult to deeme, i

When all three kinds of loue together meet,

And doe dispart the hart with powre extreme,

Whether shall weigh the balance downe; to weet

The deare affection vnto kindred sweet,

Or raging fire of loue to woman kind,

Or zeale of friends combynd with vertues meet.

But of them all the band of vertuous[153] mind

Me seemes the gentle hart[154] should most assured bind.

For naturall affection soone doth cesse, ii

And quenched is with _Cupids_ greater flame:

But faithfull friendship doth them both suppresse,

And them with maystring discipline doth tame,

Through thoughts aspyring to eternall fame.

For as the soule doth rule the earthly masse,

And all the seruice of the bodie frame,

So loue of soule doth loue of bodie passe,

No lesse then perfect gold surmounts the meanest brasse.

All which who list by tryall to assay, iii

Shall in this storie find approued plaine;

In which these[155] Squires true friendship more did sway,

Then either care of parents could refraine,

Or loue of fairest Ladie could constraine.

For though _Pœana_ were as faire as morne,

Yet did this trustie Squire[156] with proud disdaine

For his friends sake her offred fauours scorne,

And she her selfe her syre, of whom she was yborne.

Now after that Prince _Arthur_ graunted had, iv

To yeeld strong succour to that gentle swayne,

Who now long time had lyen in prison sad,

He gan aduise how best he mote darrayne

That enterprize, for greatest glories gayne.

That headlesse tyrants tronke he reard from ground,

And hauing ympt the head to it agayne,

Vpon his vsuall beast it firmely bound,

And made it so to ride, as it aliue was found.

Then did he take that chaced Squire, and layd v

Before the ryder, as he captiue were,

And made his Dwarfe, though with vnwilling ayd,

To guide the beast, that did his maister beare,

Till to his castle they approched neare.

Whom when the watch, that kept continuall ward

Saw comming home; all voide of doubtfull feare,

He running downe, the gate to him vnbard;

Whom straight the Prince ensuing, in together far’d.

There he did find in her delitious boure vi

The faire _Pœana_ playing on a Rote,

Complayning of her cruell Paramoure,

And singing all her sorrow to the note,

As she had learned readily by rote.

That with the sweetnesse of her rare delight,

The Prince halfe rapt, began on her to dote:

Till better him bethinking of the right,

He her vnwares attacht, and captiue held by might.

Whence being forth produc’d, when she perceiued vii

Her owne deare sire, she cald to him for aide.

But when of him no aunswere she receiued,

But saw him sencelesse by the Squire vpstaide,

She weened well, that then she was betraide:

Then gan she loudly cry, and weepe, and waile,

And that same Squire of treason to vpbraide.

But all in vaine, her plaints might not preuaile,

Ne none there was to reskue her, ne none to baile.

Then tooke he that same Dwarfe, and him compeld viii

To open vnto him the prison dore,

And forth to bring those thrals, which there he held.

Thence forth were brought to him aboue a score

Of Knights and Squires to him vnknowne afore:

All which he did from bitter bondage free,

And vnto former liberty restore.

Amongst the rest, that Squire of low degree

Came forth full weake and wan, not like him selfe to bee.

Whom soone as faire _Æmylia_ beheld, ix

And _Placidas_, they both vnto him ran,

And him embracing fast betwixt them held,

Striuing to comfort him all that they can,

And kissing oft his visage pale and wan.

That faire _Pœana_ them beholding both,

Gan both enuy, and bitterly to ban;

Through iealous passion weeping inly wroth,

To see the sight perforce, that both her eyes were loth.

But when a while they had together beene, x

And diuersly conferred of their case,

She, though full oft she both of them had seene

A sunder, yet not euer in one place,

Began to doubt, when she them saw embrace,

Which was the captiue Squire she lou’d so deare,

Deceiued through great likenesse of their face,

For they so like in person did appeare,

That she vneath discerned, whether whether weare.

And eke the Prince, when as he them auized, xi

Their like resemblaunce much admired there,

And mazd how nature had so well disguized

Her worke, and counterfet her selfe so nere,

As if that by one patterne seene somewhere,

She had them made a paragone to be,

Or whether it through skill, or errour were.

Thus gazing long, at them much wondred he,

So did the other knights and Squires, which him[157] did see.

Then gan they ransacke that same Castle strong, xii

In which he found great store of hoorded threasure,

The which that tyrant gathered had by wrong

And tortious powre, without respect or measure.

Vpon all which the Briton Prince made seasure,

And afterwards continu’d there a while,

To rest him selfe, and solace in soft pleasure

Those weaker Ladies after weary toile;

To whom he did diuide part of his purchast spoile.

And for more ioy, that captiue Lady faire xiii

The faire _Pœana_[158] he enlarged free;

And by the rest did set in sumptuous chaire,

To feast and frollicke; nathemore would she

Shew gladsome countenaunce nor pleasaunt glee:

But grieued was for losse both of her sire,

And eke of Lordship, with both land and fee:

But most she touched was with griefe entire,

For losse of her new loue, the hope of her desire.

But her the Prince through his well wonted grace, xiv

To better termes of myldnesse did entreat,

From that fowle rudenesse, which did her deface;

And that same bitter corsiue, which did eat

Her tender heart, and made refraine from meat,

He with good thewes and speaches well applyde,

Did mollifie, and calme her raging heat.

For though she were most faire, and goodly dyde,

Yet she it all did mar with cruelty and pride.

And for to shut vp all in friendly loue, xv

Sith loue was first the ground of all her griefe,

That trusty Squire he wisely well did moue

Not to despise that dame, which lou’d him liefe,

Till he had made of her some better priefe,

But to accept her to his wedded wife.

Thereto he offred for to make him chiefe

Of all her land and lordship during life:

He yeelded, and her tooke; so stinted all their strife.

From that day forth in peace and ioyous blis, xvi

They liu’d together long without debate,

Ne priuate iarre, ne spite of enemis

Could shake the safe assuraunce of their state.

And she whom Nature did so faire create,

That she mote match the fairest of her daies,

Yet with lewd loues and lust intemperate

Had it defaste; thenceforth reformd her waies,

That all men much admyrde her change, and spake her praise.

Thus when the Prince had perfectly compylde xvii

These paires of friends in peace and setled rest,

Him selfe, whose minde did trauell as with chylde,

Of his old loue, conceau’d in secret brest,

Resolued to pursue his former quest[159];

And taking leaue of all, with him did beare

Faire _Amoret_, whom Fortune by bequest

Had left in his protection whileare,

Exchanged out of one into an other feare.

Feare of her safety did her not constraine, xviii

For well she wist now in a mighty hond,

Her person late in perill, did remaine,

Who able was all daungers to withstond.

But now in feare of shame she more did stond,

Seeing her selfe all soly succourlesse,

Left in the victors powre, like vassall bond;

Whose will her weakenesse could no way represse,[160]

In case his burning lust should breake into excesse.

But cause of feare sure had she none at all xix

Of him, who goodly learned had of yore

The course of loose affection to forstall,

And lawlesse lust to rule with reasons lore;

That all the while he by his side her bore,

She was as safe as in a Sanctuary;

Thus many miles they two together wore,

To seeke their loues dispersed diuersly,

Yet neither shewed to other their hearts priuity.

At length they came, whereas a troupe of Knights xx

They saw together skirmishing, as seemed:

Sixe they were all, all full of fell despight,

But foure of them the battell best beseemed,

That which of them was best, mote not be deemed.

Those foure were they, from whom false _Florimell_

By _Braggadochio_ lately was redeemed.

To weet, sterne _Druon_, and lewd _Claribell_,

Loue-lauish _Blandamour_, and lustfull _Paridell_.

_Druons_ delight was all in single life, xxi

And vnto Ladies loue would lend no leasure:

The more was _Claribell_ enraged rife

With feruent flames, and loued out of measure:

So eke lou’d _Blandamour_, but yet at pleasure

Would change his liking, and new Lemans proue.

But _Paridell_ of loue did make no threasure,

But lusted after all, that him did moue.

So diuersly these foure disposed were to loue.

But those two other which beside them stoode, xxii

Were _Britomart_, and gentle _Scudamour_,

Who all the while beheld their wrathfull moode,

And wondred at their impacable stoure,

Whose like they neuer saw till that same houre:

So dreadfull strokes each did at other driue,

And laid on load with all their might and powre,

As if that euery dint the ghost would riue

Out of their wretched corses, and their liues depriue.

As when _Dan Æolus_ in great displeasure, xxiii

For losse of his deare loue by _Neptune_ hent,

Sends forth the winds out of his hidden threasure,

Vpon the sea to wreake his fell intent;

They breaking forth with rude vnruliment,

From all foure parts of heauen doe rage full sore,

And tosse the deepes, and teare the firmament,

And all the world confound with wide vprore,

As if in stead thereof they _Chaos_ would restore.

Cause of their discord, and so fell debate, xxiv

Was for the loue of that same snowy maid,

Whome they had lost in Turneyment of late,

And seeking long, to weet which way she straid,[161]

Met here together, where through lewd vpbraide

Of _Ate_ and _Duessa_ they fell out,

And each one taking part in others aide,

This cruell conflict raised thereabout,

Whose dangerous successe depended yet in dout.

For sometimes _Paridell_ and _Blandamour_ xxv

The better had, and bet the others backe,

Eftsoones the others did the field recoure,

And on their foes did worke full cruell wracke:

Yet neither would their fiendlike fury slacke,

But euermore their malice did augment;

Till that vneath they forced were for lacke

Of breath, their raging rigour to relent,

And rest themselues for to recouer spirits spent.

There[162] gan they change their sides, and new parts take; xxvi

For _Paridell_ did take to _Druons_ side,

For old despight, which now forth newly brake

Gainst _Blandamour_, whom alwaies he enuide:

And _Blandamour_ to _Claribell_ relide.

So all afresh gan former fight renew.

As when two Barkes, this caried with the tide,

That with the wind, contrary courses sew,

If wind and tide doe change, their courses change anew.

Thenceforth they much more furiously gan fare, xxvii

As if but then the battell had begonne,

Ne helmets bright, ne hawberks strong did spare,

That through the clifts the vermeil bloud out sponne,

And all adowne their riuen sides did ronne.

Such mortall malice, wonder was to see

In friends profest, and so great outrage donne:

But sooth is said, and tride in each degree,

Faint friends when they fall out, most cruell fomen bee.

Thus they long while continued in fight, xxviii

Till _Scudamour_, and that same Briton maide,

By fortune in that place did chance to light:

Whom soone as they with wrathfull eie bewraide,

They gan remember of the fowle vpbraide,

The which that Britonesse had to them donne,

In that late Turney for the snowy maide;

Where she had them both shamefully fordonne,

And eke the famous prize of beauty from them wonne.

Eftsoones all burning with a fresh desire xxix

Of fell reuenge, in their malicious mood

They from them selues gan turne their furious ire,

And cruell blades yet steeming with whot bloud,

Against those two let driue, as they were wood:

Who wondring much at that so sodaine fit,

Yet nought dismayd, them stoutly well withstood;

Ne yeelded foote, ne once abacke did flit,

But being doubly smitten likewise doubly smit.

The warlike Dame was on her part assaid, xxx

Of _Claribell_ and _Blandamour_ attone;

And _Paridell_ and _Druon_ fiercely laid

At _Scudamour_, both his professed fone.

Foure charged two, and two surcharged one;

Yet did those two them selues so brauely beare,

That the other[163] litle gained by the lone,

But with their owne repayed[164] duely weare,

And vsury withall: such gaine was gotten deare.

Full oftentimes did _Britomart_ assay xxxi

To speake to them, and some emparlance moue;

But they for nought their cruell hands would stay,

Ne lend an eare to ought, that might behoue,

As when an eager mastiffe once doth proue

The tast of bloud of some engored beast,

No words may rate, nor rigour him remoue

From greedy hold of that his blouddy feast:

So litle did they hearken to her sweet beheast.

Whom when the Briton Prince a farre beheld xxxii

With ods of so vnequall match opprest,

His mighty heart with indignation sweld,

And inward grudge fild his heroicke brest:

Eftsoones him selfe he to their aide addrest,

And thrusting fierce into the thickest preace,

Diuided them, how euer loth to rest,

And would them faine from battell to surceasse,

With gentle words perswading them to friendly peace.

But they so farre from peace or patience were, xxxiii

That all at once at him gan fiercely flie,

And lay on load, as they him downe would beare;

Like to a storme, which houers vnder skie

Long here and there, and round about doth stie,

At length breakes downe in raine, and haile, and sleet,

First from one coast, till nought thereof be drie;

And then another, till that likewise fleet;

And so from side to side till all the world it weet.

But now their forces greatly were decayd, xxxiv

The Prince yet being fresh vntoucht afore;

Who them with speaches milde gan first disswade

From such foule outrage, and them long forbore:

Till seeing them through suffrance hartned more,

Him selfe he bent their furies to abate,

And layd at them so sharpely and so sore,

That shortly them compelled to retrate,

And being brought in daunger, to relent too late.

But now his courage being throughly fired, xxxv

He ment to make them know their follies prise,

Had not those two him instantly desired

T’asswage his wrath, and pardon their mesprise.

At whose request he gan him selfe aduise

To stay his hand, and of a truce to treat

In milder tearmes, as list them to deuise:

Mongst which the cause of their so cruell heat

He did them aske, who all that passed gan repeat.

And told at large how that same errant Knight, xxxvi

To weet faire _Britomart_, them late had foyled

In open turney, and by wrongfull fight

Both of their publicke[165] praise had them despoyled,

And also of their priuate loues beguyled,

Of two full hard to read the harder theft.

But she that wrongfull challenge soone assoyled,

And shew’d that she had not that Lady reft,

(As they supposd) but her had to her liking left.

To whom the Prince thus goodly well replied; xxxvii

Certes sir Knight[166], ye seemen much to blame,

To rip vp wrong, that battell once hath tried;

Wherein the honor both of Armes ye shame,

And eke the loue of Ladies foule defame;

To whom the world this franchise euer yeelded,

That of their loues choise they might freedom clame,

And in that right should by all knights be shielded:

Gainst which me seemes this war ye wrongfully haue wielded.

And yet (quoth she) a greater wrong remaines: xxxviii

For I thereby my former loue haue lost,

Whom seeking euer since with endlesse paines,

Hath me much sorrow and much trauell cost;

Aye me to see that gentle maide so tost.

But _Scudamour_ then sighing deepe, thus saide,

Certes her losse ought me to sorrow most,

Whose right she is, where euer she be straide,

Through many perils wonne, and many fortunes waide.

For from the first that I her loue profest, xxxix

Vnto this houre, this present lucklesse howre,

I neuer ioyed happinesse nor rest,

But thus turmoild from one to other stowre,

I wast my life, and doe my daies deuowre

In wretched anguishe and incessant woe,

Passing the measure of my feeble powre,

That living thus, a wretch and[167] louing so,

I neither can my loue, ne yet my life forgo.

Then good sir _Claribell_ him thus bespake, xl

Now were it not sir _Scudamour_ to you[168]

Dislikefull paine, so sad a taske to take,

Mote we entreat you, sith this gentle crew

Is now so well accorded all anew;

That as we ride together on our way,

Ye will recount to vs in order dew

All that aduenture, which ye did assay

For that faire Ladies loue: past perils well apay.

So gan the rest him likewise to require, xli

But _Britomart_ did him importune hard,

To take on him that paine: whose great desire

He glad to satisfie, him selfe prepar’d

To tell through what misfortune he had far’d,

In that atchieuement, as to him befell.

And all those daungers vnto them declar’d,

Which sith they cannot in this Canto well

Comprised be, I will them in another tell.

FOOTNOTES:

[150] lxiii 5 and _1596_

[151] Arg. 2 _Pœana_] _Æmylia conj. Church rightly_

[152] 3 _Knights_ _1596_

[153] i 8 vertuous] vertues _1596_

[154] 9 hart, _1596_, _1609_

[155] iii 3 these] this _1609_

[156] 7 Trustie squire _1596_

[157] xi 9 him] them _conj. Church_

[158] xiii 2 _Pæana_ _1596 &c._

[159] xvii 5 guest _1596_, _1609_

[160] xviii 8 represse. _1596_

[161] xxiv 4 straid _1596_, _1609_

[162] xxvi 1 There] Their _1596_: Then _conj. Church_

[163] xxx 7 th’other _1609_

[164] 8 repayred _1596_

[165] xxxvi 4 publique _1609_

[166] xxxvii 2 Knights _conj. Upton_

[167] xxxix 8 wretch I and _1596_

[168] xl 2 you, _1596_

_Cant. X._

[Illustration:

_Scudamour doth his conquest[169] tell,

Of vertuous Amoret:

Great Venus Temple is describ’d,

And louers life forth set._

]

True he it said, what euer man it sayd, i

That loue with gall and hony doth abound,

But if the one be with the other wayd,

For euery dram of hony therein found,

A pound of gall doth ouer it redound.

That I too true by triall haue approued:

For since the day that first with deadly wound

My heart was launcht, and learned to haue loued,

I neuer ioyed howre, but still with care was moued.

And yet such grace is giuen them from aboue, ii

That all the cares and euill which they meet,

May nought at all their setled mindes remoue,

But seeme gainst common sence to them most sweet;

As bosting in their martyrdome vnmeet.

So all that euer yet I haue endured,

I count as naught, and tread downe vnder feet,

Since[170] of my loue at length I rest assured,

That to disloyalty she will not be allured.

Long were to tell the trauell and long toile, iii

Through which this shield of loue I late haue wonne,

And purchased this peerelesse beauties spoile,

That harder may be ended, then begonne.

But since ye so desire, your will be donne.

Then hearke ye gentle knights and Ladies free,

My hard mishaps, that ye may learne to shonne;

For though sweet loue to conquer glorious bee,

Yet is the paine thereof much greater then the fee.

What time the fame of this renowmed prise iv

Flew first abroad, and all mens eares possest,

I hauing armes then taken, gan auise

To winne me honour by some noble gest,

And purchase me some place amongst the best.

I boldly thought (so young mens thoughts are bold)

That this same braue 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.

So on that hard aduenture forth I went, v

And to the place of perill shortly came.

That was a temple faire and auncient,

Which of great mother _Venus_ bare the name,

And farre renowmed through exceeding fame;

Much more then that, which was in _Paphos_ built,

Or that in _Cyprus_, both long since this same,

Though all the pillours of the one were guilt,

And all the others pauement were with yuory spilt.

And it was seated in an Island strong, vi

Abounding all with delices most rare,

And wall’d by nature gainst inuaders wrong,

That none mote haue accesse, nor inward fare,

But by one way, that passage did prepare.

It was a bridge ybuilt in goodly wize,

With curious Corbes and pendants grauen faire,

And arched all with porches, did arize

On stately pillours, fram’d after the Doricke guize.

And for defence thereof, on th’other end vii

There reared was a castle faire and strong,

That warded all which in or out did wend,

And flancked both the bridges sides along,

Gainst all that would it faine to force or wrong.

And therein wonned twenty valiant Knights;

All twenty tride in warres experience long;

Whose office was, against all manner[171] wights

By all meanes to maintaine[172] that castels[173] ancient rights.

Before that Castle was an open plaine, viii

And in the midst thereof a piller placed;

On which this shield, of many sought in vaine,

The shield of Loue, whose guerdon me hath graced,

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 vse his blis:

Whose euer be the shield, faire Amoret be his._

Which when I red, my heart did inly earne[174], ix

And pant with hope of that aduentures hap:

Ne stayed further newes thereof to learne,

But with my speare vpon the shield did rap,

That all the castle ringed with the clap.

Streight forth issewd a Knight all arm’d to proofe,

And brauely mounted to his most mishap:

Who staying nought to question from aloofe,

Ran fierce at me, that fire glaunst from his horses hoofe.

Whom boldly I encountred (as I could) x

And by good fortune shortly him vnseated.

Eftsoones out sprung 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 vpon 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.

So forth without impediment I past, xi

Till to the Bridges vtter gate I came:

The which I found sure lockt and chained fast.

I knockt, but no man aunswred me by name;

I cald, but no man answerd to my clame.

Yet I perseuer’d still to knocke and call,

Till at the last I spide within the same,

Where one stood peeping through a creuis small,

To whom I cald aloud, halfe angry therewithall.

That was to weet the Porter of the place, xii

Vnto whose trust the charge thereof was lent:

His name was _Doubt_, that had a double face,

Th’one forward looking, th’other backeward bent,

Therein resembling _Ianus_ auncient,

Which hath in charge the ingate of the yeare:

And euermore his eyes about him went,

As if some proued perill he did feare,

Or did misdoubt some ill, whose cause did not appeare.

On th’one side he, on th’other sate _Delay_, xiii

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 vnheedily,

Which neuer they recouer might againe;

And others quite excluded forth, did ly

Long languishing there in vnpittied paine,

And seeking often entraunce, afterwards in vaine.

Me when as he had priuily espide, xiv

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

Caught hold on me, and thought my steps to stay,

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.

But by no meanes my way I would forslow, xv

For ought that euer 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 vnderneath, the riuer rolling still

With murmure soft, that seem’d to serue the workmans will.

Thence forth I passed to the second gate, xvi

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 euermore 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.

His name was _Daunger_ dreaded ouer all, xvii

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 terrifie from Fortunes faire adward[175]:

For oftentimes faint hearts at first espiall

Of his grim face, were from approaching scard;

Vnworthy they of grace, whom one deniall

Excludes from fairest hope, withouten further triall.

Yet many doughty warriours, often tride xviii

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.

But I though meanest[176] man of many moe, xix

Yet much disdaining[177] vnto him to lout,

Or creepe betweene his legs, so in to goe,

Resolu’d him to assault with manhood stout,

And either beat him in, or driue him out.

Eftsoones aduauncing that enchaunted shield,

With all my might I gan to lay about:

Which when he saw, the glaiue which he did wield

He gan forthwith t’auale, and way vnto me yield.

So as I entred, I did backeward looke, xx

For feare of harme, that might lie hidden there;

And loe his hindparts, whereof heed I tooke,

Much more deformed fearefull vgly were,

Then all his former parts did earst appere.

For hatred, murther, treason, and despight,

With many moe lay in ambushment there,

Awayting to entrap the warelesse wight,

Which did not them preuent with vigilant foresight.

Thus hauing past all perill, I was come xxi

Within the compasse of that Islands space;

The which did seeme vnto my simple doome,

The onely pleasant and delightfull place,

That euer 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 growes, xxii

From lowest Iuniper to Ceder tall,

No flowre in field, that daintie odour throwes,

And deckes his branch with blossomes ouer all,

But 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 deuice,

But there it present was, and did fraile sense entice.

In such luxurious plentie of all pleasure, xxiii

It seem’d a second paradise to ghesse[178],

So lauishly enricht with natures threasure,

That if the happie soules, which doe possesse

Th’Elysian fields, and liue in lasting blesse,

Should happen this with liuing eye to see,

They soone would loath their lesser happinesse,

And wish to life return’d againe to bee[179],

That in this ioyous place they mote haue ioyance free.

Fresh shadowes, fit to shroud from sunny ray; xxiv

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 louers trew;

False Labyrinthes, fond runners eyes to daze;

All which by nature made did nature selfe amaze.

And all without were walkes and alleyes[180] dight[181] xxv

With diuers trees, enrang’d in euen 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 louers walkt,

Praysing their god, and yeelding him great thankes,

Ne euer ought but of their true loues talkt,

Ne euer for rebuke or blame of any balkt.

All these together by themselues did sport xxvi

Their spotlesse pleasures, and sweet loues content.

But farre away from these, another sort

Of louers lincked in true harts consent;

Which loued not as these, for like intent,

But on chast vertue grounded their desire,

Farre from all fraud, or fayned blandishment;

Which in their spirits kindling zealous fire,

Braue thoughts and noble deedes did euermore aspire[182].

Such were great _Hercules_, and _Hylas_[183] deare; xxvii

Trew _Ionathan_, and _Dauid_ trustie tryde;

Stout _Theseus_, and _Pirithous_ his feare;

_Pylades_ and _Orestes_ by his syde;

Myld _Titus_ and _Gesippus_ without pryde;

_Damon_ and _Pythias_ whom death could not seuer:

All these and all that euer had bene tyde[184]

In bands of friendship,[185] there did liue for euer,

Whose liues although decay’d, yet loues decayed neuer.

Which when as I, that neuer tasted blis, xxviii

Nor happie howre, beheld with gazefull eye,

I thought there was none other heauen then this;

And gan their endlesse happinesse enuye,

That being free from feare and gealosye,

Might frankely there their loues desire possesse;

Whilest I through paines and perlous ieopardie,

Was forst to seeke my lifes deare patronesse:

Much dearer be the things, which come through hard distresse.

Yet all those sights, and all that else I saw, xxix

Might not my steps withhold, but that forthright

Vnto that purposd place I did me draw,

Where as my loue was lodged day and night:

The temple of great _Venus_, that is hight

The Queene of beautie, and of loue the mother,

There worshipped of euery liuing wight;

Whose goodly workmanship farre past all other

That euer were on earth, all were they set together.

Not that same famous Temple of _Diane_, xxx

Whose hight all _Ephesus_ did ouersee,

And which all _Asia_ sought with vowes prophane,

One of the worlds seuen wonders sayd to bee,

Might match with this by many a degree:

Nor that, which that wise King of _Iurie_ 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, xxxi

Vnto 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 shewed great womanhood:

Strange was her tyre; for on her head a crowne

She wore much like vnto a Danisk hood,

Poudred with pearle and stone, and all her gowne

Enwouen was with gold, that raught full low a downe[186].

On either side of her, two young men stood, xxxii

Both strongly arm’d, as fearing one another;

Yet were they brethren both of halfe the blood,

Begotten by two fathers of one mother,

Though of contrarie natures each to other:

The one of them hight _Loue_, the other _Hate_,

_Hate_ was the elder, _Loue_ the younger brother;

Yet was the younger stronger in his state

Then th’elder, and him maystred still in all debate.

Nathlesse that Dame so well them tempred both, xxxiii

That she them forced hand to ioyne in hand,

Albe that _Hatred_ was thereto full loth,

And turn’d his face away, as he did stand,

Vnwilling to behold that louely band.

Yet she was of such grace and vertuous might,

That her commaundment he could not withstand,

But bit his lip for felonous despight,

And gnasht his yron tuskes at that displeasing sight.

_Concord_ she cleeped was in common reed, xxxiv

Mother of blessed _Peace_, and _Friendship_ trew;

They both her twins, both borne of heauenly seed,

And she her selfe likewise diuinely grew;

The which right well her workes diuine did shew:

For strength, and wealth, and happinesse she lends,

And strife, and warre, and anger does subdew:

Of litle much, of foes she maketh frends,

And to afflicted minds sweet rest and quiet sends.

By her the heauen is in his course contained, xxxv

And all the world in state vnmoued stands,

As their Almightie maker first ordained,

And bound them with inuiolable bands;

Else would the waters ouerflow the lands,

And fire deuoure the ayre, and hell[187] them quight,

But that she holds them with her blessed hands.

She is the nourse of pleasure and delight,

And vnto _Venus_ grace the gate doth open right.

By her I entring halfe dismayed was, xxxvi

But she in gentle wise me entertayned,

And twixt her selfe and _Loue_[188] did let me pas;

But _Hatred_ would my entrance haue restrayned,

And with his club me threatned to haue brayned,

Had not the Ladie with her powrefull speach

Him from his wicked will vneath refrayned;

And th’other eke his malice did empeach,

Till I was throughly past the perill of his reach.

Into the inmost Temple thus I came, xxxvii

Which fuming all with frankensence I found,

And odours rising from the altars flame.

Vpon an hundred marble pillors round

The roofe vp high was reared from the ground,

All deckt with crownes, and chaynes, and girlands gay,

And thousand pretious gifts worth many a pound,

The which sad louers for their vowes did pay;

And all the ground was strow’d with flowres, as fresh as May[189].

An hundred Altars round about were set, xxxviii

All flaming with their sacrifices fire,

That with the steme thereof the Temple swet,

Which rould in clouds to heauen did aspire,

And in them bore true louers vowes entire:

And eke an hundred brasen caudrons bright,

To bath[190] in ioy and amorous desire,

Euery of which was to a damzell hight;

For all the Priests were damzels, in soft linnen dight.

Right in the midst the Goddesse selfe did stand xxxix

Vpon an altar of some costly masse,

Whose substance was vneath to vnderstand:

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 faire and brickle, likest glasse did seeme.

But it in shape and beautie did excell xl

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,[191]

Did fall in loue: yet this much fairer shined,

But couered with a slender veile afore;

And both her feete and legs together twyned

Were with a snake, whose head and tail were fast combyned.

The cause why she was couered with a vele, xli

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,

Nor any blemish, which the worke mote blame;

But for, they say, she hath both kinds in one,

Both male and female, both vnder one name:

She syre and mother is her selfe alone,

Begets and eke conceiues, ne needeth other none.

And all about her necke and shoulders flew xlii

A flocke of litle loues, and sports, and ioyes,

With nimble wings of gold and purple hew;

Whose shapes seem’d not like to terrestriall boyes,

But like to Angels playing heauenly toyes;

The whilest their eldest[192] brother was away,

_Cupid_ their eldest brother; he enioyes

The wide kingdome of loue with Lordly sway,

And to his law compels all creatures to obay.

And all about her altar scattered lay xliii

Great sorts of louers piteously complayning,

Some of their losse, some of their loues delay,

Some of their pride, some paragons disdayning,

Some fearing fraud, some fraudulently fayning,

As euery one had cause of good or ill.

Amongst the rest some one through loues constrayning,

Tormented sore, could not containe it still,

But thus brake forth, that all the temple it did fill.

Great _Venus_, Queene of beautie and of grace, xliv

The ioy of Gods and men, that vnder skie

Doest fayrest shine, and most adorne thy place,

That with thy smyling looke doest pacifie

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 heauens laugh, and al the world shews ioyous cheare.

Then doth the dædale earth throw forth to thee xlv

Out of her fruitfull lap aboundant flowres,

And then all liuing wights, soone as they see

The spring breake forth out of his lusty bowres,

They all doe learne to play the Paramours;

First doe the merry birds, thy prety pages

Priuily pricked with thy lustfull powres,

Chirpe loud to thee out of their leauy cages,

And thee their mother call to coole their kindly rages.

Then doe the saluage beasts begin to play xlvi

Their pleasant friskes, and loath their wonted food;

The Lyons rore, the Tygres loudly bray,

The raging Buls rebellow through the wood,

And breaking forth, dare tempt the deepest flood,

To come where thou doest draw them with desire:

So all things else, that nourish vitall blood,

Soone as with fury thou doest them inspire,

In generation seeke to quench their inward fire.