So all the world by thee at first was made, xlvii

And dayly yet thou doest the same repayre:

Ne ought on earth that merry is and glad,

Ne ought on earth that louely is and fayre,

But thou the same for pleasure didst prepayre.

Thou art the root of all that ioyous is,

Great God of men and women, queene of th’ayre,

Mother of laughter, and welspring of blisse,

O graunt that of my loue at last I may not misse.

So did he say: but I with murmure soft, xlviii

That none might heare the sorrow of my hart,

Yet inly groning deepe and sighing oft,

Besought her to graunt ease vnto my smart,

And to my wound her gratious help impart.

Whilest thus I spake, behold with happy eye

I spyde, where at the Idoles feet apart

A beuie of fayre damzels close did lye,

Wayting when as the Antheme should be sung on hye.

The first of them did seeme of ryper yeares, xlix

And grauer countenance then all the rest;

Yet all the rest were eke her equall peares,

Yet vnto her obayed all the best.

Her name was _Womanhood_, that she exprest

By her sad semblant and demeanure wyse:

For stedfast still her eyes did fixed rest,

Ne rov’d at randon after gazers guyse,

Whose luring baytes oftimes doe heedlesse harts entyse.

And next to her sate goodly _Shamefastnesse_, l

Ne euer durst her eyes from ground vpreare,

Ne euer once did looke vp from her desse,

As if some blame of euill she did feare,

That in her cheekes made roses oft appeare:

And her against sweet _Cherefulnesse_ was placed,

Whose eyes like twinkling stars in euening cleare,

Were deckt with smyles, that all sad humors chaced,

And darted forth delights, the which her goodly graced.

And next to her sate sober _Modestie_, li

Holding her hand vpon her gentle hart;

And her against sate comely _Curtesie_,

That vnto euery person knew her part;

And her before was seated ouerthwart

Soft _Silence_, and submisse _Obedience_,

Both linckt together neuer to dispart,

Both gifts of God not gotten but from thence,

Both girlonds[193] of his Saints against their foes offence.

Thus sate they all a round in seemely rate: lii

And in the midst of them a goodly mayd,

Euen in the lap of _Womanhood_ there sate,

The which was all in lilly white arayd,

With siluer streames amongst the linnen stray’d;

Like to the Morne, when first her shyning face

Hath to the gloomy world it selfe bewray’d,

That same was fayrest _Amoret_ in place,

Shyning with beauties light, and heauenly vertues grace.

Whom soone as I beheld, my hart gan throb, liii

And wade in doubt, what best were to be donne:

For sacrilege me seem’d the Church to rob,

And folly seem’d to leaue the thing vndonne,

Which with so strong attempt I had begonne.

Tho shaking off all doubt and shamefast feare,

Which Ladies loue I heard had neuer wonne

Mongst men of worth, I to her stepped neare,

And by the lilly hand her labour’d vp to reare.

Thereat that formost matrone me did blame, liv

And sharpe rebuke, for being ouer bold;

Saying it was to Knight vnseemely shame,

Vpon a recluse Virgin to lay hold,

That vnto _Venus_ seruices was sold.

To whom I thus, Nay but it fitteth best,

For _Cupids_ man with _Venus_ mayd to hold,

For ill your goddesse seruices are drest

By virgins, and her sacrifices let to rest.

With that my shield I forth to her did show, lv

Which all that while I closely had conceld[194];

On which when _Cupid_ with his killing bow

And cruell shafts emblazond she beheld,

At sight thereof she was with terror queld,

And said no more: but I which all that while

The pledge of faith, her hand engaged held,

Like warie[195] Hynd within the weedie soyle,

For no intreatie would forgoe so glorious spoyle.

And euermore vpon the Goddesse face lvi

Mine eye was fixt, for feare of her offence,

Whom when I saw with amiable grace

To laugh at[196] me, and fauour my pretence,

I was emboldned with more confidence,

And nought for nicenesse nor for enuy sparing,

In presence of them all forth led her thence,

All looking on, and like astonisht staring,

Yet to lay hand on her, not one of all them daring.

She often prayd, and often me besought, lvii

Sometime with tender teares to let her goe,

Sometime with witching smyles: but yet for nought,

That euer she to me could say or doe,

Could she her wished freedome fro me wooe;

But forth I led her through the Temple gate,

By which I hardly past with much adoe:

But that same Ladie which me friended late

In entrance, did me also friend in my retrate.

No lesse did _Daunger_[197] threaten me with dread, lviii

When as he saw me, maugre all his powre,

That glorious spoyle of beautie with me lead,

Then _Cerberus_, when _Orpheus_ did recoure

His Leman from the Stygian Princes boure.

But euermore my shield did me defend,

Against the storme of euery dreadfull stoure:

Thus safely with my loue I thence did wend.

So ended he his tale, where I this Canto end.

FOOTNOTES:

[169] Arg. 1 _conqust_ _1596_

[170] ii 8 Since] Sith _1609_

[171] vii 8 nanner _1596_

[172] 9 maintaine, _1596_

[173] ancients _1596_

[174] ix 1 yearne _1609 passim_

[175] xvii 5 award _1609_

[176] xix 1 meanest] nearest _1596_

[177] 2 disdeigning _1609_

[178] xxiii 2 ghesse] bee _1596_ (_Malone 616_), _1609_

[179] 8 bee] ghesse _1596_ (_Malone 616_), _1609_

[180] xxv 1 all eyes _1596_

[181] dight, _1596_, _1609_

[182] xxvi 9 aspire] inspire _1611_

[183] xxvii 1 _Hyllus_ _1596_: _Hylus_ _1609_. _Cf._ III xii 7,

l. 9

[184] 7 tyde, _1596_, _1609_

[185] 8 friendship _1596_

[186] xxxi 9 adowne _1609_

[187] xxxv 6 hell] hele _or_ mell _conj. edd._

[188] xxxvi 3 loue _1596_: Loue _1609_

[189] xxxvii 9 may _1596_

[190] xxxviii 7 bathe _1609_

[191] xl 5 forlore _1596_

[192] xlii 6 elder _1609_

[193] li 9 girlonds] gardians _conj. Church_: guerdons _conj.

Collier_

[194] lv 2 conceald _1609_

[195] 8 warie] wearie _conj. Upton_

[196] lvi 4 at] on _1609_

[197] lviii 1 daunger _1596_: danger _1609_

_Cant. XI._

[Illustration:

_Marinells former wound is heald,

he comes to Proteus hall,

Where Thames doth the Medway wedd,

and feasts the Sea-gods all._

]

Bvt ah for pittie that I haue thus long i

Left a fayre Ladie languishing in payne:

Now well away[198], that I haue doen such wrong,

To let faire _Florimell_ in bands remayne,

In bands of loue, and in sad thraldomes chayne;

From which vnlesse some heauenly powre her free

By miracle, not yet appearing playne,

She lenger yet is like captiu’d to bee:

That euen to thinke thereof, it inly pitties mee.

Here neede you to remember, how erewhile ii

Vnlouely _Proteus_, missing to his mind

That Virgins loue to win by wit or wile,

Her threw into a dongeon[199] deepe and blind,

And there in chaynes her cruelly did bind,

In hope thereby her to his bent to draw:

For when as neither gifts nor graces kind

Her constant mind could moue at all he saw,

He thought her to compell by crueltie and awe.

Deepe in the bottome of an huge great rocke iii

The dongeon was, in which her bound he left,

That neither yron barres, nor brasen locke

Did neede to gard from force, or secret theft

Of all her louers, which would her haue reft.

For wall’d it was with waues, which rag’d and ror’d

As they the cliffe in peeces would haue cleft;

Besides ten thousand monsters foule abhor’d

Did waite about it, gaping griesly all begor’d.

And in the midst thereof did horror dwell, iv

And darkenesse dredd, that neuer viewed day,

Like to the balefull house of lowest hell,

In which old _Styx_ her aged bones alway,

Old _Styx_ the Grandame[200] of the Gods, doth lay.

There did this lucklesse mayd seuen[201] months abide,

Ne euer euening saw, ne mornings ray,

Ne euer from the day the night descride,

But thought it all one night, that did no houres diuide.

And all this was for loue of _Marinell_, v

Who her despysd (ah who would her despyse?)

And wemens loue did from his hart expell,

And all those ioyes that weake mankind entyse.

Nathlesse his pride full dearely he did pryse;

For of a womans hand it was ywroke,

That of the wound he yet in languor lyes,

Ne can be cured of that cruell stroke

Which _Britomart_ him gaue, when he did her prouoke.

Yet farre and neare the Nymph his mother sought, vi

And many salues did to his sore applie,

And many herbes did vse. But when as nought

She saw could ease his rankling maladie,

At last to _Tryphon_ she for helpe did hie,

(This _Tryphon_ is the seagods surgeon hight)

Whom she besought to find some remedie:

And for his paines a whistle him behight

That of a fishes shell was wrought with rare delight.

So well that Leach did hearke[202] to her request, vii

And did so well employ his carefull paine,

That in short space his hurts he had redrest,

And him restor’d to healthfull state againe:

In which he long time after did remaine

There with the Nymph his mother, like her thrall;

Who sore against his will did him retaine,

For feare of perill, which to him mote fall,

Through his too ventrous prowesse proued ouer all.

It fortun’d then, a solemne feast was there viii

To all the Sea-gods and their fruitfull seede,

In honour of the spousalls, which then were

Betwixt the _Medway_ and the _Thames_ agreed.

Long had the _Thames_ (as we in records reed)

Before that day her wooed to his bed;

But the proud Nymph would for no worldly meed,

Nor no entreatie to his loue be led;

Till now at last relenting, she to him was wed.

So both agreed, that this their bridale feast ix

Should for the Gods in _Proteus_ house be made;

To which they all repayr’d, both most and least,

Aswell which in the mightie Ocean trade,

As that in riuers swim, or brookes doe wade.

All which not if an hundred tongues to tell,

And hundred mouthes, and voice of brasse I had,

And endlesse memorie, that mote excell,

In order as they came, could I recount them well.

Helpe therefore, O thou sacred imp of _Ioue_, x

The noursling of Dame _Memorie_ his deare,

To whom those rolles, layd vp in heauen aboue,

And records of antiquitie appeare,

To which no wit of man may comen neare;

Helpe me to tell the names of all those floods,

And all those Nymphes, which then assembled were

To that great banquet of the watry Gods,

And all their sundry kinds, and all their hid abodes.

First came great _Neptune_ with his threeforkt mace, xi

That rules the Seas, and makes them rise or fall;

His dewy lockes did drop with brine apace,

Vnder his Diademe imperiall:

And by his side his Queene with coronall,

Faire _Amphitrite_, most diuinely faire,

Whose yuorie shoulders weren couered all,

As with a robe, with her owne siluer haire,

And deckt with pearles, which th’Indian seas for her prepaire.

These marched farre afore the other crew; xii

And all the way before them as they went,

_Triton_ his trompet[203] shrill before them blew,

For goodly triumph and great iollyment,

That made the rockes to roare, as they were rent.

And after them the royall issue came,

Which of them sprung by lineall descent:

First the Sea-gods, which to themselues doe clame

The powre to rule the billowes, and the waues to tame.

_Phorcys_, the father of that fatall brood, xiii

By whom those old Heroes wonne such fame;

And _Glaucus_, that wise southsayes[204] vnderstood;

And tragicke _Inoes_ sonne, the which became

A God of seas through his mad mothers blame,

Now hight _Palemon_, and is saylers frend;

Great _Brontes_, and _Astræus_, that did shame

Himselfe with incest of his kin vnkend;

And huge _Orion_, that doth tempests still portend.

The rich _Cteatus_, and _Eurytus_ long; xiv

_Neleus_ and _Pelias_ louely brethren both;

Mightie _Chrysaor_, and _Caïcus_ strong;

_Eurypulus_, that calmes the waters wroth;

And faire _Euphœmus_, that vpon them goth

As on the ground, without dismay or dread:

Fierce _Eryx_, and _Alebius_ that know’th

The waters depth, and doth their bottome tread;

And sad _Asopus_, comely with his hoarie head.

There also some most famous founders were xv

Of puissant Nations, which the world possest;

Yet sonnes of _Neptune_, now assembled here:

Ancient _Ogyges_, euen th’auncientest,

And _Inachus_ renowmd aboue the rest;

_Phœnix_, and _Aon_, and _Pelasgus_ old,

Great _Belus_, _Phœax_, and _Agenor_ best;

And mightie _Albion_, father of the bold

And warlike people, which the _Britaine_ Islands hold.

For _Albion_ the sonne of _Neptune_ was, xvi

Who for the proofe of his great puissance,

Out of his _Albion_ did on dry-foot pas

Into old _Gall_, that now is cleeped _France_,

To fight with _Hercules_, that did aduance

To vanquish all the world with matchlesse might,

And there his mortall part by great mischance

Was slaine: but that which is th’immortall spright

Liues still: and to this feast with _Neptunes_ seed was dight.

But what doe I their names seeke to reherse, xvii

Which all the world haue with their issue fild?

How can they all in this so narrow verse

Contayned be, and in small compasse hild?

Let them record them, that are better skild,

And know the moniments of passed times[205]:

Onely what needeth, shall be here fulfild,

T’expresse some part of that great equipage,

Which from great _Neptune_ do deriue their parentage.

Next came the aged _Ocean_, and his Dame, xviii

Old _Tethys_, th’oldest two of all the rest,

For all the rest of those two parents came,

Which afterward both sea and land possest:

Of all which _Nereus_ th’eldest, and the best,

Did first proceed, then which none more vpright,

Ne more sincere in word and deed profest;

Most voide of guile, most free from fowle despight,

Doing him selfe, and teaching others to doe right.

Thereto he was expert in prophecies, xix

And could the ledden of the Gods vnfold,

Through which, when _Paris_ brought his famous prise

The faire Tindarid lasse, he him fortold,

That her all _Greece_ with many a champion bold

Should fetch againe, and finally destroy

Proud _Priams_ towne. So wise is _Nereus_ old,

And so well skild; nathlesse he takes great ioy

Oft-times amongst the wanton Nymphs to sport and toy.

And after him the famous riuers came, xx

Which doe the earth enrich and beautifie:

The fertile Nile, which creatures new doth frame;

Long Rhodanus, whose sourse springs from the skie;

Faire Ister, flowing from the mountaines hie;

Diuine Scamander, purpled yet with blood

Of Greekes and Troians, which therein did die;

Pactolus glistring with his golden flood,

And Tygris fierce, whose streames of none may be withstood.

Great Ganges, and immortall Euphrates, xxi

Deepe Indus, and Mæander intricate,

Slow Peneus, and tempestuous Phasides,

Swift Rhene, and Alpheus still immaculate:

Ooraxes,[206] feared for great _Cyrus_ fate;

Tybris, renowmed for the Romaines fame,

Rich Oranochy, though but knowen late;

And that huge Riuer, which doth beare his name

Of warlike Amazons, which doe possesse the same.

Ioy on those warlike women, which so long xxii

Can from all men so rich a kingdome hold;

And shame on you, O men, which boast your strong

And valiant hearts, in thoughts lesse hard and bold,

Yet quaile in conquest of that land of gold.

But this to you, O Britons, most pertaines,

To whom the right hereof it selfe hath sold;

The which for sparing litle cost or paines,

Loose so immortall glory, and so endlesse gaines.

Then was there heard a most celestiall sound, xxiii

Of dainty musicke, which did next ensew

Before the spouse: that was _Arion_ crownd;

Who playing on his harpe, vnto him drew

The eares and hearts of all that goodly crew,

That euen yet the Dolphin, which him bore

Through the Ægæan[207] seas from Pirates vew,

Stood still by him astonisht at his lore,

And all the raging seas for ioy forgot to rore.

So went he playing on the watery plaine, xxiv

Soone after whom the louely Bridegroome came,

The noble Thamis, with all his goodly traine,

But him before there went, as best became,[208]

His auncient parents, namely th’auncient Thame.

But much more aged was his wife then he,

The Ouze, whom men doe Isis rightly name;

Full weake and crooked creature seemed shee,

And almost blind through eld, that scarce her way could see.

Therefore on either side she was sustained xxv

Of two smal grooms, which by their names were hight

The _Churne_, and _Charwell_, two small streames, which pained

Them selues her footing to direct aright,

Which fayled oft through faint and feeble plight:

But _Thame_ was stronger, and of better stay;

Yet seem’d full aged by his outward sight,

With head all hoary, and his beard all gray,

Deawed with siluer drops, that trickled downe alway.

And eke he somewhat seem’d to stoupe afore xxvi

With bowed backe, by reason of the lode,

And auncient heauy burden, which he bore

Of that faire City, wherein make abode[209]

So many learned impes, that shoote abrode,

And with their braunches spred all Britany,

No lesse then do her elder sisters broode.

Ioy to you both, ye double noursery[210]

Of Arts, but Oxford thine doth _Thame_ most glorify.

But he their sonne full fresh and iolly was, xxvii

All decked in a robe of watchet hew,

On which the waues, glittering like Christall glas,

So cunningly enwouen were, that few

Could weenen, whether they were false or trew.

And on his head like to a Coronet

He wore, that seemed strange to common vew,

In which were many towres and castels set,

That it encompast round as with a golden fret.

Like as the mother of the Gods, they say, xxviii

In her great iron charet wonts to ride,

When to _Ioues_ pallace she doth take her way:

Old _Cybele_, arayd with pompous pride,

Wearing a Diademe embattild wide

With hundred turrets, like a Turribant.

With such an one was Thamis beautifide;

That was to weet the famous Troynouant,

In which her kingdomes throne is chiefly resiant.

And round about him many a pretty Page xxix

Attended duely, ready to obay;

All little Riuers, which owe vassallage

To him, as to their Lord, and tribute pay:

The chaulky Kenet, and the Thetis gray,

The morish Cole, and the soft sliding Breane,

The wanton Lee, that oft doth loose his way,

And the still Darent, in whose waters cleane

Ten thousand fishes play, and decke his pleasant streame.

Then came his neighbour flouds, which nigh him dwell, xxx

And water all the English soile throughout;

They all on him this day attended well;

And with meet seruice waited him about;

Ne none[211] disdained low to him to lout:

No not the stately Seuerne grudg’d at all,

Ne storming Humber, though he looked stout;

But both him honor’d as their principall,

And let their swelling waters low before him fall.

There was the speedy Tamar, which deuides xxxi

The Cornish and the Deuonish confines;

Through both whose borders swiftly downe it glides,

And meeting Plim, to Plimmouth thence declines:

And Dart, nigh chockt[212] with sands of tinny mines.

But Auon marched in more stately path,

Proud of his Adamants, with which he shines

And glisters wide, as als’ of wondrous Bath,

And Bristow faire, which on his waues he builded hath.

And there came Stoure with terrible aspect, xxxii

Bearing his sixe deformed heads on hye,

That doth his course through Blandford plains direct,

And washeth Winborne meades in season drye.

Next him went Wylibourne with passage slye,

That of his wylinesse his name doth take,

And of him selfe doth name the shire thereby:

And Mole, that like a nousling Mole doth make

His way still vnder ground, till Thamis he ouertake.

Then came the Rother, decked all with woods xxxiii

Like a wood God, and flowing fast to Rhy:

And Sture, that parteth with his pleasant floods

The Easterne Saxons from the Southerne ny,

And Clare, and Harwitch both doth beautify:

Him follow’d Yar, soft washing Norwitch wall,

And with him brought a present ioyfully

Of his owne fish vnto their festiuall,

Whose like none else could shew, the which they Ruffins call.

Next these the plenteous Ouse came far from land, xxxiv

By many a city, and by many a towne,

And many riuers taking vnder hand

Into his waters, as he passeth downe,

The Cle, the Were, the Grant[213], the Sture, the Rowne.

Thence doth by Huntingdon and Cambridge flit,

My mother Cambridge, whom as with a Crowne

He doth adorne, and is adorn’d of it

With many a gentle Muse, and many a learned wit.

And after him the fatall Welland went, xxxv

That if old sawes proue true (which God forbid)

Shall drowne all Holland with his excrement,

And shall see Stamford, though now homely hid,

Then shine in learning, more then euer did

Cambridge or Oxford, Englands goodly beames.

And next to him the Nene[214] downe softly slid;

And bounteous Trent, that in him selfe enseames

Both thirty sorts of fish, and thirty sundry streames.

Next these came Tyne, along whose stony bancke xxxvi

That Romaine Monarch built a brasen wall,

Which mote the feebled Britons strongly flancke

Against the Picts, that swarmed ouer all,

Which yet thereof Gualseuer they doe call:

And Twede the limit betwixt Logris land

And Albany: And Eden though but small,

Yet often stainde with bloud of many a band

Of Scots and English both, that tyned on his strand.

Then came those sixe sad brethren, like forlorne, xxxvii

That whilome were (as antique fathers tell)

Sixe valiant Knights, of one faire Nymphe yborne,

Which did in noble deedes of armes excell,

And wonned there, where now Yorke people dwell;

Still Vre, swift Werfe, and Oze the most of might,

High Swale, vnquiet Nide, and troublous Skell;

All whom a Scythian king, that Humber hight,

Slew cruelly, and in the riuer drowned quight.

But past not long, ere _Brutus_ warlicke[215] sonne xxxviii

_Locrinus_ them aueng’d, and the same date,

Which the proud Humber vnto them had donne,

By equall dome[216] repayd on his owne pate:

For in the selfe same riuer, where he late

Had drenched them, he drowned him againe;

And nam’d the riuer of his wretched fate;

Whose bad condition yet it doth retaine,

Oft tossed with his stormes, which therein still remaine.

These after, came the stony shallow Lone, xxxix

That to old Loncaster his name doth lend;

And following Dee, which Britons long ygone

Did call diuine, that doth by Chester tend;

And Conway which out of his streame doth send

Plenty of pearles to decke his dames withall,

And Lindus that his pikes doth most commend,

Of which the auncient Lincolne men doe call;

All these together marched toward _Proteus_ hall.

Ne thence the Irishe Riuers absent were, xl

Sith no lesse famous then the rest they bee,

And ioyne in neighbourhood of kingdome nere,

Why should they not likewise in loue agree,

And ioy likewise this solemne day to see?[217]

They saw it all, and present were in place;

Though I them all according their degree,

Cannot recount, nor tell their hidden race,

Nor read the saluage cuntreis, thorough which they pace.

There was the Liffy rolling downe the lea, xli

The sandy Slane, the stony Aubrian,

The spacious Shenan spreading like a sea,

The pleasant Boyne, the fishy fruitfull Ban,

Swift Awniduff, which of the English man

Is cal’de Blacke water, and the Liffar deep,

Sad Trowis, that once his people ouerran,

Strong Allo[218] tombling from Slewlogher steep,

And Mulla[219] mine, whose waues I whilom taught to weep.

And there the three renowmed brethren were, xlii

Which that great Gyant _Blomius_ begot,

Of the faire Nimph _Rheusa_ wandring there.

One day, as she to shunne the season whot,[220]

Vnder Slewbloome in shady groue was got,

This Gyant found her, and by force deflowr’d,

Whereof conceiuing, she in time forth brought

These three faire sons, which being thence forth powrd

In three great riuers ran, and many countreis scowrd.

The first, the gentle Shure that making way xliii

By sweet Clonmell, adornes rich Waterford;

The next, the stubborne Newre, whose waters gray

By faire Kilkenny and Rosseponte boord,

The third, the goodly Barow, which doth hoord

Great heapes of Salmons in his deepe bosome:

All which long sundred, doe at last accord

To ioyne in one, ere to the sea they come,

So flowing all from one, all one at last become.

There also was the wide embayed Mayre, xliv

The pleasaunt Bandon crownd with many a wood,

The spreading Lee, that like an Island fayre

Encloseth Corke with his deuided[221] flood;

And balefull Oure, late staind with English blood:

With many more, whose names no tongue can tell.

All which that day in order seemly good

Did on the Thamis attend, and waited well

To doe their duefull seruice, as to them befell.

Then came the Bride, the louely[222] _Medua_ came, xlv

Clad in a vesture of vnknowen geare,

And vncouth fashion, yet her well became;

That seem’d like siluer, sprinckled here and theare

With glittering spangs, that did like starres appeare,

And wau’d vpon, like water Chamelot,

To hide the metall, which yet euery where

Bewrayd it selfe, to let men plainely wot,

It was no mortall worke, that seem’d and yet was not.

Her goodly lockes adowne her backe did flow xlvi

Vnto her waste, with flowres bescattered,

The which ambrosiall odours forth did throw

To all about, and all her shoulders spred

As a new spring; and likewise on her hed

A Chapelet of sundry flowers she wore,

From vnder which the deawy humour shed,

Did tricle downe her haire, like to the hore

Congealed litle drops, which doe the morne adore.

On her two pretty handmaides did attend, xlvii

One cald the _Theise_, the other cald the _Crane_;

Which on her waited, things amisse to mend,

And both behind vpheld her spredding traine;

Vnder the which, her feet appeared plaine,

Her siluer feet, faire washt against this day:

And her before there paced Pages twaine,

Both clad in colours like, and like array,

The _Doune_ and eke the _Frith_, both which prepard her way.

And after these the Sea Nymphs marched all, xlviii

All goodly damzels, deckt with long greene haire,

Whom of their sire _Nereides_ men call,

All which the Oceans daughter to him bare

The gray eyde _Doris_: all which fifty are;

All which she there on her attending had.

Swift _Proto_, milde _Eucrate_, _Thetis_ faire,

Soft _Spio_, sweete _Eudore_[223], _Sao_ sad,

Light _Doto_, wanton _Glauce_, and _Galene_ glad.

White hand _Eunica_, proud _Dynamene_, xlix

Ioyous _Thalia_, goodly _Amphitrite_,

Louely _Pasithee_, kinde _Eulimene_,

Light foote _Cymothoe_, and sweete _Melite_,

Fairest _Pherusa_, _Phao_ lilly white,

Wondred _Agaue_, _Poris_, and _Nesæa_,

With _Erato_ that doth in loue delite,

And _Panopæ_, and wise _Protomedæa_,

And snowy neckd _Doris_, and milkewhite _Galathæa_.

Speedy _Hippothoe_, and chaste _Actea_, l

Large _Lisianassa_, and _Pronæa_ sage,

_Euagore_, and light _Pontoporea_,

And she, that with her least word can asswage

The surging seas, when they do sorest rage,

_Cymodoce_, and stout _Autonoe_,

And _Neso_, and _Eione_ well in age,

And seeming still to smile, _Glauconome_,

And she that hight of many heastes _Polynome_.

Fresh _Alimeda_, deckt with girlond greene; li

_Hyponeo_, with salt bedewed wrests:

_Laomedia_, like the christall sheene;

_Liagore_, much praisd for wise behests;

And _Psamathe_, for her brode snowy brests;

_Cymo_, _Eupompe_, and _Themiste_ iust;

And she that vertue loues and vice detests

_Euarna_, and _Menippe_ true in trust,

And _Nemertea_ learned well to rule her lust.

All these the daughters of old _Nereus_ were, lii

Which haue the sea in charge to them assinde,

To rule his tides, and surges to vprere,

To bring forth stormes, or fast them to vpbinde,[224]

And sailers saue from wreckes of wrathfull winde.

And yet besides three thousand more there were

Of th’Oceans seede, but[225] _Ioues_ and _Phœbus_ kinde;

The which in floods and fountaines doe appere,

And all mankinde do nourish with their waters clere.

The which, more eath it were for mortall wight, liii

To tell the sands, or count the starres on hye,

Or ought more hard, then thinke to reckon right.

But well I wote, that these which I descry,

Were present at this great solemnity:

And there amongst the rest, the mother was

Of luckelesse _Marinell_ _Cymodoce_.

Which, for my Muse her selfe now tyred has,

Vnto an other Canto I will ouerpas.

FOOTNOTES:

[198] i 3 weal-away _1609_

[199] ii 4 dungeon _1609 passim_

[200] iv 5 Gramdame _1596_

[201] 6 seuen] three _1596_ (_Malone 616_), _1609_

[202] vii 1 harke _1609_

[203] xii 3 trumpet _1609_

[204] xiii 3 soothsayes _1609_

[205] xvii 6 times] age _Todd_. _But cf._ II ii 7. II ii 42

_&c._

[206] xxi 5 Oraxes _1609_

[207] xxiii 7 Agæan _1596_, _1609_

[208] xxiv 4 became; _1596_

[209] xxvi 4 make-abode _1609_

[210] 8 noursery, _1599_, _1609_

[211] xxx 5 none] one _1609_

[212] xxxi 5 choakt _1609_

[213] xxxiv 5 Guant _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Child_

[214] xxxv 7 _Nene_ _1596_, _1609_

[215] xxxviii 1 warlike _1609_

[216] 4 doome _1609_

[217] xl 5 see. _1596_

[218] xli 8 _Allo_ _1596_, _1609_

[219] 9 _Mulla_ _1596_, _1609_

[220] xlii 4 hot. _1609 passim_

[221] xliv 4 diuided _1609 passim_

[222] xlv 1 louely] louing _1609_

[223] xlviii 8 _Endore_ _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Child_

_Cant. XII._

[Illustration:

_Marin for loue of Florimell,

In languor wastes his life:

The Nymph his mother getteth her,

And giues to him for wife._

]

O what an endlesse worke haue I in hand, i

To count the seas abundant progeny,

Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in land,

And also those which wonne in th’azure sky?

For much more eath to tell the starres on hy,

Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation,

Then to recount the Seas posterity:

So fertile be the flouds in generation,

So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse their nation.

Therefore the antique wisards well inuented, ii

That _Venus_ of the fomy sea was bred;

For that the seas by her are most augmented.

Witnesse th’exceeding fry, which there are fed,

And wondrous sholes, which may of none be red.

Then blame me not, if I haue err’d in count

Of Gods, of Nymphs, of riuers yet vnred:

For though their numbers do much more surmount,

Yet all those same were there, which erst I did recount.

All those were there, and many other more, iii

Whose names and nations were too long to tell,

That _Proteus_ house they fild euen to the dore;

Yet were they all in order, as befell,

According their degrees disposed well.

Amongst the rest, was faire _Cymodoce_,

The mother of vnlucky _Marinell_,

Who thither with her came, to learne and see

The manner of the Gods when they at banquet be.

But for he was halfe mortall, being bred iv

Of mortall sire, though of immortall wombe,

He might not with immortall food be fed,

Ne with th’eternall Gods to bancket[226] come;

But walkt abrode, and round about did rome,

To view the building of that vncouth place,

That seem’d vnlike vnto his earthly home:

Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,

There vnto him betid a disauentrous[227] case.

Vnder the hanging of an hideous clieffe, v

He heard the lamentable voice of one,

That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,

Which neuer she before disclosd to none,[228]

But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone.[229]

So feelingly her case she did complaine,

That ruth it moued in the rocky stone,

And made it seeme to feele her grieuous paine,

And oft to grone with billowes beating from the maine.

Though vaine I see my sorrowes to vnfold, vi

And count my cares, when none is nigh to heare,

Yet hoping griefe may lessen being told,

I will them tell though vnto no man neare:

For heauen that vnto all lends equall eare,

Is farre from hearing of my heauy plight;

And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare,

Cares not what euils hap to wretched wight;

And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life delight.

Yet loe the seas I see by often beating, vii

Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble weares;

But his hard rocky hart for no entreating

Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he heares,

Is hardned more with my aboundant teares.

Yet though he neuer list to me relent,

But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,

Yet will I neuer of my loue repent,

But ioy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.

And when my weary ghost with griefe outworne, viii

By timely death shall winne her wished rest,

Let then this plaint vnto his eares be borne,

That blame it is to him, that armes profest,

To let her die, whom he might haue redrest.

There did she pause, inforced to giue place,

Vnto the passion, that her heart opprest,

And after she had wept and wail’d a space,

She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.

Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all ix

Haue care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,

By one or other way me woefull thrall,

Deliuer hence out of this dungeon strong,

In which I daily dying am too long.

And if ye deeme me death for louing one,

That loues not me, then doe it not prolong,

But let me die and end my daies attone,

And let him liue vnlou’d, or loue him selfe alone.

But if that life ye vnto me decree, x

Then let mee liue, as louers ought to do,

And of my lifes deare loue beloued be:

And if he shall[230] through pride your doome vndo,

Do you by duresse him compell thereto,

And in this prison put him here with me:

One prison fittest is to hold vs two:

So had I rather to be thrall, then free;

Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely be.

But O vaine iudgement, and conditions vaine, xi

The which the prisoner points vnto the free,

The whiles I him condemne, and deeme his paine,

He where he list goes loose, and laughes at me.

So euer loose, so euer happy be.

But where so loose or happy that thou art,

Know _Marinell_ that all this is for thee.

With that she wept and wail’d, as if her hart

Would quite haue burst through great abundance[231] of her smart.

All which complaint when _Marinell_ had heard, xii

And vnderstood the cause of all her care

To come of him, for vsing her so hard,

His stubborne heart, that neuer felt misfare

Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare;

That euen for griefe of minde he oft did grone,

And inly wish, that in his powre it weare

Her to redresse: but since he meanes found none

He could no more but her great misery bemone.

Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth xiii

Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide[232],

Dame _Venus_ sonne that tameth stubborne youth

With iron bit, and maketh him abide,

Till like a victor on his backe he ride,

Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,

That made him stoupe, till he did him bestride:

Then gan he make him tread his steps anew,

And learne to loue, by learning louers paines to rew.

Now gan he in his grieued minde deuise, xiv

How from that dungeon he might her enlarge:

Some while he thought, by faire and humble wise

To _Proteus_ selfe to sue for her discharge:

But then he fear’d his mothers former charge

Gainst womens loue, long giuen him in vaine.

Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword and targe

Her forth to fetch, and _Proteus_ to constraine:

But soone he gan such folly to forthinke againe.

Then did he cast to steale her thence away, xv

And with him beare, where none of her might know.

But all in vaine: for why he found no way

To enter in, or issue forth below:

For all about that rocke the sea did flow.

And though vnto his will she giuen were,

Yet without ship or bote her thence to row,

He wist not how her thence away to bere;

And daunger well he wist long to continue there.

At last when as no meanes he could inuent, xvi

Backe to him selfe[233] he gan returne the blame,

That was the author of her punishment;

And with vile curses, and reprochfull shame

To damne him selfe by euery euill name;

And deeme vnworthy or of loue or life,

That had despisde so chast and faire a dame,

Which him had sought through trouble and long strife;

Yet had refusde a God that her had sought to wife.

In this sad plight he walked here and there, xvii

And romed round about the rocke in vaine,

As he had lost him selfe, he wist not where;

Oft listening if he mote her heare againe;

And still bemoning her vnworthy paine.

Like as an Hynde whose calfe is falne vnwares

Into some pit, where she him heares complaine,

An hundred times about the pit side fares,

Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaued cares.

And now by this the feast was throughly ended, xviii

And euery one gan homeward to resort.

Which seeing _Marinell_, was sore offended,

That his departure thence should be so short,

And leaue his loue in that sea-walled fort.

Yet durst he not his mother disobay,

But her attending in full seemly sort,

Did march amongst the many all the way:

And all the way did inly mourne, like one astray.

Being returned to his mothers bowre, xix

In solitary silence far from wight,

He gan record the lamentable stowre,

In which his wretched loue lay day and night,

For his deare sake, that ill deseru’d that plight:

The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe,

That of no worldly thing he tooke delight;

Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe,

But pyn’d, and mourn’d, and languisht, and alone did weepe.

That in short space his wonted chearefull hew xx

Gan fade, and liuely spirits deaded quight:

His cheeke bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,

And brawney armes had lost their knowen might,

That nothing like himselfe he seem’d in sight.

Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of loue

He woxe, that lenger he note stand vpright,

But to his bed was brought, and layd aboue,

Like ruefull ghost, vnable once to stirre or moue.

Which when his mother saw, she in her mind xxi

Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weene,

Ne could by search nor any meanes out find

The secret cause and nature of his teene,

Whereby she might apply some medicine;

But weeping day and night, did him attend,

And mourn’d to see her losse before her eyne,

Which grieu’d her more, that she it could not mend:

To see an helpelesse euill, double griefe doth lend.

Nought could she read the roote of his disease, xxii

Ne weene what mister maladie it is,

Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.

Most did she thinke, but most she thought amis,

That that same former fatall wound of his

Whyleare by _Tryphon_ was not throughly healed,

But closely rankled vnder th’orifis:

Least did she thinke, that which he most concealed,

That loue it was, which in his hart lay vnreuealed.

Therefore to _Tryphon_ she againe doth hast, xxiii

And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,

That fayld the trust, which she in him had plast,

To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent:

Who now was falne into new languishment

Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.

So backe he came vnto her patient,

Where searching euery part, her well assured,

That it was no old sore, which his new paine procured.

But that it was some other maladie, xxiv

Or griefe vnknowne, which he could not discerne:

So left he her withouten remedie.

Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and earne,

And inly troubled was, the truth to learne.

Vnto himselfe she came, and him besought,

Now with faire speches, now with threatnings sterne,

If ought lay hidden in his grieued thought,

It to reueale: who still her answered, there was nought.

Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide, xxv

But leauing watry gods, as booting nought,

Vnto the shinie heauen in haste she hide,

And thence _Apollo_ King of Leaches brought.

_Apollo_ came; who soone as he had sought

Through his disease, did by and by out find,

That he did languish of some inward thought,

The which afflicted his engrieued mind;

Which loue he red to be, that leads each liuing kind.

Which when he had vnto his mother told, xxvi

She gan thereat to fret, and greatly grieue.

And comming to her sonne, gan first to scold,

And chyde at him, that made her misbelieue:

But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieue,

And wooe with faire intreatie, to disclose,

Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did mieue.

For sure she weend it was some one of those,

Which he had lately seene, that for his loue he chose.

Now lesse she feared that same fatall read, xxvii

That warned him of womens loue beware:

Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,

For loue of Nymphes she thought she need not care,

But promist him, what euer wight she weare,

That she her loue[234] to him would shortly gaine:

So he her told: but soone as she did heare

That _Florimell_ it was, which wrought his paine,

She gan a fresh[235] to chafe, and grieue in euery vaine.

Yet since she saw the streight extremitie, xxviii

In which his life vnluckily was layd,

It was no time to scan the prophecie,

Whether old _Proteus_ true or false had sayd,

That his decay should happen by a mayd.

It’s late in death of daunger to aduize,

Or loue forbid him, that is life denayd:

But rather gan in troubled mind deuize,

How she that Ladies libertie might enterprize.

To _Proteus_ selfe to sew she thought it vaine, xxix

Who was the root and worker of her woe:

Nor vnto any meaner to complaine,

But vnto great king _Neptune_ selfe did goe,

And on her knee before him falling lowe,

Made humble suit vnto his Maiestie,

To graunt to her, her sonnes life, which his foe

A cruell Tyrant had presumpteouslie[236]

By wicked doome condemn’d, a wretched death to die.

To whom God _Neptune_ softly smyling, thus; xxx

Daughter me seemes of double wrong ye plaine,

Gainst one that hath both wronged you, and vs:

For death t’adward[237] I ween’d did appertaine

To none, but to the seas sole Soueraine.

Read therefore who it is, which this hath wrought,

And for what cause; the truth discouer plaine.

For neuer wight so euill did or thought,

But would some rightfull cause pretend, though rightly nought.

To whom she answerd, Then it is by name xxxi

_Proteus_, that hath ordayn’d my sonne to die;

For that a waift, the which by fortune came

Vpon your seas, he claym’d as propertie:

And yet nor his, nor his in equitie,

But yours the waift by high prerogatiue.

Therefore I humbly craue your Maiestie,

It to repleuie, and my sonne repriue:

So shall you by one gift saue all vs three aliue.

He graunted it: and streight his warrant made, xxxii

Vnder the Sea-gods seale autenticall,

Commaunding _Proteus_ straight t’enlarge the mayd,

Which wandring on his seas imperiall,

He lately tooke, and sithence kept as thrall.

Which she receiuing with meete thankefulnesse,

Departed straight to _Proteus_ therewithall:

Who reading it with inward loathfulnesse,

Was grieued to restore the pledge, he did possesse.

Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand, xxxiii

But vnto her deliuered _Florimell_.

Whom she receiuing by the lilly hand,

Admyr’d her beautie much, as she mote well:

For she all liuing creatures did excell;

And was right ioyous, that she gotten had

So faire a wife for her sonne _Marinell_.

So home with her she streight the virgin lad,

And shewed her to him, then being sore bestad.

Who soone as he beheld that angels face, xxxiv

Adorn’d with all diuine perfection,

His cheared heart eftsoones away gan chace

Sad death, reuiued with her sweet inspection,

And feeble spirit inly felt refection;

As withered weed through cruell winters tine,

That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection,

Liftes vp his head, that did before decline

And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.

Right so himselfe did _Marinell_ vpreare, xxxv

When he in place his dearest loue did spy;

And though his limbs could not his bodie beare,

Ne former strength returne so suddenly,

Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly.

Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected,

But that she masked it with modestie,

For feare she should of lightnesse be detected:

Which to another place I leaue to be perfected.

FOOTNOTES:

[224] lii vpbinde. _1596_

[225] 7 but] both _conj. edd._

[226] iv 4 banquet _1609_

[227] 9 disaduentrous _1609_

[228] v 4 none. _1596_

[229] 5 bemone, _1596_

[230] x 4 shall] should _1609_

[231] xi 9 aboundance _1609_

[232] xiii 1, 2 Thus whilst his stony heart was toucht with

tender ruth, And mighty courage something mollifide _1609_

[233] xvi 2 selfe, _1596_, _1609_

[234] xxvii 6 loue, _1596_

[235] 9 afresh _1609_

[236] xxix 8 presumptuously _1609_

[237] xxx 4 t’award _1609_

[Illustration]

THE FIFTH

BOOKE OF THE

FAERIE QVEENE.

_Contayning_,

THE LEGEND OF ARTEGALL

_OR_

OF IVSTICE.

So oft as I with state of present time, i

The image of the antique world compare,

When as mans age was in his freshest prime,[238]

And the first blossome of faire vertue bare,

Such oddes I finde twixt those, and these which are,

As that, through long continuance of his course,

Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square,

From the first point of his appointed sourse,

And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse[239].

For from the golden age, that first was named, ii

It’s now at earst[240] become a stonie one;

And men themselues, the which at first were framed

Of earthly mould, and form’d of flesh and bone,

Are now transformed into hardest stone:

Such as behind their backs (so backward bred)

Were throwne by _Pyrrha_ and _Deucalione_:

And if then those may any worse be red,

They into that ere long will be degendered.

Let none then blame me, if in discipline iii

Of vertue and of ciuill vses lore,

I doe not forme them to the common line

Of present dayes, which are corrupted sore,

But to the antique vse, which was of yore,

When good was onely for it selfe desyred,

And all men sought their owne, and none no more;

When Iustice was not for most meed outhyred,

But simple Truth did rayne, and was of all admyred.

For that which all men then did vertue call, iv

Is now cald vice; and that which vice was hight,

Is now hight vertue, and so vs’d of all:

Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is right,

As all things else in time are chaunged quight.

Ne wonder; for the heauens reuolution

Is wandred farre from[241] where it first was pight,

And so doe make contrarie constitution

Of all this lower world, toward his dissolution.

For who so list into the heauens looke, v

And search the courses of the rowling spheares,

Shall find that from the point, where they first tooke

Their setting forth[242], in these few thousand yeares

They all are wandred much; that plaine appeares.

For that same golden fleecy Ram, which bore

_Phrixus_ and _Helle_ from their stepdames feares,

Hath now forgot, where he was plast of yore,

And shouldred hath the Bull, which fayre _Europa_ bore.

And eke the Bull hath with his bow-bent horne vi

So hardly butted those two twinnes of _Ioue_,

That they haue crusht the Crab, and quite him borne

Into the great _Nemæan_ lions groue.

So now all range, and doe at randon roue

Out of their proper places farre away,

And all this world with them amisse doe moue,

And all his creatures from their course astray,

Till they arriue at their last ruinous decay.

Ne is that same great glorious lampe of light, vii

That doth enlumine all these lesser fyres,

In better case, ne keepes his course more right,

But is miscaried with the other Spheres.

For since the terme of fourteene hundred yeres,

That learned _Ptolomæe_ his hight did take,

He is declyned from that marke of theirs,

Nigh thirtie minutes to the Southerne lake;

That makes me feare in time he will vs quite forsake.

And if to those Ægyptian wisards old, viii

Which in Star-read were wont haue best insight,

Faith may be giuen, it is by them told,

That since the time they first tooke the Sunnes hight,

Foure times his place he shifted hath in sight,

And twice hath risen, where he now doth West,

And wested twice, where he ought rise aright.

But most is _Mars_ amisse of all the rest,

And next to him old _Saturne_, that was wont be best.

For during _Saturnes_ ancient raigne it’s sayd, ix

That all the world with goodnesse did abound:

All loued vertue, no man was affrayd

Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found:

No warre was knowne, no dreadfull trompets sound,

Peace vniuersall rayn’d mongst men and beasts,

And all things freely grew out of the ground:

Iustice sate high ador’d with solemne feasts,

And to all people did diuide her dred beheasts.

Most sacred vertue she of all the rest, x

Resembling God in his imperiall might;

Whose soueraine powre is herein most exprest,

That both to good and bad he dealeth right,

And all his workes with Iustice hath bedight.

That powre he also doth to Princes lend,

And makes them like himselfe in glorious sight,

To sit in his owne seate, his cause to end,

And rule his people right, as he doth recommend.

Dread Souerayne Goddesse, that doest highest sit xi

In seate of iudgement, in th’Almighties stead[243],

And with magnificke might and wondrous wit

Doest to thy people righteous doome aread,

That furthest Nations filles with awfull dread,

Pardon the boldnesse of thy basest thrall,

That dare discourse of so diuine a read,

As thy great iustice praysed ouer all:

The instrument whereof loe here thy _Artegall_[244].

FOOTNOTES:

[238] Proem i 3 prime. _1596_

[239] 9 worse and worse _1609_

[240] ii 2 at earst] as earst _1611_

[241] iv 7 from, _1596_, _1609_

[242] v 4 foorth _1609_

[243] xi 2 stead] place _1596_

[244] 9 _Arthegall_ _1609 passim_

_Cant. I._

[Illustration:

_Artegall trayn’d in Iustice lore

Irenaes quest pursewed,

He doeth auenge on Sanglier

his Ladies bloud embrewed._

]

Though vertue then were held in highest price, i

In those old times, of which I doe intreat,

Yet then likewise the wicked seede of vice

Began to spring which shortly grew full great,

And with their boughes the gentle plants did beat.

But euermore some of the vertuous race

Rose vp, inspired with heroicke heat,

That cropt the branches of the sient base,

And with strong hand their fruitfull rancknes did deface.

Such first was _Bacchus_, that with furious might ii

All th’East before vntam’d did ouerronne,

And wrong repressed, and establisht right,

Which lawlesse men had formerly fordonne.

There Iustice first her princely rule begonne.

Next _Hercules_ his like ensample shewed,

Who all the West with equall conquest wonne,

And monstrous tyrants with his club subdewed;

The club of Iustice dread, with kingly powre endewed.

And such was he, of whom I haue to tell, iii

The Champion of true Iustice _Artegall_,

Whom (as ye lately mote remember well)

An hard aduenture, which did then befall,

Into redoubted perill forth did call;

That was to succour a distressed Dame,

Whom a strong tyrant did vniustly thrall,

And from the heritage, which she did clame,

Did with strong hand withhold: _Grantorto_ was his name.

Wherefore the Lady, which _Irena_[245] hight, iv

Did to the Faery Queene her way addresse,

To whom complayning her afflicted plight,

She her besought of gratious redresse.

That soueraine Queene, that mightie Emperesse,

Whose glorie is to aide all suppliants pore,

And of weake Princes to be Patronesse,

Chose _Artegall_ to right her to restore;

For that to her he seem’d best skild in righteous lore.

For _Artegall_ in iustice was vpbrought v

Euen from the cradle of his infancie,

And all the depth of rightfull doome was taught

By faire _Astræa_, with great industrie,

Whilest here on earth she liued mortallie.

For till the world from his perfection fell

Into all filth and foule iniquitie,

_Astræa_ here mongst earthly men did dwell,

And in the rules of iustice them instructed well.

Whiles through the world she walked in this sort, vi

Vpon a day she found this gentle childe,

Amongst his peres playing his childish sport:

Whom seeing fit, and with no crime defilde,

She did allure with gifts and speaches milde,

To wend with her. So thence him farre she brought

Into a caue from companie exilde,

In which she noursled him, till yeares he raught,

And all the discipline of iustice there him taught.

There she him taught to weigh both right and wrong vii

In equall ballance with due recompence,

And equitie to measure out along,

According to the line of conscience,

When so it needs with rigour to dispence.

Of all the which, for want there of mankind,

She caused him to make experience

Vpon wyld beasts, which she in woods did find,

With wrongfull powre oppressing others of their kind.

Thus she him trayned, and thus she him taught, viii

In all the skill of deeming wrong and right,

Vntill the ripenesse of mans yeares he raught;

That euen wilde beasts did feare his awfull sight,

And men admyr’d his ouerruling might;

Ne any liu’d on ground, that durst withstand

His dreadfull heast, much lesse him match in fight,

Or bide the horror of his wreakfull hand,

When so he list in wrath lift vp his steely brand.

Which steely brand, to make him dreaded more, ix

She gaue vnto him, gotten by her slight

And earnest search, where it was kept in store

In _Ioues_ eternall house, vnwist of wight,

Since he himselfe it vs’d in that great fight

Against the _Titans_, that whylome rebelled

Gainst highest heauen; _Chrysaor_ it was hight;

_Chrysaor_ that all other swords excelled,

Well prou’d in that same day, when _Ioue_ those Gyants quelled.

For of most perfect metall it was made, x

Tempred with Adamant amongst the same,

And garnisht all with gold vpon the blade

In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his name,

And was of no lesse vertue, then of fame.

For there no substance was so firme and hard,

But it would pierce or cleaue, where so it came;

Ne any armour could his dint out ward,

But wheresoeuer it did light, it throughly shard.

Now when the world with sinne gan to abound, xi

_Astræa_ loathing lenger here to space

Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found,

Return’d to heauen, whence she deriu’d her race;

Where she hath now an euerlasting place,

Mongst those twelue signes, which nightly we doe see

The heauens bright-shining baudricke to enchace;

And is the _Virgin_, sixt in her degree,

And next her selfe her righteous ballance hanging bee.

But when she parted hence, she left her groome xii

An yron man, which did on her attend

Alwayes, to execute her stedfast doome,

And willed him with _Artegall_ to wend,

And doe what euer thing he did intend.

His name was _Talus_, made of yron mould,

Immoueable, resistlesse, without end.

Who in his hand an yron flale did hould,

With which he thresht out falshood, and did truth vnfould.

He now went with him in this new inquest, xiii

Him for to aide, if aide he chaunst to neede,

Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest

The faire _Irena_ with his foule misdeede,

And kept the crowne in which she should succeed.

And now together on their way they bin,

When as they saw a Squire in squallid weed,

Lamenting sore his sorowfull sad tyne,

With many bitter teares shed from his blubbred eyne.

To whom as they approched, they espide xiv

A sorie sight, as euer seene with eye;

An headlesse Ladie lying him beside,

In her owne blood all wallow’d wofully,

That her gay clothes did in discolour die.

Much was he moued at that ruefull sight;

And flam’d with zeale of vengeance inwardly,[246]

He askt, who had that Dame so fouly dight;

Or whether his owne hand, or whether other wight?

Ah woe is me, and well away[247] (quoth hee) xv

Bursting forth teares, like springs out of a banke,

That euer I this dismall day did see:

Full farre was I from thinking such a pranke;

Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke,

If I should graunt that I haue doen the same,

That I mote drinke the cup, whereof she dranke:

But that I should die guiltie of the blame,

The which another did, who now is fled with shame.

Who was it then (sayd _Artegall_) that wrought? xvi

And why?[248] doe it declare vnto me trew.

A knight (said he) if knight he may be thought,

That did his hand in Ladies bloud embrew,

And for no cause, but as I shall you shew.

This day as I in solace sate hereby

With a fayre loue, whose losse I now do rew,

There came this knight, hauing in companie

This lucklesse Ladie, which now here doth headlesse lie.

He, whether mine seem’d fayrer in his eye, xvii

Or that he wexed weary of his owne,

Would change with me; but I did it denye;

So did the Ladies both, as may be knowne,

But he, whose spirit was with pride vpblowne,

Would not so rest contented with his right,

But hauing from his courser her downe throwne,

Fro me reft mine away by lawlesse might,

And on his steed her set, to beare her out of sight.

Which when his Ladie saw, she follow’d fast, xviii

And on him catching hold, gan loud to crie

Not so to leaue her, nor away to cast,

But rather of his hand besought to die.

With that his sword he drew all wrathfully,

And at one stroke cropt off her head with scorne,

In that same place, whereas it now doth lie.

So he my loue away with him hath borne,

And left me here, both his and mine owne loue to morne.

Aread (sayd he) which way then did he make? xix

And by what markes may he be knowne againe?

To hope (quoth he) him soone to ouertake,

That hence so long departed, is but vaine:

But yet he pricked ouer yonder plaine,

And as I marked, bore vpon his shield,

By which it’s easie him to know againe,

A broken sword within a bloodie field;

Expressing well his nature, which the same did wield.

No sooner sayd, but streight he after sent xx

His yron page, who him pursew’d so light,

As that it seem’d aboue the ground he went:

For he was swift as swallow in her flight,

And strong as Lyon in his Lordly might.

It was not long, before he ouertooke

Sir _Sanglier_; (so cleeped was that Knight)

Whom at the first he ghessed by his looke,

And by the other markes, which of his shield he tooke.

He bad him stay, and backe with him retire; xxi

Who full of scorne to be commaunded so,

The Lady to alight did eft require,

Whilest he reformed that vnciuill fo:

And streight at him with all his force did go.

Who mou’d no more therewith, then when a rocke

Is lightly stricken with some stones throw;

But to him leaping, lent him such a knocke,

That on the ground he layd him like a sencelesse blocke.

But ere he could him selfe recure againe, xxii

Him in his iron paw he seized had;

That when he wak’t out of his warelesse paine,

He found him selfe,[249] vnwist, so ill bestad,

That lim he could not wag. Thence he him lad,

Bound like a beast appointed to the stall:

The sight whereof the Lady sore adrad,

And fain’d to fly for feare of being thrall;

But he her quickly stayd, and forst to wend withall.

When to the place they came, where _Artegall_ xxiii

By that same carefull Squire did then abide,

He gently gan him to demaund of all,

That did betwixt him and that Squire betide.

Who with sterne countenance and indignant pride

Did aunswere, that of all he guiltlesse stood,

And his accuser thereuppon defide:

For neither he did shed that Ladies bloud,

Nor tooke away his loue, but his owne proper good.

Well did the Squire perceiue him selfe too weake, xxiv

To aunswere his defiaunce in the field,

And rather chose his challenge off to breake,

Then to approue his right with speare and shield.

And rather guilty chose him selfe to yield.

But _Artegall_ by signes perceiuing plaine,

That he it was not, which that Lady kild,

But that strange Knight, the fairer loue to gaine,

Did cast about by sleight the truth thereout to straine.

And sayd, Now[250] sure this doubtfull causes right xxv

Can hardly but by Sacrament be tride,

Or else by ordele, or by blooddy fight;

That ill perhaps mote fall to either side.

But if ye please, that I your cause decide,

Perhaps I may all further quarrell end,

So ye will sweare my iudgement to abide.

Thereto they both did franckly condiscend,

And to his doome with listfull eares did both attend.

Sith then (sayd he) ye both the dead deny, xxvi

And both the liuing Lady claime your right,

Let both the dead and liuing equally

Deuided be betwixt you here in sight,

And each of either take his share aright.

But looke who does dissent from this my read,

He for a twelue moneths day shall in despight

Beare for his penaunce that same Ladies head;

To witnesse to the world, that she by him is[251] dead.

Well pleased with that doome was _Sangliere_, xxvii

And offred streight the Lady to be slaine.

But that same Squire, to whom she was more dere,

When as he saw she should be cut in twaine,

Did yield, she rather should with him remaine

Aliue, then to him selfe be shared dead;

And rather then his loue should suffer paine,

He chose with shame to beare that Ladies head.

True loue despiseth shame, when life is cald in dread.

Whom when so willing _Artegall_ perceaued; xxviii

Not so thou Squire, (he sayd) but thine I deeme

The liuing Lady, which from thee he reaued:

For worthy thou of her doest rightly seeme.

And you, Sir Knight, that loue so light esteeme,

As that ye would for little leaue the same,

Take here your owne, that doth you best beseeme,

And with it beare the burden of defame;

Your owne dead Ladies head, to tell abrode your shame.

But _Sangliere_ disdained much his doome, xxix

And sternly gan repine at his beheast;

Ne would for ought obay, as did become,

To beare that Ladies head before his breast.

Vntill that _Talus_ had his pride represt,

And forced him, maulgre, it vp to reare.

Who when he saw it bootelesse to resist,

He tooke it vp, and thence with him did beare,

As rated Spaniell takes his burden vp for feare.

Much did that Squire Sir _Artegall_ adore, xxx

For his great iustice, held in high regard;

And as his Squire him offred euermore

To serue, for want of other meete reward,

And wend with him on his aduenture hard.

But he thereto would by no meanes consent;

But leauing him forth on his iourney far’d:

Ne wight with him but onely _Talus_ went.

They two enough t’encounter an whole Regiment.

FOOTNOTES:

[245] iv 1 _Eirena_ _1596_

[246] xiv 7 inwardly: _1609_

[247] xv 1 weal-away _1609_

[248] xvi 2 why, _1596_

[249] xxii 4 selfe _1596_, _1609_

[250] xxv 1 now _1596_

[251] xxvi 9 is] his _1609_

_Cant. II._

[Illustration:

_Artegall heares of Florimell,

Does with the Pagan fight:

Him slaies, drownes Lady Munera[252],

Does race her castle quight._

]

Nought is more honorable to a knight, i

Ne better doth beseeme braue cheualry,

Then to defend the feeble in their right,

And wrong redresse in such as wend awry.

Whilome those great Heroes got thereby

Their greatest glory, for their rightfull deedes,

And place deserued with the Gods on hy.

Herein the noblesse of this knight exceedes,

Who now to perils great for iustice sake proceedes.

To which as he now was vppon the way, ii

He chaunst to meet a Dwarfe in hasty course;

Whom he requir’d his forward hast to stay,

Till he of tidings mote with him discourse.

Loth was the Dwarfe, yet did he stay perforse,

And gan of sundry newes his store to tell,

As[253] to his memory they had recourse:

But chiefely of the fairest _Florimell_,

How she was found againe, and spousde to _Marinell_.

For this was _Dony_, _Florimels_ owne Dwarfe, iii

Whom hauing lost (as ye haue heard whyleare)

And finding in the way the scattred scarfe,

The fortune of her life long time did feare.

But of her health when _Artegall_ did heare,

And safe returne, he was full inly glad,

And askt him where, and when her bridale cheare

Should be solemniz’d: for if time he had,

He would be there, and honor to her spousall ad.

Within three daies (quoth hee[254]) as I do here, iv

It will be at the Castle of the strond;

What time if naught me let, I will be there

To doe her seruice, so as I am bond.

But in my way a little here beyond

A cursed cruell Sarazin doth wonne,

That keepes a Bridges passage by strong hond,

And many errant Knights hath there fordonne;

That makes all men for feare that passage for to shonne.

What mister wight (quoth he) and how far hence v

Is he, that doth to trauellers such harmes?

He is (said he) a man of great defence;

Expert in battell and in deedes of armes;

And more emboldned by the wicked charmes,

With which his daughter doth him still support;

Hauing great Lordships got and goodly farmes,

Through strong oppression of his powre extort;

By which he stil them holds, and keepes with strong effort.

And dayly he his wrongs encreaseth more, vi

For neuer wight he lets to passe that way,[255]

Ouer his Bridge, albee he rich or poore,

But he him makes his passage-penny pay:

Else he doth hold him backe or beat away.

Thereto he hath a groome of euill guize,

Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bewray,

Which pols and pils the poore in piteous wize;

But he him selfe vppon the rich doth tyrannize.

His name is hight _Pollente_, rightly so vii

For that he is so puissant and strong,

That with his powre he all doth ouergo,

And makes them subiect to his mighty wrong;

And some by sleight he eke doth vnderfong.

For on a Bridge he custometh to fight,

Which is but narrow, but exceeding long;

And in the same are many trap fals pight,

Through which the rider downe doth fall through ouersight.[256]

And vnderneath the same a riuer flowes, viii

That is both swift and dangerous deepe withall;

Into the which whom so he ouerthrowes,

All destitute of helpe doth headlong fall,

But he him selfe, through practise vsuall,

Leapes forth into the floud, and there assaies

His foe confused through his sodaine fall,

That horse and man he equally dismaies,

And either both them drownes, or trayterously slaies.

Then doth he take the spoile of them at will, ix

And to his daughter brings, that dwels thereby:

Who all that comes doth take, and therewith fill

The coffers of her wicked threasury;

Which she with wrongs hath heaped vp so hy,

That many Princes she in wealth exceedes,

And purchast all the countrey lying ny

With the reuenue of her plenteous meedes,

Her name is _Munera_, agreeing with her deedes.

Thereto she is full faire, and rich attired, x

With golden hands and siluer feete beside,

That many Lords haue her to wife desired:

But she them all despiseth for great pride.

Now by my life (sayd he) and God to guide,

None other way will I this day betake,

But by that Bridge, whereas he doth abide:

Therefore me thither lead. No more he spake,

But thitherward forthright his ready way did make.

Vnto the place he came within a while, xi

Where on the Bridge he ready armed saw

The Sarazin, awayting for some spoile.

Who[257] as they to the passage gan to draw,

A villaine to them came with scull all raw,

That passage money did of them require,

According to the custome of their law.

To whom he aunswerd wroth, Loe[258] there thy hire;

And with that word him strooke, that streight he did expire.

Which when the Pagan saw, he wexed wroth, xii

And streight him selfe vnto the fight addrest,

Ne was Sir _Artegall_ behinde: so both

Together ran with ready speares in rest.

Right in the midst, whereas they brest to brest

Should meete, a trap was letten downe to fall

Into the floud: streight leapt the Carle vnblest,

Well weening that his foe was falne withall:

But he was well aware, and leapt before his fall.

There being both together in the floud, xiii

They each at other tyrannously flew;

Ne ought the water cooled their whot bloud,

But rather in them kindled choler new.

But there the Paynim, who that vse well knew

To fight in water, great aduantage had,

That oftentimes him nigh he ouerthrew:

And eke the courser, whereuppon he rad,

Could swim like to a fish, whiles he his backe bestrad.

Which oddes when as Sir _Artegall_ espide, xiv

He saw no way, but close with him in hast;

And to him driuing strongly downe the tide,

Vppon his iron coller griped fast,

That with the straint his wesand nigh he brast.

There they together stroue and struggled long,

Either the other from his steede to cast;

Ne euer _Artegall_ his griple strong

For any thing wold[259] slacke, but still vppon him hong.

As when a Dolphin and a Sele are met, xv

In the wide champian of the Ocean plaine:

With cruell chaufe their courages they whet,

The maysterdome of each by force to gaine,

And dreadfull battaile twixt them do darraine:

They snuf, they snort, they bounce, they rage, they rore,

That all the sea disturbed with their traine,

Doth frie with fome aboue the surges hore.

Such was betwixt these two the troublesome vprore.

So _Artegall_ at length him forst forsake xvi

His horses backe, for dread of being drownd,

And to his handy swimming him betake.

Eftsoones him selfe he from his hold vnbownd,

And then no ods at all in him he fownd:

For _Artegall_ in swimming skilfull was,

And durst the depth of any water sownd.

So ought each Knight, that vse of perill has,

In swimming be expert through waters force to pas.

Then very doubtfull was the warres euent, xvii

Vncertaine whether had the better side:

For both were skild in that experiment,

And both in armes well traind and throughly tride.

But _Artegall_ was better breath’d beside,

And towards th’end, grew greater in his might,

That his faint foe no longer could abide

His puissance, ne beare him selfe vpright,

But from the water to the land betooke his flight.

But _Artegall_ pursewd him still so neare, xviii

With bright Chrysaor in his cruell hand,

That as his head he gan a litle reare

Aboue the brincke, to tread vpon the land,

He smote it off, that tumbling on the strand

It bit the earth for very fell despight,

And gnashed with his teeth, as if he band

High God, whose goodnesse he despaired quight,

Or curst the hand, which did that vengeance on him dight.[260]

His corps was carried downe along the Lee, xix

Whose waters with his filthy bloud it stayned:

But his blasphemous head, that all might see,

He pitcht vpon a pole on high ordayned;

Where many years it afterwards remayned,

To be a mirrour to all mighty men,

In whose right hands great power is contayned,

That none of them the feeble ouerren,

But alwaies doe their powre within iust compasse pen.

That done, vnto the Castle he did wend, xx

In which the Paynims daughter did abide,

Guarded of many which did her defend:

Of whom he entrance sought, but was denide,

And with reprochfull blasphemy defide,

Beaten with stones downe from the battilment,

That he was forced to withdraw aside;

And bad his seruant _Talus_ to inuent

Which way he enter might, without endangerment.

Eftsoones his Page drew to the Castle gate, xxi

And with his iron flale at it let flie,

That all the warders it did sore amate,

The which erewhile spake so reprochfully,

And made them stoupe, that looked earst so hie.

Yet still he bet, and bounst vppon the dore,

And thundred strokes thereon so hideouslie,

That all the peece he shaked from the flore,

And filled all the house with feare and great vprore.

With noise whereof the Lady forth appeared xxii

Vppon the Castle wall, and when she saw

The daungerous state, in which she stood, she feared

The sad effect of her neare ouerthrow;

And gan entreat that iron man below,

To cease his outrage, and him faire besought,

Sith neither force of stones which they did throw,

Nor powr of charms, which she against him wrought,

Might otherwise preuaile, or make him cease for ought.

But when as yet she saw him to proceede, xxiii

Vnmou’d with praiers, or with piteous thought,

She ment him to corrupt with goodly meede;

And causde great sackes with endlesse riches fraught,

Vnto the battilment to be vpbrought,

And powred forth ouer the Castle wall,

That she might win some time, though dearly bought

Whilest he to gathering of the gold did fall.

But he was nothing mou’d, nor tempted therewithall.

But still continu’d his assault the more, xxiv

And layd on load with his huge yron flaile,

That at the length he has yrent the dore,

And made way for his maister to assaile.

Who being entred, nought did then auaile

For wight, against his powre them selues to reare:

Each one did flie; their hearts began to faile,

And hid them selues in corners here and there;

And eke their dame halfe dead did hide her self for feare.

Long they her sought, yet no where could they finde her, xxv

That sure they ween’d she was escapt away:

But _Talus_, that could like a limehound winde her,

And all things secrete wisely could bewray,

At length found out, whereas she hidden lay

Vnder an heape of gold. Thence he her drew

By the faire lockes, and fowly did array,

Withouten pitty of her goodly hew,

That _Artegall_ him selfe her seemelesse plight did rew.

Yet for no pitty would he change the course xxvi

Of Iustice, which in _Talus_ hand did lye;

Who rudely hayld her forth without remorse,

Still holding vp her suppliant hands on hye,

And kneeling at his feete submissiuely.

But he her suppliant hands, those hands of gold,

And eke her feete, those feete of siluer trye,

Which sought vnrighteousnesse, and iustice sold,

Chopt off, and nayld on high, that all might them behold.

Her selfe then tooke he by the sclender[261] wast, xxvii

In vaine loud crying, and into the flood

Ouer the Castle wall adowne her cast,

And there her drowned in the durty mud:

But the streame washt away her guilty blood.

Thereafter all that mucky pelfe he tooke,

The spoile of peoples euill gotten good,

The which her sire had scrap’t by hooke and crooke,

And burning all to ashes, powr’d it downe the brooke.

And lastly all that Castle quite he raced, xxviii

Euen from the sole of his foundation,

And all the hewen stones thereof defaced,

That there mote be no hope of reparation,

Nor memory thereof to any nation.

All which when _Talus_ throughly had perfourmed,

Sir _Artegall_ vndid the euill fashion,

And wicked customes of that Bridge refourmed.

Which done, vnto his former iourney he retourned.

In which they measur’d mickle weary way, xxix

Till that at length nigh to the sea they drew;

By which as they did trauell on a day,

They saw before them, far as they could vew,

Full many people gathered in a crew;

Whose great assembly they did much admire.

For neuer there the like resort they knew.

So towardes them they coasted, to enquire

What thing so many nations met, did there desire.

There they beheld a mighty Gyant stand xxx

Vpon a rocke, and holding forth on hie

An huge great paire of ballance in his hand,

With which he boasted in his surquedrie,

That all the world he would weigh equallie,

If ought he had the same to counterpoys.

For want whereof he weighed vanity,

And hid his ballaunce full of idle toys:

Yet was admired much of fooles, women, and boys.

He sayd that he would all the earth vptake, xxxi

And all the sea, deuided each from either:

So would he of the fire one ballaunce make,

And one of th’ayre, without or wind, or wether:

Then would he ballaunce heauen and hell together,

And all that did within them all containe;

Of all whose weight, he would not misse a fether.

And looke what surplus did of each remaine,

He would to his owne part restore the same againe.

For why, he sayd they all vnequall were, xxxii

And had encroched vppon others share,

Like as the sea (which plaine he shewed there)

Had worne the earth[262], so did the fire the aire,

So all the rest did others parts empaire.

And so were realmes and nations run awry.

All which he vndertooke for to repaire,

In sort as they were formed aunciently;

And all things would reduce vnto equality.

Therefore the vulgar did about him flocke, xxxiii

And cluster thicke vnto his leasings vaine,

Like foolish flies about an hony crocke,

In hope by him great benefite to gaine,

And vncontrolled freedome to obtaine.

All which when _Artegall_ did see, and heare,

How he mis-led the simple peoples traine,

In sdeignfull wize he drew vnto him neare,

And thus vnto him spake, without regard or feare.

Thou that presum’st to weigh the world anew, xxxiv

And all things to an equall to restore,

In stead of right me seemes great wrong dost shew,

And far aboue thy forces pitch to sore.

For ere thou limit what is lesse or more

In euery thing, thou oughtest first to know,

What was the poyse of euery part of yore:

And looke then how much it doth ouerflow,

Or faile thereof, so much is more then iust to trow.

For at the first they all created were xxxv

In goodly measure, by their Makers might,

And weighed out in ballaunces so nere,

That not a dram was missing of their right,

The earth was in the middle centre pight,

In which it doth immoueable abide,

Hemd in with waters like a wall in sight;

And they with aire, that not a drop can slide:

Al which the heauens containe, and in their courses guide.

Such heauenly iustice doth among them raine, xxxvi

That euery one doe know their certaine bound,

In which they doe these many yeares remaine,

And mongst them al no change hath yet beene found.

But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in pound,

We are not sure they would so long remaine:

All change is perillous, and all chaunce vnsound.

Therefore leaue off to weigh them all againe,

Till we may be assur’d they shall their course retaine.

Thou foolishe Elfe (said then the Gyant wroth) xxxvii

Seest not, how badly all things present bee,

And each estate quite out of order goth?

The sea it selfe doest thou not plainely see

Encroch vppon the land there vnder thee;

And th’earth it selfe how daily its increast,

By all that dying to it turned be?[263]

Were it not good that wrong were then surceast,

And from the most, that some were giuen to the least?

Therefore I will throw downe these[264] mountaines hie, xxxviii

And make them leuell with the lowly plaine:

These towring rocks, which reach vnto the skie,

I will thrust downe into the deepest maine,

And as they were, them equalize againe.

Tyrants that make men subiect to their law,

I will suppresse, that they no more may raine;

And Lordings curbe, that commons ouer-aw;

And all the wealth of rich men to the poore will draw.

Of things vnseene how canst thou deeme aright, xxxix

Then answered the righteous _Artegall_,

Sith thou misdeem’st so much of things in sight?

What though the sea with waues continuall

Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all:

Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,

For whatsoeuer from one place doth fall,

Is with the tide vnto an other brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Likewise the earth is not augmented more, xl

By all that dying into it doe fade.

For of the earth they formed were of yore,

How euer gay their blossome or their blade

Doe flourish now, they into dust shall vade.

What wrong then is it, if that when they die,

They turne to that, whereof they first were made?

All in the powre of their great Maker lie:

All creatures must obey the voice of the most hie.

They liue, they die, like as he doth ordaine, xli

Ne euer any asketh reason why.

The hils doe not the lowly dales disdaine;

The dales doe not the lofty hils enuy.

He maketh Kings to sit in souerainty;

He maketh subiects to their powre obay;

He pulleth downe, he setteth vp on hy;

He giues to this, from that he takes away.

For all we haue is his: what he list doe, he may.

What euer thing is done, by him is donne, xlii

Ne any may his mighty will withstand;

Ne any may his soueraine power shonne,

Ne loose that he hath bound with stedfast band.

In vaine therefore doest thou now take in hand,

To call to count, or weigh his workes anew,

Whose counsels depth thou canst not vnderstand,

Sith of things subiect to thy daily vew

Thou doest not know the causes, nor their courses dew.

For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise, xliii

And weigh the winde, that vnder heauen doth blow;

Or weigh the light, that in the East doth rise;

Or weigh the thought, that from mans mind doth flow.

But if the weight of these thou canst not show,

Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall.

For how canst thou those greater secrets know,

That doest not know the least thing of them all?

Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small.

Therewith the Gyant much abashed sayd; xliv

That he of little things made reckoning light,

Yet the least word that euer could be layd

Within his ballaunce, he could way aright.

Which is (sayd he) more heauy then in weight,

The right or wrong, the false or else the trew?

He answered, that he would try it streight,

So he the words into his ballaunce threw,

But streight the winged words out of his ballaunce flew.

Wroth wext he then, and sayd, that words were light, xlv

Ne would within his ballaunce well abide.

But he could iustly weigh the wrong or right.

Well then, sayd _Artegall_, let it be tride.

First in one ballance set the true aside.

He did so first; and then the false he layd

In th’other scale; but still it downe did slide,

And by no meane could in the weight be stayd.

For by no meanes the false will with the truth be wayd.

Now take the right likewise, sayd _Artegall_, xlvi

And counterpeise the same with so much wrong.

So first the right he put into one scale;

And then the Gyant stroue with puissance strong

To fill the other scale with so much wrong.

But all the wrongs that he therein could lay,

Might not it peise; yet did he labour long,

And swat, and chauf’d, and proued euery way:

Yet all the wrongs could not a litle right downe way[265].

Which when he saw, he greatly grew in rage, xlvii

And almost would his balances haue broken:

But _Artegall_ him fairely gan asswage,

And said; Be[266] not vpon thy balance wroken:

For they doe nought but right or wrong betoken;

But in the mind the doome of right must bee;

And so likewise of words, the which be spoken,

The eare must be the ballance, to decree

And iudge, whether with truth or falshood they agree.

But set the truth and set the right aside, xlviii

For they with wrong or falshood will not fare;

And put two wrongs together to be tride,

Or else two falses, of each equall share;

And then together doe them both compare.

For truth is one, and right is euer one.

So did he, and then plaine it did appeare,

Whether of them the greater were attone.

But right sate in the middest of the beame alone.

But he the right from thence did thrust away, xlix

For it was not the right, which he did seeke;

But rather stroue extremities to way,

Th’one to diminish, th’other for to eeke.

For of the meane he greatly did misleeke.

Whom when so lewdly minded _Talus_ found,

Approching nigh vnto him cheeke by cheeke,

He shouldered him from off the higher ground,

And down the rock him throwing, in the sea him dround.

Like as a ship, whom cruell tempest driues l

Vpon a rocke with horrible dismay,

Her shattered ribs in thousand peeces riues,

And spoyling all her geares and goodly ray,

Does make[267] her selfe misfortunes piteous pray.

So downe the cliffe the wretched Gyant tumbled;

His battred ballances in peeces lay,

His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled,

So was the high aspyring with huge ruine humbled.

That when the people, which had there about li

Long wayted, saw his sudden desolation,

They gan to gather in tumultuous rout,

And mutining, to stirre vp ciuill faction,

For certaine losse of so great expectation.

For well they hoped to haue got great good,[268]

And wondrous riches by his innouation.

Therefore resoluing to reuenge his blood,

They rose in armes, and all in battell order stood.

Which lawlesse multitude him comming too lii

In warlike wise, when _Artegall_ did vew,

He much was troubled, ne wist what to doo.

For loth he was his noble hands t’embrew

In the base blood of such a rascall crew;

And otherwise, if that he should retire,

He fear’d least they with shame would him pursew.

Therefore he _Talus_ to them sent, t’inquire

The cause of their array, and truce for to desire.

But soone as they him nigh approching spide, liii

They gan with all their weapons him assay,

And rudely stroke[269] at him on euery side:

Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought dismay.

But when at them he with his flaile gan lay,

He like a swarme of flyes them ouerthrew;

Ne any of them durst come in his way,

But here and there before his presence flew,

And hid themselues in holes and bushes from his vew.

As when a Faulcon hath with nimble flight liv

Flowne at a flush of Ducks, foreby the brooke,

The trembling foule dismayd with dreadfull sight

Of death, the which them almost ouertooke,

Doe hide themselues from her astonying looke,

Amongst the flags and couert round about.

When _Talus_ saw they all the field forsooke

And none appear’d of all that raskall rout,

To _Artegall_ he turn’d, and went with him throughout.

FOOTNOTES:

[252] Arg. 3 _Momera_ _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Hughes_

[253] ii 7 As] And _1596_

[254] iv 1 hee] she _1596_

[255] vi 2 way; _1596_

[256] vii 9 ouersight _1596_

[257] xi 4 Who] Tho _conj. Church_: When _Morris_

[258] 8 loe _1596_, lo _1609_

[259] xiv 9 would _1609_

[260] xviii 9 dight _1596_

[261] xxvii 1 slender _1609 passim_

[262] xxxii 4 earth] eare _1596_

[263] xxxvii 7 be _1596_

[264] xxxviii 1 those _1609_

[265] xlvi 9 way] lay _1609_

[266] xlvii 4 be _1596_

[267] l 5 makes _1596_

[268] li 6 good; _1596_

[269] liii 3 strooke _1609_

_Cant. III._

[Illustration:

_The spousals of faire Florimell,

where turney many knights:

There Braggadochio is vncas’d

in all the Ladies sights._

]

After long stormes and tempests ouerblowne, i

The sunne at length his ioyous face doth cleare:

So when as fortune all her spight hath showne,

Some blisfull houres at last must needes appeare;

Else should afflicted wights oftimes despeire.

So comes it now to _Florimell_ by tourne,

After long sorrowes suffered whyleare,

In which captiu’d she many moneths did mourne,

To tast of ioy, and to wont pleasures to retourne.

Who being freed from _Proteus_ cruell band ii

By _Marinell_, was vnto him affide,

And by him brought againe to Faerie land;

Where he her spous’d, and made his ioyous bride.

The time and place was blazed farre and wide;

And solemne feasts and giusts ordain’d therefore.

To which there did resort from euery side

Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store;

Ne any Knight was absent, that braue courage bore.

To tell the glorie of the feast that day, iii

The goodly seruice, the deuicefull sights,

The bridegromes state, the brides most rich aray,

The pride of Ladies, and the worth of knights,

The royall banquets, and the rare delights

Were worke fit for an Herauld, not for me:

But for so much as to my lot here lights,

That with this present treatise doth agree,

True vertue to aduance, shall here recounted bee.

When all men had with full satietie iv

Of meates and drinkes their appetites suffiz’d,

To deedes of armes and proofe of cheualrie

They gan themselues addresse, full rich aguiz’d,

As each one had his furnitures deuiz’d.

And first of all issu’d Sir _Marinell_,

And with him sixe knights more, which enterpriz’d

To chalenge all in right of _Florimell_,

And to maintaine, that she all others did excell.

The first of them was hight Sir _Orimont_, v

A noble Knight, and tride in hard assayes:

The second had to name Sir _Bellisont_,

But second vnto none in prowesse prayse;

The third was _Brunell_, famous in his dayes;

The fourth _Ecastor_, of exceeding might;

The fift _Armeddan_, skild in louely layes;

The sixt was _Lansack_, a redoubted Knight:

All sixe well seene in armes, and prou’d in many a fight.

And them against came all that list to giust, vi

From euery coast and countrie vnder sunne:

None was debard, but all had leaue that lust.

The trompets sound; then all together ronne.

Full many deedes of armes that day were donne,

And many knights vnhorst, and many wounded,

As fortune fell; yet litle lost or wonne:

But all that day the greatest prayse redounded

To _Marinell_, whose name the Heralds loud resounded.

The second day, so soone as morrow light vii

Appear’d in heauen, into the field they came,

And there all day continew’d cruell fight,

With diuers fortune fit for such a game,

In which all stroue with perill to winne fame.

Yet whether side was victor, note be ghest:

But at the last the trompets did proclame

That _Marinell_ that day deserued best.

So they disparted were, and all men went to rest.

The third day came, that should due tryall lend viii

Of all the rest, and then this warlike crew

Together met, of all to make an end.

There _Marinell_ great deeds of armes did shew;

And through the thickest like a Lyon flew,

Rashing off helmes, and ryuing plates a sonder,

That euery one his daunger did eschew.

So terribly his dreadfull strokes did thonder,

That all men stood amaz’d, and at his might did wonder.

But what on earth can alwayes happie stand? ix

The greater prowesse greater perils find.

So farre he past amongst his enemies band,

That they haue him enclosed so behind,

As by no meanes he can himselfe outwind.

And now perforce they haue him prisoner taken;

And now they doe with captiue bands him bind;

And now they lead him thence, of all forsaken,

Vnlesse some succour had in time him ouertaken.

It fortun’d whylest they were thus ill beset, x

Sir _Artegall_ into the Tilt-yard came,

With _Braggadochio_, whom he lately met

Vpon the way, with that his snowy Dame.

Where when he vnderstood by common fame,

What euill hap to _Marinell_ betid,

He much was mou’d at so vnworthie shame,

And streight that boaster prayd, with whom he rid,

To change his shield with him, to be the better hid.

So forth he went, and soone them ouer hent, xi

Where they were leading _Marinell_ away,

Whom he assayld with dreadlesse hardiment,

And forst the burden of their prize to stay.

They were an hundred knights of that array;

Of which th’one halfe vpon himselfe did set,

The other[270] stayd behind to gard the pray.

But he ere long the former fiftie bet;

And from the other[271] fiftie soone the prisoner fet.

So backe he brought Sir _Marinell_ againe; xii

Whom hauing quickly arm’d againe anew,

They both together ioyned might and maine,

To set afresh on all the other crew.

Whom with sore hauocke soone they ouerthrew,

And chaced quite out of the field, that none

Against them durst his head to perill shew.

So were they left Lords of the field alone:

So _Marinell_ by him was rescu’d from his fone.

Which when he had perform’d, then backe againe xiii

To _Braggadochio_ did his shield restore:

Who all this while behind him did remaine,

Keeping there close with him in pretious store

That his false Ladie, as ye heard afore.

Then did the trompets sound, and Iudges rose,

And all these knights, which that day armour bore,

Came to the open hall, to listen whose

The honour of the prize should be adiudg’d by those.

And thether also came in open sight xiv

Fayre _Florimell_, into the common hall,

To greet his guerdon vnto euery knight,

And best to him, to whom the best should fall.

Then for that stranger knight they loud did call,

To whom that day they should the girlond yield.

Who came not forth, but for Sir _Artegall_

Came _Braggadochio_, and did shew his shield,

Which bore the Sunne brode blazed in a golden field.

The sight whereof did all with gladnesse fill: xv

So vnto him they did addeeme the prise

Of all that Tryumph. Then the trompets shrill

Don _Braggadochios_ name resounded thrise:

So courage lent a cloke to cowardise.

And then to him came fayrest _Florimell_,

And goodly gan to greet his braue emprise,

And thousand thankes him yeeld, that had so well

Approu’d that day, that she all others did excell.

To whom the boaster, that all knights did blot, xvi

With proud disdaine did scornefull answere make;

That what he did that day, he did it not

For her, but for his owne deare Ladies sake,

Whom on his perill he did vndertake,

Both her and eke all others to excell:

And further did vncomely speaches crake.

Much did his words the gentle Ladie quell,

And turn’d aside for shame to heare, what he did tell.

Then forth he brought his snowy _Florimell_, xvii

Whom _Trompart_ had in keeping there beside,

Couered from peoples gazement with a vele.

Whom when discouered they had throughly eide,

With great amazement they were stupefide;

And said, that surely _Florimell_ it was,

Or if it were not _Florimell_ so tride,

That _Florimell_ her selfe she then did pas.

So feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar has.

Which when as _Marinell_ beheld likewise, xviii

He was therewith exceedingly dismayd;

Ne wist he what to thinke, or to deuise,

But like as one, whom feends had made affrayd,

He long astonisht stood, ne ought he sayd,

Ne ought he did, but with fast fixed eies

He gazed still vpon that snowy mayd;

Whom euer as he did the more auize,

The more to be true _Florimell_ he did surmize.

As when two sunnes appeare in the azure[272] skye, xix

Mounted in _Phœbus_ charet fierie bright,

Both darting forth faire beames to each mans eye,

And both adorn’d with lampes of flaming light,

All that behold so strange prodigious sight,

Not knowing natures worke, nor what to weene,

Are rapt with wonder, and with rare affright.

So stood Sir _Marinell_, when he had seene

The semblant of this false by his faire beauties Queene.

All which when _Artegall_, who all this while xx

Stood in the preasse close couered, well aduewed,

And saw that boasters pride and gracelesse guile,

He could no longer beare, but forth issewed,

And vnto all himselfe there open shewed,

And to the boaster said; Thou losell base,

That hast with borrowed plumes thy selfe endewed,

And others worth with leasings doest deface,

When they are all restor’d, thou shalt rest in disgrace.

That shield, which thou doest beare, was it indeed, xxi

Which this dayes honour sau’d to _Marinell_;

But not that arme, nor thou the man I reed,

Which didst that seruice vnto _Florimell_.

For proofe shew forth thy sword, and let it tell,

What strokes, what dreadfull stoure it stird this day:

Or shew the wounds, which vnto thee befell;

Or shew the sweat, with which thou diddest sway

So sharpe a battell, that so many did dismay.

But this the sword, which wrought those cruell stounds, xxii

And this the arme, the which that shield did beare,

And these the signes, (so shewed forth his wounds)

By which that glorie gotten doth appeare.

As for this Ladie, which he sheweth here,

Is not (I wager) _Florimell_ at all;

But some fayre Franion, fit for such a fere,

That by misfortune in his hand did fall.

For proofe whereof, he bad them _Florimell_ forth call.

So forth the noble Ladie was ybrought, xxiii

Adorn’d with honor and all comely grace:

Whereto her bashfull shamefastnesse ywrought

A great increase in her faire blushing face;

As roses did with lillies interlace.

For of those words, the which that boaster threw,

She inly yet conceiued great disgrace.

Whom when as all the people such did vew,

They shouted loud, and signes of gladnesse all did shew.

Then did he set her by that snowy one, xxiv

Like the true saint beside the image set,

Of both their beauties to make paragone,

And triall, whether should the honor get.

Streight way so soone as both together met,

Th’enchaunted Damzell vanisht into nought:

Her snowy substance melted as with heat,

Ne of that goodly hew remayned ought,

But th’emptie girdle, which about her wast was wrought.

As when the daughter of _Thaumantes_ faire, xxv

Hath in a watry cloud displayed wide

Her goodly bow, which paints the liquid ayre;

That all men wonder at her colours pride;

All suddenly, ere one can looke aside,

The glorious picture vanisheth away,

Ne any token doth thereof abide:

So did this Ladies goodly forme decay,

And into nothing goe, ere one could it bewray.

Which when as all that present were, beheld, xxvi

They stricken were with great astonishment,

And their faint harts with senselesse horrour queld,

To see the thing, that seem’d so excellent,

So stolen from their fancies wonderment;

That what of it became, none vnderstood.

And _Braggadochio_ selfe with dreriment

So daunted was in his despeyring mood,

That like a lifelesse corse immoueable he stood.

But _Artegall_ that golden belt vptooke, xxvii

The which of all her spoyle was onely left;

Which was not hers, as many it mistooke,

But _Florimells_ owne girdle, from her reft,

While she was flying, like a weary weft,

From that foule monster, which did her compell

To perils great; which he vnbuckling eft,

Presented to the fayrest _Florimell_;

Who round about her tender wast it fitted well.

Full many Ladies often had assayd, xxviii

About their middles that faire belt to knit;

And many a one suppos’d to be a mayd:

Yet it to none of all their loynes would fit,

Till _Florimell_ about her fastned it.

Such power it had, that to no womans wast

By any skill or labour it would sit,

Vnlesse that she were continent and chast,

But it would lose or breake, that many had disgrast.

Whilest thus they busied were bout _Florimell_, xxix

And boastfull _Braggadochio_ to defame,

Sir _Guyon_ as by fortune then befell,

Forth from the thickest preasse of people came,

His owne good steed, which he had stolne, to clame;

And th’one hand seizing on his golden bit,

With th’other drew his sword: for with the same

He ment the thiefe there deadly to haue smit:

And had he not bene held, he nought had fayld of it.

Thereof great hurly burly moued was xxx

Throughout the hall, for that same warlike horse.

For _Braggadochio_ would not let him pas;

And _Guyon_ would him algates haue perforse,

Or it approue vpon his carrion corse.

Which troublous stirre when _Artegall_ perceiued,

He nigh them drew to stay th’auengers forse,

And gan inquire, how was that steed bereaued,

Whether by might extort, or else by slight deceaued.

Who all that piteous storie, which befell xxxi

About that wofull couple, which were slaine,

And their young bloodie babe to him gan tell;

With whom whiles he did in the wood remaine,

His horse purloyned was by subtill traine:

For which he chalenged the thiefe to fight.

But he for nought could him thereto constraine.

For as the death he hated such despight,

And rather had to lose, then trie in armes his right.

Which _Artegall_ well hearing, though no more xxxii

By law of armes there neede ones right to trie,

As was the wont of warlike knights of yore,

Then that his foe should him the field denie,

Yet further right by tokens to descrie,

He askt, what priuie tokens he did beare.

If that (said _Guyon_) may you satisfie,

Within his mouth a blacke spot doth appeare,

Shapt like a horses shoe, who list to seeke it there.

Whereof to make due tryall, one did take xxxiii

The horse in hand, within his mouth to looke:

But with his heeles so sorely he him strake,

That all his ribs he quite in peeces broke,

That neuer word from that day forth he spoke.

Another that would seeme to haue more wit,

Him by the bright embrodered hedstall tooke:

But by the shoulder him so sore he bit,

That he him maymed quite, and all his shoulder split.

Ne he his mouth would open vnto wight, xxxiv

Vntill that _Guyon_ selfe vnto him spake,

And called _Brigadore_ (so was he hight)

Whose voice so soone as he did vndertake,

Eftsoones he stood as still as any stake,

And suffred all his secret marke to see:

And when as he him nam’d, for ioy he brake

His bands, and follow’d him with gladfull glee,

And friskt, and flong aloft, and louted low on knee.

Thereby Sir _Artegall_ did plaine areed, xxxv

That vnto him the horse belong’d, and sayd;

Lo there Sir _Guyon_, take to you the steed,

As he with golden saddle is arayd;

And let that losell, plainely now displayd,

Hence fare on foot, till he an horse haue gayned.

But the proud boaster gan his doome vpbrayd,

And him reuil’d, and rated, and disdayned,

That iudgement so vniust against him had ordayned.

Much was the knight incenst with his lewd word, xxxvi

To haue reuenged that his villeny;

And thrise did lay his hand vpon his sword,

To haue him slaine, or dearely doen aby.

But _Guyon_ did his choler pacify,

Saying, Sir knight, it would dishonour bee

To you, that are our iudge of equity,

To wreake your wrath on such a carle as hee:[273]

It’s punishment enough, that all his shame doe see.

So did he mitigate Sir _Artegall_, xxxvii

But _Talus_ by the backe the boaster hent,

And drawing him out of the open hall,

Vpon him did inflict this punishment.

First he his beard did shaue, and fowly shent:

Then from him reft his shield, and it renuerst,

And blotted out his armes with falshood blent,

And himselfe baffuld, and his armes vnherst,

And broke his sword in twaine, and all his armour sperst.

The whiles his guilefull groome was fled away: xxxviii

But vaine it was to thinke from him to flie.

Who ouertaking him did disaray,

And all his face deform’d with infamie,

And out of court him scourged openly.

So ought all faytours, that true knighthood shame,

And armes dishonour with base villanie,

From all braue knights be banisht with defame:

For oft their lewdnes blotteth good deserts with blame.

Now when these counterfeits were thus vncased xxxix

Out of the foreside of their forgerie,

And in the sight of all men cleane disgraced,

All gan to iest and gibe full merilie

At the remembrance of their knauerie.

Ladies can laugh at Ladies, Knights at Knights,

To thinke with how great vaunt of brauerie

He them abused, through his subtill slights,

And what a glorious shew he made in all their sights.

There leaue we them in pleasure and repast, xl

Spending their ioyous dayes and gladfull nights,

And taking vsurie of time forepast,

With all deare delices and rare delights,

Fit for such Ladies and such louely knights:

And turne we[274] here to this faire furrowes end

Our wearie yokes, to gather fresher sprights,

That when as time to _Artegall_ shall tend,

We on his first aduenture may him forward send.

FOOTNOTES:

[270] xi 7 Th’other _1596_, _1609_

[271] 9 th’other _1596_, _1609_

[272] xix 1 th’azure _1609_

[273] xxxvi 8 hee _1596_

_Cant. IIII._

[Illustration:

_Artegall dealeth right betwixt

two brethren that doe striue,

Saues Terpine from the gallow tree,

and doth from death repriue._

]

Who so vpon him selfe will take the skill i

True Iustice vnto people to diuide,

Had neede haue mightie hands, for to fulfill

That, which he doth with righteous doome decide,

And for to maister wrong and puissant pride.

For vaine it is to deeme of things aright,

And makes wrong doers iustice to deride,

Vnlesse it be perform’d with dreadlesse might.

For powre is the right hand of Iustice truely hight.

Therefore whylome to knights of great emprise ii

The charge of Iustice giuen was in trust,

That they might execute her iudgements wise,

And with their might beat downe licentious lust,

Which proudly did impugne her sentence iust.

Whereof no brauer president[275] this day

Remaines on earth, preseru’d from yron rust

Of rude obliuion, and long times decay,

Then this of _Artegall_, which here we haue to say.

Who hauing lately left that louely payre, iii

Enlincked fast in wedlockes loyall bond,

Bold _Marinell_ with _Florimell_ the fayre,

With whom great feast and goodly glee he fond,

Departed from the Castle of the strond,

To follow his aduentures first intent,

Which long agoe he taken had in hond:

Ne wight with him for his assistance went,

But that great yron groome, his gard and gouernment.

With whom as he did passe by the sea shore, iv

He chaunst to come, whereas two comely Squires,

Both brethren, whom one wombe together bore,

But stirred vp with different desires,

Together stroue, and kindled wrathfull fires:

And them beside two seemely damzels stood,

By all meanes seeking to asswage their ires,

Now with faire words; but words did little good,

Now with sharpe threats; but threats the more increast their mood.

And there before them stood a Coffer strong, v

Fast bound on euery side with iron bands,

But seeming to haue suffred mickle wrong,

Either by being wreckt vppon the sands,

Or being carried farre from forraine lands.

Seem’d that for it these Squires at ods did fall,

And bent against them selues their cruell hands.

But euermore, those Damzels did forestall

Their furious encounter, and their fiercenesse pall.

But firmely fixt they were, with dint of sword, vi

And battailes doubtfull proofe their rights to try,

Ne other end their fury would afford,

But what to them Fortune would iustify.

So stood they both in readinesse thereby,[276]

To ioyne the combate with cruell intent;

When _Artegall_ arriuing happily,

Did stay a while their greedy bickerment,

Till he had questioned the cause of their dissent.

To whom the elder did this aunswere frame; vii

Then weete ye Sir, that we two brethren be,

To whom our sire, _Milesio_ by name,

Did equally bequeath his lands in fee,

Two Ilands, which ye there before you see

Not farre in sea; of which the one appeares

But like a little Mount of small degree;

Yet was as great and wide ere many yeares,

As that same other Isle, that greater bredth now beares.

But tract of time, that all things doth decay, viii

And this deuouring Sea, that naught doth spare,

The most part of my land hath washt away,

And throwne it vp vnto my brothers share:

So his encreased, but mine did empaire.

Before which time I lou’d, as was my lot,

That further mayd, hight _Philtra_ the faire,

With whom a goodly doure I should haue got,

And should haue ioyned bene to her in wedlocks knot.

Then did my younger brother _Amidas_ ix

Loue that same other Damzell, _Lucy_ bright,

To whom but little dowre allotted was;

Her vertue was the dowre, that did delight.

What better dowre can to a dame be hight?

But now when _Philtra_ saw my lands decay,

And former liuelod fayle, she left me quight,

And to my brother did ellope streight way:

Who taking her from me, his owne loue left astray.

She seeing then her selfe forsaken so, x

Through dolorous despaire, which she conceyued,

Into the Sea her selfe did headlong throw,

Thinking to haue her griefe by death bereaued.

But see how much her purpose was deceaued.

Whilest thus amidst the billowes beating of her

Twixt life and death, long to and fro she weaued,

She chaunst vnwares to light vppon this coffer,

Which to her in that daunger hope of life did offer.

The wretched mayd that earst desir’d to die, xi

When as the paine of death she tasted had,

And but halfe seene his vgly visnomie,

Gan to repent, that she had beene so mad,

For any death to chaunge life though most bad:

And catching hold of this Sea-beaten chest,

The lucky Pylot of her passage sad,

After long tossing in the seas distrest,

Her weary barke at last vppon mine Isle did rest.

Where I by chaunce then wandring on the shore, xii

Did her espy, and through my good endeuour

From dreadfull mouth of death, which threatned sore

Her to haue swallow’d vp, did helpe to saue her.

She then in recompence of that great fauour,

Which I on her bestowed, bestowed on me

The portion of that good, which Fortune gaue her,

Together with her selfe in dowry free;

Both goodly portions, but of both the better she.

Yet in this coffer, which she with her brought, xiii

Great threasure sithence we did finde contained;

Which as our owne we tooke, and so it thought.

But this same other Damzell since hath fained,

That to her selfe that threasure appertained;

And that she did transport the same by sea,

To bring it to her husband new ordained,

But suffred cruell shipwracke by the way.

But whether it be so or no, I can not say.