There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare xxxv

Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,

And neuer to be recreant, for feare

Of perill, or of ought that might befall:

So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.

Full glad and ioyous then young _Tristram_ grew,

Like as a flowre, whose silken leaues small,

Long shut vp in the bud from heauens vew,

At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew.

Thus when they long had treated to and fro, xxxvi

And _Calidore_ betooke him to depart,

Chyld _Tristram_ prayd, that he with him might goe

On his aduenture, vowing not to start,

But wayt on him in euery place and part.

Whereat Sir _Calidore_ did much delight,

And greatly ioy’d at his so noble hart,

In hope he sure would proue a doughtie knight:

Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.

Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire, xxxvii

To haue thy presence in my present quest,

That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,

And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:

But I am bound by vow, which I profest

To my dread[434] Soueraine, when I it assayd,

That in atchieuement of her high behest,

I should no creature ioyne vnto mine ayde,

For thy I may not graunt, that ye so greatly prayde.

But since this Ladie is all desolate, xxxviii

And needeth safegard now vpon her way,

Ye may doe well in this her needfull state

To succour her, from daunger of dismay;

That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.

The noble ympe of such new seruice fayne,

It gladly did accept, as he did say.

So taking courteous leaue, they parted twayne,

And _Calidore_ forth passed to his former payne.

But _Tristram_ then despoyling that dead knight xxxix

Of all those goodly implements[435] of prayse,

Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight

Of the bright mettall, shyning like Sunne rayes;

Handling and turning them a thousand wayes.

And after hauing them vpon him dight,

He tooke that Ladie, and her vp did rayse

Vpon the steed of her owne late dead knight,

So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.

There to their fortune leaue we them awhile, xl

And turne we backe to good Sir _Calidore_;

Who ere he thence had traueild many a mile,

Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore

This knight, whom _Tristram_ slew, had wounded sore

Another knight in his despiteous pryde;

There he that knight found lying on the flore,

With many wounds full perilous and wyde,

That all his garments, and the grasse in vermeill dyde.

And there beside him sate vpon the ground xli

His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning

With loud laments that most vnluckie stound,

And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning

To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.

Which sorie sight when _Calidore_ did vew

With heauie eyne, from teares vneath refrayning,

His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,

And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

Then speaking to the Ladie, thus he sayd: xlii

Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach

To tell, what cruell hand hath thus arayd

This knight vnarm’d, with so vnknightly breach

Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach,

I may auenge him of so foule despight.

The Ladie hearing his so courteous speach,

Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,

And from her sory hart few heauie words forth sight.

In which she shew’d, how that discourteous knight xliii

(Whom _Tristram_ slew) them in that shadow found,

Ioying together in vnblam’d delight,

And him vnarm’d, as now he lay on ground,

Charg’d with his speare and mortally did wound,

Withouten cause, but onely her to reaue

From him, to whom she was for euer bound:

Yet when she fled into that couert greaue,

He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leaue.

When _Calidore_ this ruefull storie had xliv

Well vnderstood, he gan of her demand,

What manner wight he was, and how yclad,

Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.

She then, like as she best could vnderstand,

Him thus describ’d, to be of stature large,

Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band

Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe

A Ladie on rough waues, row’d in a sommer barge.

Then gan Sir _Calidore_ to ghesse streight way xlv

By many signes, which she described had,

That this was he, whom _Tristram_ earst did slay,

And to her said; Dame be no longer sad:

For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad,

Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight;

These eyes him saw vpon the cold earth sprad,

The meede of his desert for that despight,

Which to your selfe he wrought, and to your loued knight.

Therefore faire Lady lay aside this griefe, xlvi

Which ye haue gathered to your gentle hart,

For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe

Were best deuise for this your louers smart,

And how ye may him hence, and to what part

Conuay to be recur’d. She thankt him deare,

Both for that newes he did to her impart,

And for the courteous care, which he did beare

Both to her loue, and to her selfe in that sad dreare.

Yet could she not deuise by any wit, xlvii

How thence she might conuay him to some place.

For him to trouble she it thought vnfit,

That was a straunger to her wretched case;

And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.

Which when as he perceiu’d, he thus bespake;

Faire Lady let it not you seeme disgrace,

To beare this burden on your dainty backe;

My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.

So off he did his shield, and downeward layd xlviii

Vpon the ground, like to an hollow beare;

And powring balme, which he had long puruayd,

Into his wounds, him vp thereon did reare,

And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,

Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.

Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,

In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:

Where what ensu’d, shall in next Canto be begonne.

FOOTNOTES:

[415] iii 2 deed and word] act and deed _1596_

[416] 3 eyes] eares _edd._

[417] 4 eares] eyes _edd._

[418] v 7 lincolne _1596_

[419] vi 7 launce _1609_

[420] vii 2 what _1596_

[421] viii 1 him _1596_

[422] ix 7 enranging _1609_

[423] xiv 3 Sayd] Staid _1609_

[424] neither _1596_, _1609_

[425] xv 8 since] sith _1609_

[426] xvi 5 iolliment, _1596_

[427] xix 6 hot _1609_

[428] xxii 6 Punching _1609_

[429] xxvii 1 may _1596_

[430] xxx 6 wrong _1596_

[431] xxxiii 2 sildome _1609_

[432] 7 since] sith _1609_

[433] xxxiv 4 faire _1596_

[434] xxxvii 6 drad _1609_

[435] xxxix 2 implements] ornaments _1609_

_Cant. III._

[Illustration:

_Calidore brings Priscilla home,

Pursues the Blatant Beast:

Saues Serena whilest Calepine

By Turpine is opprest._

]

True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd, i

The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.

For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd,

As by his manners, in which plaine is showne

Of what degree and what race he is growne.

For seldome seene, a trotting Stalion get

An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne:

So seldome seene, that one in basenesse set

Doth noble courage shew, with curteous manners met.

But euermore contrary hath bene tryde, ii

That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;

As well may be in _Calidore_ descryde,

By late ensample of that courteous deed,

Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,

Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought

Vnto the Castle where they had decreed.

There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,

To make abode that night he greatly was besought.

He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares, iii

That in his youth had beene of mickle might,

And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares:

But now weake age had dimd his candle light.

Yet was he courteous still to euery wight,

And loued all that did to armes incline,

And was the father of that wounded Knight,

Whom _Calidore_ thus carried on his chine,

And _Aldus_ was his name, and his sonnes _Aladine_.

Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight, iv

With bleeding wounds, brought home vpon a Beare,

By a faire Lady, and a straunger Knight,

Was inly touched with compassion deare,

And deare affection of so dolefull[436] dreare,

That he these words burst forth; Ah sory boy,

Is this the hope that to my hoary heare

Thou brings? aie me, is this the timely ioy,

Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope; v

So tickle is the state of earthly things,

That ere they come vnto their aymed scope,

They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,

And bring vs bale and bitter sorrowings,

In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:

This is the state of Keasars and of Kings.

Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,

Too greatly grieue at any his vnlucky case.

So well and wisely did that good old Knight vi

Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,

To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night,

And make their welcome to them well appeare:

That to Sir _Calidore_ was easie geare;

But that faire Lady would be cheard for nought,

But sigh’d and sorrow’d for her louer deare,

And inly did afflict her pensiue thought,

With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.

For she was daughter to a noble Lord, vii

Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy

To a great pere; but she did disaccord,

Ne could her liking to his loue apply,

But lou’d this fresh young Knight, who dwelt her ny,

The lusty _Aladine_, though meaner borne,

And of lesse liuelood and hability,

Yet full of valour, the which did adorne

His meanesse much, and make her th’others riches scorne.

So hauing both found fit occasion, viii

They met together in that luckelesse glade;

Where that proud Knight in his presumption

The gentle _Aladine_ did earst inuade,

Being vnarm’d, and set in secret shade.

Whereof she now bethinking, gan t’aduize,

How great a hazard she at earst had made

Of her good fame, and further gan deuize,

How she the blame might salue with coloured disguize.

But _Calidore_ with all good courtesie ix

Fain’d her to frolicke, and to put away

The pensiue fit of her melancholie;

And that old Knight by all meanes did assay,

To make them both as merry as he may.

So they the euening past, till time of rest,

When _Calidore_ in seemly good array

Vnto his bowre was brought, and there vndrest,

Did sleepe all night through weary trauell of his quest.

But faire _Priscilla_ (so that Lady hight) x

Would to no[437] bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,

But by her wounded loue did watch all night,

And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,

And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe.

So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him,

That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe

He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,

And droue away the stound, which mortally attacht him.

The morrow next, when day gan to vplooke, xi

He also gan vplooke with drery eye,

Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:

Where when he saw his faire _Priscilla_ by,

He deepely sigh’d[438], and groaned inwardly,

To thinke of this ill state, in which she stood,

To which she for his sake had weetingly

Now brought her selfe, and blam’d her noble blood:

For first, next after life, he tendered her good.

Which she perceiuing, did with plenteous teares xii

His care more then her owne compassionate,

Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares:

So both conspiring, gan to intimate

Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,

And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast,

How to saue whole her hazarded estate;

For which the onely helpe now left them last

Seem’d to be _Calidore_: all other helpes were past.

Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed, xiii

A courteous Knight, and full of faithfull trust:

Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed

Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust.

Earely, so soone as _Titans_ beames forth brust

Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay

All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust,[439]

_Calidore_ rising vp as fresh as day,

Gan freshly him addresse vnto his former way.

But first him seemed fit, that wounded Knight xiv

To visite, after this nights perillous passe,

And to salute him, if he were in plight,

And eke that Lady his faire louely lasse.

There he him found much better then he was,

And moued speach to him of things of course,

The anguish of his paine to ouerpasse:

Mongst which he namely did to him discourse,

Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse.

Of which occasion _Aldine_ taking hold, xv

Gan breake to him the fortunes of his loue,

And all his disaduentures to vnfold;

That _Calidore_ it dearly deepe did moue.

In th’end his kyndly courtesie to proue,

He him by all the bands of loue besought,

And as it mote a faithfull friend behoue,

To safeconduct his loue, and not for ought

To leaue, till to her fathers house he had her brought.

Sir _Calidore_ his faith thereto did plight, xvi

It to performe: so after little stay,

That she her selfe had to the iourney dight,

He passed forth with her in faire array,

Fearelesse, who ought did thinke, or ought did say,

Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite.

So as they past together on their way,

He can deuize this counter-cast of slight,

To giue faire colour to that Ladies cause in sight.

Streight to the carkasse of that Knight he went, xvii

The cause of all this euill, who was slaine

The day before by iust auengement

Of noble _Tristram_, where it did remaine:

There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,

And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.

So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,

Till to that Ladies fathers house he came,

Most pensiue man, through feare, what of his childe became.

There he arriuing boldly, did present xviii

The fearefull Lady to her father deare,

Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent

Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood sweare,

Since first he saw her, and did free from feare

Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft,

And by outragious force away did beare:

Witnesse thereof he shew’d his head there left,

And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft.

Most ioyfull man her sire was her to see, xix

And heare th’aduenture of her late mischaunce;

And thousand thankes to _Calidore_ for fee

Of his large paines in her deliueraunce

Did yeeld; Ne lesse the Lady did aduaunce.

Thus hauing her restored trustily,

As he had vow’d, some small continuaunce

He there did make, and then most carefully

Vnto his first exploite he did him selfe apply.

So as he was pursuing of his quest xx

He chaunst to come whereas a iolly Knight,

In couert shade him selfe did safely rest,

To solace with his Lady in delight:

His warlike armes he had from him vndight:

For that him selfe he thought from daunger free,

And far from enuious eyes that mote him spight.

And eke the Lady was full faire to see,

And courteous withall, becomming her degree.

To whom Sir _Calidore_ approaching nye, xxi

Ere they were well aware of liuing wight,

Them much abasht, but more him selfe thereby,

That he so rudely did vppon them light,

And troubled had their quiet loues delight.

Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,

Him selfe thereof he labour’d to acquite,

And pardon crau’d for his so rash default[440],

That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default.

With which his gentle words and goodly wit xxii

He soone allayd that Knights conceiu’d displeasure,

That he besought him downe by him to sit,

That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure;

And of aduentures, which had in his measure

Of so long waies to him befallen late.

So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure

His long aduentures gan to him relate,

Which he endured had through daungerous debate.

Of which whilest they discoursed both together, xxiii

The faire _Serena_[441] (so his Lady hight)

Allur’d with myldnesse of the gentle wether,

And pleasaunce of the place, the which was dight

With diuers flowres distinct with rare delight,[442]

Wandred about the fields, as liking led

Her wauering lust after her wandring sight,

To make a garland to adorne her hed,

Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred.

All sodainely out of the forrest nere xxiv

The Blatant Beast forth rushing vnaware,

Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there,

And in his wide great mouth away her bare,[443]

Crying aloud in vaine,[444] to shew her sad misfare

Vnto the Knights, and calling oft for ayde,

Who with the horrour of her haplesse care

Hastily starting vp,[445] like men dismayde,

Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

The Beast with their pursuit incited more, xxv

Into the wood was bearing her apace

For to haue spoyled her, when _Calidore_

Who was more light of foote and swift in chace,

Him ouertooke in middest of his race:

And fiercely charging him with all his might,

Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,

And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight;

For he durst not abide with _Calidore_ to fight.

Who nathelesse, when he the Lady saw xxvi

There left on ground, though in full euill plight,

Yet knowing that her Knight now neare did draw,

Staide not to succour her in that affright,

But follow’d fast the Monster in his flight:

Through woods and hils he follow’d him so fast,

That he nould let him breath nor gather spright,

But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast,

As if his lungs and lites were nigh a sunder brast.

And now by this Sir _Calepine_, so hight, xxvii

Came to the place, where he his Lady found

In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,

All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,

Hauing both sides through grypt with griesly wound.

His weapons soone from him he threw away,

And stouping downe to her in drery swound,

Vprear’d her from the ground whereon she lay,

And in his tender armes her forced vp to stay.

So well he did his busie paines apply, xxviii

That the faint sprite he did reuoke againe,

To her fraile mansion of mortality.

Then vp he tooke her twixt his armes twaine,

And setting on his steede, her did sustaine

With carefull hands soft footing[446] her beside,

Till to some place of rest they mote attaine,

Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,

Till she recured were of those her woundes wide.

Now when as _Phœbus_ with his fiery waine xxix

Vnto his Inne began to draw apace;

Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine,

In trauelling on foote so long a space,

Not wont on foote with heauy armes to trace,

Downe in a dale forby a riuers syde,

He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,

To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,

In hope there for his loue some succour to prouyde.

But comming to the riuers side, he found xxx

That hardly passable on foote it was:

Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,

Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas.

Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,

Deuising what to doe, he nigh espyde

An armed Knight approaching to the place,

With a faire Lady lincked by his syde,

The which themselues prepard thorough[447] the foord to ride.[448]

Whom _Calepine_ saluting (as became) xxxi

Besought of courtesie in that his neede,

For safe conducting of his sickely Dame,

Through that same perillous foord with better heede,

To take him vp behinde vpon his steed.

To whom that other did this taunt returne.

Perdy thou peasant Knight, mightst rightly reed

Me then to be full base and euill borne,

If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

But as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame, xxxii

So fare on foote till thou another gayne,

And let thy Lady likewise doe the same.

Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,

And proue thy manhood on the billowes vayne.

With which rude speach his Lady much displeased,[449]

Did him reproue, yet could him not restrayne,

And would on her owne Palfrey him haue eased,

For pitty of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased.

Sir _Calepine_ her thanckt, yet inly wroth xxxiii

Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused,

And carelesly into the riuer goth,

As in despight to be so fowle abused

Of a rude churle, whom often he accused

Of fowle discourtesie, vnfit for Knight;[450]

And strongly wading through the waues vnused,

With speare in th’one hand, stayd him selfe vpright,

With th’other staide his Lady vp with steddy might.

And all the while, that same discourteous Knight, xxxiv

Stood on the further bancke beholding him,

At whose calamity, for more despight

He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.

But when as _Calepine_ came to the brim,

And saw his carriage past that perill well,

Looking at that same Carle with count’nance grim,

His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,

And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell.

Vnknightly Knight, the blemish of that name, xxxv

And blot of all that armes vppon them take,

Which[451] is the badge of honour and of fame,

Loe I defie thee, and here challenge make,

That thou for euer doe those armes forsake,

And be for euer held a recreant Knight,

Vnlesse thou dare for thy deare Ladies sake,

And for thine owne defence on foote alight,

To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.

The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde, xxxvi

Seem’d not to weigh his threatfull words at all,

But laught them out, as if his greater pryde[452]

Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall:

Or had no courage, or else had no gall.

So much the more was _Calepine_ offended,

That him to no reuenge he forth could call,

But both his challenge and him selfe contemned,

Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

But he nought weighing what he sayd or did, xxxvii

Turned his steede about another way,

And with his Lady to the Castle rid,

Where was his won; ne did the other stay,

But after went directly as he may,

For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke,

Where he arriuing with the fall of day,

Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke,

And myld entreaty lodging did for her[453] beseeke.

But the rude Porter that no manners had, xxxviii

Did shut the gate against him in his face,

And entraunce boldly vnto him forbad.

Nathelesse the Knight now in so needy case,

Gan him entreat euen with submission base,

And humbly praid to let them in that night:

Who to him aunswer’d, that there was no place

Of lodging fit for any errant Knight,

Vnlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight.

Full loth am I (quoth he) as now at earst, xxxix

When day is spent, and rest vs needeth most,

And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst

With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost:

Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,

That should to me such curtesie afford,

Vnlesse that I were thereunto enforst.

But yet aread to me, how hight thy Lord,

That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford.

His name (quoth he) if that thou list to learne, xl

Is hight Sir _Turpine_, one of mickle might,

And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne

In all assaies to euery errant Knight,

Because of one, that wrought him fowle despight.

Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiaunt be,

That he should be so Sterne to stranger wight:

For seldome yet did liuing creature see,

That curtesie and manhood euer disagree.

But go thy waies to him, and fro me say, xli

That here is at his gate an errant Knight,

That house-rome craues, yet would be loth t’assay

The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night,

Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:

Yet if he needes will fight, craue leaue till morne,

And tell withall,[454] the lamentable plight,

In which this Lady languisheth forlorne,

That pitty craues, as he of woman was yborne.

The groome went streight way in, and to his Lord xlii

Declar’d the message, which that Knight did moue;

Who sitting with his Lady then at bord,

Not onely did not his demaund approue,[455]

But both himselfe reuil’d, and eke his loue;

Albe his Lady, that _Blandina_ hight,

Him of vngentle vsage did reproue[456]

And earnestly entreated that they might

Finde fauour to be lodged there for that same night.

Yet would he not perswaded be for ought, xliii

Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.

Which answer when the groome returning, brought

To _Calepine_, his heart did inly flame

With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,

That he could not thereof auenged bee:

But most for pitty of his dearest Dame,

Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;

Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee.

But all in vaine; for why, no remedy xliv

He saw, the present mischiefe to redresse,

But th’vtmost end perforce for to aby,

Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.

So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse,

And layd her vnderneath a bush to sleepe,

Couer’d with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse,

Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe,

And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day xlv

Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,

_Serena_ full of dolorous dismay,

Twixt darkenesse dread, and hope of liuing light,

Vprear’d her head to see that chearefull sight.

Then _Calepine_, how euer inly wroth,

And greedy to auenge that vile despight,

Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth

To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney goth.

He goth on foote all armed by her side, xlvi

Vpstaying still her selfe vppon her steede,

Being vnhable else alone to ride;

So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:

Till that at length, in his extreamest neede,

He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy,

Pursuing him apace with greedy speede,

Whom well he wist to be some enemy,

That meant to make aduantage of his misery.

Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew, xlvii

To weet what issue would thereof betyde,

Tho whenas he approched nigh in vew,

By certaine signes he plainely him descryde,

To be the man, that with such scornefull pryde

Had him abusde, and shamed yesterday;

Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde

His former malice to some new assay,

He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.

By this the other came in place likewise, xlviii

And couching close his speare and all his powre,

As bent to some malicious enterprise,

He bad him stand, t’abide the bitter stoure

Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make auoure

Of the lewd words and deedes, which he had done:

With that ran at him, as he would deuoure

His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun

The perill of his pride, or else be ouerrun.

Yet he him still pursew’d from place to place, xlix

With full intent him cruelly to kill,

And like a wilde goate round about did chace,

Flying the fury of his bloudy will.

But his best succour and refuge was still

Behinde his Ladies backe, who to him cryde,

And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,

As euer he to Lady was affyde,

To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacifyde.

But he the more thereby enraged was, l

And with more eager felnesse him pursew’d,

So that at length, after long weary chace,

Hauing by chaunce a close aduantage vew’d,

He ouer raught him, hauing long eschew’d

His violence in vaine, and with his spere

Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew’d

In great aboundance, as a well it were,

That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound, li

But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry,

Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground

He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously:

The which was certes in great ieopardy,

Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,

And saued from his cruell villany.

Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought:

That in another Canto shall to end be brought.

FOOTNOTES:

[436] iv 5 doolefull _1609_

[437] x 2 Would not to _1609_

[438] xi 5 sigh’t _1609_

[439] xiii 7 rust. _1596_

[440] xxi 8 default] assault _conj. Collier_

[441] xxiii 2 _Serena_] _Crispina_ _1596 Bodl._

[442] 5 delight; _1596_, _1609_

[443] xxiv 4 bare. _1596_, _1609_

[444] 5 in vaine _om. 1612-13_

[445] 8 starting, vp _1596_

[446] xxviii 6 softing foot _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1679_

[447] xxx 9 through _1596_

[448] ride _1596_

[449] xxxii 6 displeased. _1596_

[450] xxxiii 6 Knight _1596_

[451] xxxv 3 Which] That _1596 Bodl._

[452] xxxvi 3 pryde, _1596_

[453] xxxvii 9 for her did _1596 Bodl._

[454] xli 7 with all _1596_

[455] xlii 4 approue] reproue _1596_

[456] 7 reproue] approue _1596_

_Cant. IIII._

[Illustration:

_Calepine by a saluage man

from Turpine reskewed is,

And whylest an Infant from a Beare

he saues, his love doth misse._

]

Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost, i

Hauing spent all her mastes and her ground-hold,

Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,

At last some fisher barke doth neare behold,

That giueth comfort to her courage cold.

Such was the state of this most courteous knight

Being oppressed by that faytour bold,

That he remayned in most perilous plight,

And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright.

Till that by fortune, passing all foresight, ii

A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne,

Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright,

Toward the same incessantly did ronne,

To vnderstand what there was to be donne.

There he this most discourteous crauen found,

As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,

Chasing the gentle _Calepine_ around,

Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound.

The saluage man, that neuer till this houre iii

Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,

Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure

Was much emmoued at his perils vew,

That euen his ruder hart began to rew,

And feele compassion of his euill plight,

Against his foe that did him so pursew:

From whom he meant to free him, if he might,

And him auenge of that so villenous despight.

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight, iv

Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments,

Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite,

But naked without needfull vestiments,

To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,

He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,

No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents:

For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare,[457]

He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare.

He stayed not t’aduize,[458] which way were best v

His foe t’assayle, or how himselfe to gard,

But with fierce fury and with force infest

Vpon him ran; who being well prepard,

His first assault full warily did ward,

And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare

Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard,

That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare;

Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

With that the wyld man more enraged grew, vi

Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray,

And with mad mood againe vpon him flew,

Regarding neither speare, that mote him slay,

Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay,

The saluage nation doth all dread despize:

Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,

And held the same so hard, that by no wize

He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize.

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro, vii

And euery way did try, but all in vaine:

For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,

But hayld and puld with all his might, and maine,

That from his steed him nigh he drew againe.

Who hauing now no vse of his long speare,

So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,

Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,

He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

But after him the wyld man ran apace, viii

And him pursewed with importune speed,

(For he was swift as any Bucke in chace)

And had he not in his extreamest need,

Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,

He had him ouertaken in his flight.

Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed,

Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,

And shrieked out, a thing vncomely for a knight.

But when the Saluage saw his labour vaine, ix

In following of him, that fled so fast,

He wearie woxe, and backe return’d againe

With speede vnto the place, whereas he last

Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast.

There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,

And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast,

Both for the perill of the present stound,

And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound.

For though she were right glad, so rid to bee x

From that vile lozell, which her late offended,

Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,

And perill by this saluage man pretended;

Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended,

By reason that her knight was wounded sore.

Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended

To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore,

To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare, xi

Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,

And by rude tokens made to her appeare

His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,

Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;

For other language had he none nor speach,

But a soft murmure, and confused sound

Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach,

T’expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach.

And comming likewise to the wounded knight, xii

When he beheld the streames of purple blood

Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight,

He made great mone after his saluage mood,

And running streight into the thickest wood,

A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought,

Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood:

The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,

And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.

Then taking vp that Recreants shield and speare, xiii

Which earst he left, he signes vnto them made,

With him to wend vnto his wonning neare:

To which he easily did them perswade.[459]

Farre in the forrest by a hollow glade,

Couered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode

Did vnderneath them make a gloomy[460] shade;

Where[461] foot of liuing creature neuer trode,

Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.

Thether[462] he brought these vnacquainted guests; xiv

To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed

By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests.

But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrewed,

Must be their bed, their pillow was vnsowed,

And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:

For their bad Stuard neither plough’d nor sowed,

Ne fed on flesh, ne euer of wyld beast

Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first beheast.

Yet howsoeuer base and meane it were, xv

They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,

Which had them freed from that deadly feare,

And sau’d from being to that caytiue thrall.

Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)

Compelled were themselues a while to rest,

Glad of that easement, though it were but small;

That hauing there their wounds awhile redrest,

They mote the abler be to passe vnto the rest.

During which time, that wyld man did apply xvi

His best endeuour, and his daily paine,

In seeking all the woods both farre and nye

For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine,

When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine.

So as ere long he had that knightes wound

Recured well, and made him whole againe:

But that same Ladies hurts[463] no herbe he found,

Which could redresse, for it was inwardly vnsound.

Now when as _Calepine_ was woxen strong, xvii

Vpon a day he cast abrode to wend,

To take the ayre, and heare the thrushes song,

Vnarm’d, as fearing neither foe nor frend,

And without sword his person to defend.

There him befell, vnlooked for before,

An hard aduenture with vnhappie end,

A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore

Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.

The litle babe did loudly scrike[464] and squall, xviii

And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,

As if his cry did meane for helpe to call

To _Calepine_, whose eares those shrieches shrill

Percing[465] his hart with pities point did thrill;

That after him[466] he ran with zealous haste,

To rescue th’infant, ere he did him kill:

Whom though he saw now somewhat ouerpast,

Yet by the cry he follow’d, and pursewed fast.

Well then him chaunst his heauy armes to want, xix

Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,

And hinder him from libertie to pant:

For hauing long time, as his daily weed,

Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,

Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,

That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed

From bels and iesses, which did let her flight,

Him seem’d his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.

So well he sped him, that the wearie Beare xx

Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay,

And without weapon him assayling neare,

Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.

Wherewith the beast enrag’d to loose[467] his pray,

Vpon him turned, and with greedie force

And furie, to be crossed in his way,

Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse

To be aueng’d on him, and to deuoure his corse.

But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd, xxi

But catching vp in hand a ragged stone,

Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)

Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone

Into his gaping throte, that made him grone

And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,

Being vnable to digest that bone;

Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe,

Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

Whom when as he thus combred did behold, xxii

Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast,

He with him closd, and laying mightie hold

Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,

That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast;

And then oppressing him with vrgent paine,

Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast,

Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,

And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine.

Then tooke he vp betwixt his armes twaine xxiii

The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;

Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,

From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,

And from his face the filth that did it ray,

And euery litle limbe he searcht around,

And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay,

Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound

Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.

So hauing all his bands againe vptyde, xxiv

He with him thought backe to returne againe:

But when he lookt about on euery syde,

To weet which way were best to entertaine,

To bring him to the place, where he would faine,

He could no path nor tract of foot descry,

Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme.

For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,

That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

Much was he then encombred, ne could tell xxv

Which way to take: now West he went a while,

Then North; then neither, but as fortune fell.

So vp and downe he wandred many a mile,

With wearie trauell and vncertaine toile,

Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end;

And euermore his louely litle spoile

Crying for food, did greatly him offend.

So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend.

At last about the setting of the Sunne, xxvi

Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,

And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne:

Where looking all about, where he mote fynd

Some place of succour to content his mynd,

At length he heard vnder the forrests syde

A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd,

Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,

And oft complayn’d of fate, and fortune oft defyde.

To whom approching, when as she perceiued xxvii

A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,

As if she doubted to haue bene deceiued,

Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd.

Whom when as _Calepine_ saw so dismayd,

He to her drew, and with faire blandishment

Her chearing vp, thus gently to her sayd;

What be you wofull Dame, which thus lament,

And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent.

To whom she thus, What[468] need me Sir to tell, xxviii

That which your selfe haue earst ared so right?

A wofull dame ye haue me termed well;

So much more wofull, as my wofull plight

Cannot redressed be by liuing wight.

Nathlesse (quoth he) if need doe not you bynd,

Doe it disclose, to ease your grieued spright:

Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd

Find remedie vnsought, which seeking cannot fynd.

Then thus began the lamentable Dame; xxix

Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord,

I am th’vnfortunate _Matilde_ by name,

The wife of bold Sir _Bruin_, who is Lord

Of all this land, late conquer’d by his sword

From a great Gyant, called _Cormoraunt_;

Whom he did ouerthrow by yonder foord,

And in three battailes did so deadly daunt,

That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt.

So is my Lord now seiz’d of all the land, xxx

As in his fee, with peaceable estate,

And quietly doth hold it in his hand,

Ne any dares with him for it debate.

But to these[469] happie fortunes, cruell fate

Hath ioyn’d one euill, which doth ouerthrow[470]

All these our ioyes, and all our blisse abate;

And like in time to further ill to grow,

And all this land with endlesse losse to ouerflow.

For th’heauens enuying our prosperitie, xxxi

Haue not vouchsaft to graunt vnto vs twaine

The gladfull blessing of posteritie,

Which we might see after our selues remaine

In th’heritage of our vnhappie paine:

So that for want of heires it to defend,

All is in time like to returne againe

To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend

To leape into the same after our liues end.

But most my Lord is grieued herewithall, xxxii

And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke

That all this land vnto his foe shall fall,

For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke,

That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.

Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne

_Be gotten, not begotten_, which should drinke

And dry vp all the water, which doth ronne

In the next brooke, by whom that feend shold be fordonne.

Well hop’t he then, when this was propheside, xxxiii

That from his sides[471] some noble chyld should rize,

The which through fame should farre be magnifide,

And this proud gyant should with braue emprize

Quite ouerthrow, who now ginnes to despize

The good Sir _Bruin_, growing farre in yeares;

Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize.

Lo this my cause of griefe to you appeares;

For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth ceaselesse teares.

Which when he heard, he inly touched was xxxiv

With tender ruth for her vnworthy griefe,

And when he had deuized of her case,

He gan in mind conceiue a fit reliefe

For all her paine, if please her make the priefe.

And hauing cheared her, thus said; Faire[472] Dame,

In euils counsell is the comfort chiefe,

Which though I be not wise enough to frame,

Yet as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame.

If that the cause of this your languishment xxxv

Be lacke of children, to supply your place,

Lo[473] how good fortune doth to you present

This litle babe, of sweete and louely face,

And spotlesse spirit, in which ye may enchace

What euer formes ye list thereto apply,

Being now soft and fit them to embrace;

Whether ye list him traine in cheualry,

Or noursle vp in lore of learn’d Philosophy.

And certes it hath oftentimes bene seene, xxxvi

That of the like, whose linage was vnknowne,

More braue and noble knights haue raysed beene,

As their victorious deedes haue often showen,

Being with fame through many Nations blowen,

Then those, which haue bene dandled in the lap.

Therefore some thought, that those braue imps were sowen

Here by the Gods, and fed with heauenly sap,

That made them grow so high t’all honorable hap.

The Ladie hearkning to his sensefull speach, xxxvii

Found nothing that he said, vnmeet nor geason,

Hauing oft seene it tryde, as he did teach.

Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,

Agreeing well both with the place and season,

She gladly did of that same babe accept,

As of her owne by liuerey and seisin,

And hauing ouer it a litle wept,

She bore it thence, and euer as her owne it kept.

Right glad was _Calepine_ to be so rid xxxviii

Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought:

Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did,

And with her husband vnder hand so wrought,

That when that infant vnto him she brought,

She made him thinke it surely was his owne,

And it in goodly thewes so well vpbrought,

That it became a famous knight well knowne

And did right noble deedes, the which elswhere are showne.

But _Calepine_, now being left alone xxxix

Vnder the greenewoods side in sorie plight,

Withouten armes or steede to ride vpon,

Or house to hide his head from heauens spight,

Albe that Dame by all the meanes she might,

Him oft desired home with her to wend,

And offred him, his courtesie to requite,

Both horse and armes, and what so else to lend,

Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend.

And for exceeding griefe which inly grew, xl

That he his loue so lucklesse now had lost,

On the cold ground, maugre himselfe he threw,

For fell despight, to be so sorely crost;

And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,

Vowing, that neuer he in bed againe

His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,

Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaine,

Or vnderstand,[474] that she in safetie did remaine.

FOOTNOTES:

[457] iv 8 beare _1596_

[458] v 1 stay’d not to _1609_

[459] xiii 4 perswade _1596_

[460] 7 gloamy _1609_

[461] 8 Where] There _1596_

[462] xiv 1 Thither _1609_

[463] xvi 8 hurt _1612-13_

[464] xviii 1 scrieke _1609_

[465] 5 Pearcing _1609 passim_

[466] 6 him, _1596_, _1609_

[467] xx 5 lose _1609_

[468] xxviii 1 what _1596_

[469] xxx 5 these] those _1609_

[470] 6 ouerthow _1596_

[471] xxxiii 2 side _1609_

[472] xxxiv 6 faire _1596_

[473] xxxv 3 Lo] Low _1596_

_Cant. V._

[Illustration:

_The saluage serues Matilda[475] well

till she Prince Arthure fynd,

Who her together with his Squyre

with th’Hermit leaues behynd._

]

O What an easie thing is to descry i

The gentle bloud, how euer it be wrapt[476]

In sad misfortunes foule deformity,

And wretched sorrowes, which haue often hapt?

For howsoeuer it may grow mis-shapt,

Like this wyld man, being vndisciplynd,

That to all vertue it may seeme vnapt,

Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd,

And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd.

That plainely may in this wyld man be red, ii

Who though he were still in this desert wood,

Mongst saluage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,

Ne euer saw faire guize, ne learned good,

Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood,

By gentle vsage of that wretched Dame.

For certes he was borne of noble blood,

How euer by hard hap he hether came;

As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.

Who when as now long time he lacked had iii

The good Sir _Calepine_, that farre was strayd,

Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,

As he of some misfortune were afrayd:

And leauing there this Ladie all dismayd,

Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde,

To seeke, if he perchance a sleepe were layd,

Or what so else were vnto him betyde:

He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde.

Tho backe returning to that sorie Dame, iv

He shewed semblant of exceeding mone,

By speaking signes, as he them best could frame;

Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,

Now beating his hard head vpon a stone,

That ruth it was to see him so lament.

By which she well perceiuing, what was done,

Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,

And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment.

Vpon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw, v

Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,

That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,

As if her breast new launcht[477] with murdrous knife,

Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life.

There she long groueling, and deepe groning lay,

As if her vitall powers were at strife

With stronger death, and feared their decay,

Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous assay.

Whom when the Saluage saw so sore distrest, vi

He reared her vp from the bloudie ground,

And sought by all the meanes, that he could best

Her to recure out of that stony swound,

And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound.

Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,

Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound,

But day and night did vexe her carefull thought,

And euer more and more her owne affliction wrought.

At length, when as no hope of his retourne vii

She saw now left, she cast to leaue the place,

And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,

To seeke some comfort in that sorie case.

His steede now strong through rest so long a space,

Well as she could, she got, and did bedight,

And being thereon mounted, forth did pace,

Withouten guide, her to conduct aright,

Or gard her to defend from bold oppressors might.

Whom when her Host saw readie to depart, viii

He would not suffer her alone to fare,

But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.

Those warlike armes, which _Calepine_ whyleare

Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare,

And put them all about himselfe vnfit,

His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare.

But without sword vpon his thigh to sit:

Sir _Calepine_ himselfe away had hidden it.

So forth they traueld an vneuen payre, ix

That mote to all men seeme an vncouth sight;

A saluage man matcht with a Ladie fayre,

That rather seem’d the conquest of his might,

Gotten by spoyle, then purchaced aright.

But he did her attend most carefully,

And faithfully did serue both day and night,

Withouten thought of shame or villeny,

Ne euer shewed signe of foule disloyalty.

Vpon a day as on their way they went, x

It chaunst some furniture about her steed

To be disordred by some accident:

Which to redresse, she did th’assistance need

Of this her groome, which he by signes did reede,

And streight his combrous armes aside did lay

Vpon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed,

And in his homely wize began to assay

T’amend what was amisse, and put in right aray.

Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard, xi

Lo where a knight together with his squire,

All arm’d to point came ryding thetherward,

Which seemed by their portance and attire,

To be two errant knights, that did inquire

After aduentures, where they mote them get.

Those were to weet (if that ye it require[478])

Prince _Arthur_ and young _Timias_, which met

By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

After that _Timias_ had againe recured xii

The fauour of _Belphebe_, (as ye heard)

And of her grace did stand againe assured,

To happie blisse he was full high vprear’d,

Nether of enuy, nor of chaunge afeard,

Though many foes did him maligne therefore,

And with vniust detraction him did beard;

Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,

That in her soueraine lyking he dwelt euermore.

But of them all, which did his mine seeke xiii

Three mightie enemies[479] did him most despight,

Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,

That him not onely sought by open might

To ouerthrow, but to supplant by slight.

The first of them by name was cald _Despetto_,

Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight;

The second not so strong but wise, _Decetto_;

The third nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest _Defetto_.

Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ, xiv

And seuerall deceipts, but all in vaine:

For neither they by force could him destroy,

Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine.

Therefore conspiring all together plaine,

They did their counsels now in one compound;

Where singled forces faile, conioynd may gaine.

The _Blatant Beast_ the fittest meanes they found,

To worke his vtter shame, and throughly him confound.

Vpon a day as they the time did waite, xv

When he did raunge the wood for saluage game,

They sent that _Blatant Beast_ to be a baite,

To draw him from his deare beloued dame,

Vnwares into the daunger of defame.

For well they wist, that Squire to be so bold,

That no one beast in forrest wylde or tame,

Met him in chase, but he it challenge would,

And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy hould.

The hardy boy, as they deuised had, xvi

Seeing the vgly Monster passing by,

Vpon him set, of perill nought adrad,

Ne skilfull of the vncouth ieopardy;

And charged him so fierce and furiously,

That his great force vnable to endure,

He forced was to turne from him and fly:

Yet ere he fled, he with his tooth impure

Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.

Securely he did after him pursew, xvii

Thinking by speed to ouertake his flight;

Who through thicke woods and brakes and briers him drew,

To weary him the more, and waste his spight,

So that he now has almost spent his spright.

Till that at length vnto a woody glade

He came, whose couert stopt his further sight,

There his three foes shrowded in guilefull shade,

Out of their ambush broke, and gan him to inuade.

Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile, xviii

Burning with inward rancour and despight,

And heaped strokes did round about him haile

With so huge force, that seemed nothing might

Beare off their blowes, from percing thorough quite.

Yet he them all so warily did ward,

That none of them in his soft flesh did bite,

And all the while his backe for best safegard,

He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard.

Like a wylde Bull, that being at a bay, xix

Is bayted of a mastiffe, and a hound,

And a curre-dog; that doe him sharpe assay

On euery side, and beat about him round;

But most that curre barking with bitter sownd,

And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber,

That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground,

And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder,

So did that Squire his foes disperse, and driue asonder.

Him well behoued so; for his three foes xx

Sought to encompasse him on euery side,

And dangerously did round about enclose.

But most of all _Defetto_ him annoyde,

Creeping behinde him still to haue destroyde:

So did _Decetto_ eke him circumuent,

But stout _Despetto_ in his greater pryde,

Did front him face to face against him bent,

Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.

Till that at length nigh tyrd with former chace, xxi

And weary now with carefull keeping ward,

He gan to shrinke, and somewhat to giue place,

Full like ere long to haue escaped hard;

When as vnwares he in the forrest heard

A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast

Did warne his rider be vppon his gard;

With noise whereof the Squire now nigh aghast,

Reuiued was, and sad dispaire away did cast.

Eftsoones he spide a Knight approching nye, xxii

Who seeing one in so great daunger set

Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye;

To reskue him, and his weake part abet,

For pitty so to see him ouerset.

Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,

They fled, and fast into the wood did get:

Him booted not to thinke them to pursew,

The couert was so thicke, that did no passage shew.

Then turning to that swaine, him well he knew xxiii

To be his _Timias_, his owne true Squire,

Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,

And him embracing twixt his armes entire,

Him thus bespake; My liefe, my lifes desire,

Why haue ye me alone thus long yleft?

Tell me what worlds despight, or heauens yre

Hath you thus long away from me bereft?

Where haue ye all this while bin wandring, where bene[480] weft?

With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne: xxiv

To whom the Squire nought aunswered againe,

But shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,

His deare affect with silence did restraine,

And shut vp all his plaint in priuy paine.

There they awhile some gracious speaches spent,

As to them seemed fit time to entertaine.

After all which vp to their steedes they went,

And forth together rode a comely couplement.

So now they be arriued both in sight xxv

Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found

About the sad _Serena_ things to dight,

With those braue armours lying on the ground,

That seem’d the spoile of some right well renownd.

Which when that Squire beheld, he to them stept,

Thinking to take them from that hylding hound:

But he it seeing, lightly to him lept,

And sternely with strong hand it from his handling kept.

Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly looke, xxvi

And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne,

Him with his fist vnwares on th’head he strooke,

That made him downe vnto the earth encline;

Whence soone vpstarting much he gan repine,

And laying hand vpon his wrathfull blade,

Thought therewithall forthwith him to haue slaine,

Who it perceiuing, hand vpon him layd,

And greedily him griping, his auengement stayd.

With that aloude the faire _Serena_ cryde xxvii

Vnto the Knight, them to dispart in twaine:

Who to them stepping did them soone diuide,

And did from further violence restraine,

Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine.

Then gan the Prince, of her for to demand,

What and from whence she was, and by what traine

She fell into that saluage villaines hand,

And whether free with him she now were, or in band.

To whom she thus; I am, as now ye see, xxviii

The wretchedst Dame, that liue[481] this day on ground,

Who both in minde, the which most grieueth me,

And body haue receiu’d a mortall wound,

That hath me driuen to this drery stound.

I was erewhile, the loue of _Calepine_,

Who whether he aliue be to be found,

Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine,

Since[482] I him lately lost, vneath is to define.

In saluage forrest I him lost of late, xxix

Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,

Or else remained in most wretched state,

Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead

Kept, and deliuered me from deadly dread.

In such a saluage wight, of brutish kynd,

Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,

It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd

So milde humanity, and perfect gentle mynd.

Let me therefore this fauour for him finde, xxx

That ye will not your wrath vpon him wreake,

Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,

Ne yours conceiue, ne but by tokens speake:

Small praise to proue your powre on wight so weake.

With such faire words she did their heate asswage,

And the strong course of their displeasure breake,

That they to pitty turnd their former rage,

And each sought to supply the office of her page.

So hauing all things well about her dight, xxxi

She on her way cast forward to proceede,

And they her forth conducted, where they might

Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede.

For now her wounds corruption gan to breed;

And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was

Of that same Monster late, for lacke of heed,

Now gan to faint, and further could not pas

Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has.

So forth they rode together all in troupe, xxxii

To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease

To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe,

And all the way the Prince sought to appease

The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease,

By all the courteous meanes he could inuent,

Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,

And otherwhile with good encouragement,

To make them to endure the pains, did them torment.

Mongst which, _Serena_ did to him relate xxxiii

The foule discourt’sies and vnknightly parts,

Which _Turpine_ had vnto her shewed late,

Without compassion of her cruell smarts,

Although _Blandina_ did with all her arts

Him otherwise perswade, all that she might;

Yet he of malice, without her desarts,

Not onely her excluded late at night,

But also trayterously did wound her weary Knight.

Wherewith the Prince sore moued, there auoud, xxxiv

That soone as he returned backe againe,

He would auenge th’abuses of that proud

And shamefull Knight, of whom she did complaine.

This wize did they each other entertaine,

To passe the tedious trauell of the way;

Till towards night they came vnto a plaine,

By which a little Hermitage there lay,

Far from all neighbourhood[483], the which annoy it may.

And nigh thereto a little Chappell stoode, xxxv

Which being all with Yuy ouerspred,

Deckt all the roofe, and shadowing the roode,

Seem’d like a groue faire braunched ouer hed:

Therein the Hermite, which his life here led

In streight obseruaunce of religious vow,

Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;

And therein he likewise was praying now,

Whenas these Knights arriu’d, they wist not where nor how.

They stayd not there, but streight way in did pas, xxxvi

Whom when the Hermite present saw in place,

From his deuotion streight he troubled was;

Which breaking off[484] he toward them did pace,

With stayed steps, and graue beseeming grace:

For well it seem’d, that whilome he had beene

Some[485] goodly person, and of gentle race,

That could his good to all, and well did weene,

How each to entertaine with curt’sie well beseene.

And soothly it was sayd by common fame, xxxvii

So long as age enabled him thereto,

That he had bene a man of mickle name,

Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:

But being aged now and weary to

Of warres delight, and worlds contentious toyle,

The name of knighthood he did disauow,

And hanging vp his armes and warlike spoyle,

From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.

He thence them led into his Hermitage, xxxviii

Letting their steedes to graze vpon the greene:

Small was his house, and like a little cage,

For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,

Deckt with greene boughes, and flowers gay beseene.

Therein he them full faire did entertaine

Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene

For courting fooles, that curtesies would faine,

But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.

Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee xxxix

Did vse, his feeble body to sustaine;

The which full gladly they did take in glee[486],

Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,

But being well suffiz’d, them rested faine.

But faire _Serene_ all night could take no rest,

Ne yet that gentle Squire[487], for grieuous paine

Of their late woundes, the which the _Blatant Beast_

Had giuen them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.

So all that night they past in great disease, xl

Till that the morning, bringing earely light

To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,

And some asswagement of their painefull plight.

Then vp they rose, and gan them selues to dight

Vnto their iourney; but that Squire and Dame

So faint and feeble were, that they ne might

Endure to trauell, nor one foote to frame:

Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame.

Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in mynd xli

Would not permit, to make there[488] lenger stay,

Was forced there to leaue them both behynd,

In that good Hermits charge, whom he did pray

To tend them well. So forth he went his way,

And with him eke the saluage, that whyleare

Seeing his royall vsage and array,

Was greatly growne in loue of that braue pere,

Would needes depart, as shall declared be elsewhere.

FOOTNOTES:

[474] xl 9 vnderstand; _1596_

[475] Arg. 1 _Matilda_] _Serena_ _corr. Hughes rightly_

[476] i 2 bewrapt _1596_

[477] v 4 launc’t _1609 passim_

[478] xi 7 requre _1596_

[479] xiii 2 en’mies _1609_

[480] xxiii 9 bene] bin _1609_

[481] xxviii 2 liues _1609_

[482] 9 Sith _1609_

[483] xxxiv 9 neighbourhoood _1596_

[484] xxxvi 4 off] of _1596_

[485] 7 Soome _1596_

[486] xxxix 3 gree _1609_

[487] 7 Squire _1596_

[488] xli 2 there] their _1596_

_Cant. VI._

[Illustration:

_The Hermite heales both Squire and dame

Of their sore maladies:

He Turpine doth defeate, and shame

For his late villanies._

]

No wound, which warlike hand of enemy i

Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,

As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy

Infixeth in the name of noble wight:

For by no art, nor any leaches might

It euer can recured be againe;

Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright

Of _Podalyrius_ did in it retaine,

Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine.

Such were the wounds, the which that _Blatant Beast_ ii

Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame;

And being such, were now much more increast,

For want of taking heede vnto the same,

That now corrupt and curelesse they became.

Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best,

With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame

The poysnous humour, which did most infest

Their ranckling wounds, and euery day them duely drest.

For he right well in Leaches craft was seene, iii

And through the long experience of his dayes,

Which had in many fortunes tossed beene,

And past through many perillous assayes,

He knew the diuerse went of mortall wayes,

And in the mindes of men had great insight;

Which with sage counsell, when they went astray,

He could enforme, and them reduce aright,

And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright.

For whylome he had bene a doughty Knight, iv

As any one, that liued in his daies,

And proued oft in many perillous fight,

Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,

And in all battels bore away the baies.

But being now attacht with timely age,

And weary of this worlds vnquiet waies,

He tooke him selfe vnto this Hermitage,

In which he liu’d alone, like carelesse bird in cage.

One day, as he was searching of their wounds, v

He found that they had festred priuily,

And ranckling inward with vnruly stounds,

The inner parts now gan to putrify,

That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery,

And rather needed to be disciplinde

With holesome reede of sad sobriety,

To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:

Giue salues to euery sore, but counsell to the minde.

So taking them apart into his cell, vi

He to that point fit speaches gan to frame,

As he the art of words knew wondrous well,

And eke could doe, as well as say the same,

And thus he to them sayd; Faire[489] daughter Dame,

And you faire sonne, which here thus long now lie

In piteous languor, since ye hither came,

In vaine of me ye hope for remedie,

And I likewise in vaine doe salues to you applie.

For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie, vii

To heale your selues, and must proceed alone

From your owne will, to cure your maladie.

Who can him cure, that will be cur’d of none?

If therefore health ye seeke, obserue this one.

First learne your outward sences to refraine

From things, that stirre vp fraile affection;

Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk restraine

From that they most affect, and in due termes containe.

For from those outward sences ill affected, viii

The seede of all this euill first doth spring,

Which at the first before it had infected,

Mote easie be supprest with little thing:

But being growen strong, it forth doth bring

Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine

In th’inner parts, and lastly scattering

Contagious poyson close through euery vaine,

It neuer rests, till it haue wrought his finall bane.

For that beastes teeth, which wounded you tofore, ix

Are so exceeding venemous and keene,

Made all of rusty yron, ranckling sore,

That where they bite, it booteth not to weene

With salue, or antidote, or other mene

It euer to amend: ne maruaile ought;

For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,

And long in darksome _Stygian_ den vpbrought,

Begot of foule _Echidna_, as in bookes is taught.

_Echidna_ is a Monster direfull dred, x

Whom Gods doe hate, and heauens abhor to see;

So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed,

That euen the hellish fiends affrighted bee

At sight thereof, and from her presence flee:

Yet did her face and former parts professe

A faire young Mayden, full of comely glee;

But all her hinder parts did plaine expresse

A monstrous Dragon, full of fearefull vglinesse.

To her the Gods, for her so dreadfull face, xi

In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie,

And from the earth, appointed haue her place,

Mongst rocks and caues, where she enrold doth lie

In hideous horrour and obscurity,

Wasting the strength of her immortall age.

There did _Typhaon_ with her company,

Cruell _Typhaon_, whose tempestuous rage

Make th’heauens tremble oft, and him with vowes asswage.

Of that commixtion they did then beget xii

This hellish Dog, that hight the _Blatant Beast_;

A wicked Monster, that his tongue doth whet

Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least,

And poures his poysnous gall forth to infest

The noblest wights with notable defame:

Ne euer Knight, that bore so lofty creast,

Ne euer Lady of so honest name,

But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete[490] shame.

In vaine therefore it were, with medicine xiii

To goe about to salue such kynd of sore,

That rather needes wise read and discipline,

Then outward salues, that may augment it more.

Aye me (sayd then _Serena_ sighing sore)

What hope of helpe doth then for vs remaine,

If that no salues may vs to health restore?

But sith we need good counsell (sayd the swaine)

Aread good sire, some counsell, that may vs sustaine.

The best (sayd he) that I can you aduize, xiv

Is to auoide the occasion of the ill:

For when the cause, whence euill doth arize,

Remoued is, th’effect surceaseth still.

Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine your will,

Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight,

Vse scanted diet, and forbeare your fill,

Shun secresie, and talke in open sight:

So shall you soone repaire your present euill plight.

Thus hauing sayd, his sickely patients xv

Did gladly hearken to his graue beheast,

And kept so well his wise commaundements,

That in short space their malady was ceast,

And eke the biting of that harmefull Beast

Was throughly heal’d. Tho when they did perceaue

Their wounds recur’d, and forces reincreast,

Of that good Hermite both they tooke their leaue,

And went both on their way, ne ech would other leaue.

But each the[491] other vow’d t’accompany, xvi

The Lady, for that she was much in dred,

Now left alone in great extremity,

The Squire, for that he courteous was indeed,

Would not her leaue alone in her great need.

So both together traueld, till they met

With a faire Mayden clad in mourning weed,

Vpon a mangy iade vnmeetely set,

And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry and wet.

But by what meanes that shame to her befell, xvii

And how thereof her selfe she did acquite,

I must a while forbeare to you to tell;

Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite,

What fortune to the Briton Prince did lite,

Pursuing that proud Knight, the which whileare

Wrought to Sir _Calidore_[492] so foule despight;

And eke his Lady, though she sickely were,

So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare.

The Prince according to the former token, xviii

Which faire _Serene_ to him deliuered had,

Pursu’d him streight, in mynd to bene ywroken

Of all the vile demeane, and vsage bad,

With which he had those two so ill bestad:

Ne wight with him on that aduenture went,

But that wylde man, whom though he oft forbad,

Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent,

Would he restrayned be from his attendement.

Arriuing there, as did by chaunce befall, xix

He found the gate wyde ope, and in he rode,

Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall:

Where soft dismounting like a weary lode,

Vpon the ground with feeble feete he trode,

As he vnable were for very neede

To moue one foote, but there must make abode;

The whiles the saluage man did take his steede,

And in some stable neare did set him vp to feede.

Ere long to him a homely groome there came, xx

That in rude wise him asked, what he was,

That durst so boldly, without let or shame,

Into his Lords forbidden hall to passe.

To whom the Prince, him fayning to embase,

Mylde answer made; he was an errant Knight,

The which was fall’n into this feeble case,

Through many wounds, which lately he in fight[493]

Receiued had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight.

But he, the more outrageous and bold, xxi

Sternely did bid him quickely thence auaunt,

Or deare aby, for why his Lord of old

Did hate all errant Knights, which there did haunt,

Ne lodging would to any of them graunt,

And therefore lightly bad him packe away,

Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt;

And therewithall rude hand on him did lay,

To thrust him out of dore, doing his worst assay.

Which when the Saluage comming now in place, xxii

Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew,

And running streight vpon that villaine base,

Like a fell Lion at him fiercely flew,

And with his teeth and nailes, in present vew,

Him rudely rent, and all to peeces tore:

So miserably him all helpelesse slew,

That with the noise, whilest he did loudly rore,

The people of the house rose forth in great vprore.

Who when on ground they saw their fellow slaine, xxiii

And that same Knight and Saluage standing by,

Vpon them two they fell with might and maine,

And on them layd so huge and horribly,

As if they would haue slaine them presently.

But the bold Prince defended him so well,

And their assault withstood so mightily,

That maugre all their might, he did repell,

And beat them back, whilest many vnderneath him fell.

Yet he them still so sharpely did pursew, xxiv

That few of them he left aliue, which fled,

Those euill tidings to their Lord to shew.

Who hearing how his people badly sped,

Came forth in hast: where when as with the dead

He saw the ground all strow’d, and that same Knight

And saluage with their bloud fresh steeming red,

He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell despight,

And with reprochfull words him thus bespake on hight.

Art thou he, traytor, that with treason vile, xxv

Hast slaine my men in this vnmanly maner,

And now triumphest in the piteous spoile

Of these poore folk, whose soules with black dishonor

And foule defame doe decke thy bloudy baner?

The meede whereof shall shortly be thy shame,

And wretched end, which still attendeth on her.

With that him selfe to battell he did frame;

So did his forty yeomen, which there with him came.

With dreadfull force they all did him assaile, xxvi

And round about with boystrous strokes oppresse,

That on his shield did rattle like to haile

In a great tempest; that in such distresse,

He wist not to which side him to addresse.

And euermore that crauen cowherd Knight[494]

Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse,

Wayting if he vnwares him murther might:

For cowardize doth still in villany delight.

Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware, xxvii

He to him turnd with furious intent,

And him against his powre gan to prepare;

Like a fierce Bull, that being busie bent

To fight with many foes about him ment,

Feeling some curre behinde his heeles to bite,

Turnes him about with fell auengement;

So likewise turnde the Prince vpon the Knight,

And layd at him amaine with all his will and might.

Who when he once his dreadfull strokes had tasted, xxviii

Durst not the furie of his force abyde,

But turn’d abacke, and to retyre him hasted

Through the thick prease, there thinking him to hyde.

But when the Prince had once him plainely eyde,

He foot by foot him followed alway,

Ne would him suffer once to shrinke asyde

But ioyning close, huge lode at him did lay:

Who flying still did ward, and warding fly away.

But when his foe he still so eger saw, xxix

Vnto his heeles himselfe he did betake,

Hoping vnto some refuge to withdraw:

Ne would the Prince him euer foot forsake,

Where so he went, but after him did make.

He fled from roome to roome, from place to place,

Whylest euery ioynt for dread of death did quake,

Still looking after him, that did him chace;

That made him euermore increase his speedie pace.

At last he vp into the chamber came, xxx

Whereas his loue was sitting all alone,

Wayting what tydings of her folke became.

There did the Prince him ouertake anone,

Crying in vaine to her, him to bemone;

And with his sword him on the head did smyte,

That to the ground[495] he fell in senselesse swone:

Yet whether thwart or flatly it did lyte,

The tempred steele did not into his braynepan byte.

Which when the Ladie saw, with great affright xxxi

She starting vp, began to shrieke aloud,

And with her garment couering him from sight,

Seem’d vnder her protection him to shroud;

And falling lowly at his feet, her bowd

Vpon her knee, intreating him for grace,

And often him besought, and prayd, and vowd;

That with the ruth of her so wretched case,

He stayd his second strooke, and did his hand abase.

Her weed she then withdrawing, did him discover, xxxii

Who now come to himselfe, yet would not rize,

But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiuer,

That euen the Prince his basenesse did despize,

And eke his Dame him seeing in such guize,

Gan him recomfort, and from ground to reare.

Who rising vp at last in ghastly wize,

Like troubled ghost did dreadfully appeare,

As one that had no life him left through former feare.

Whom when the Prince so deadly saw dismayd, xxxiii

He for such basenesse shamefully him shent,

And with sharpe words did bitterly vpbrayd;

Vile cowheard dogge, now doe I much repent,

That euer I this life vnto thee lent,

Whereof thou caytiue so vnworthie art;

That both thy loue, for lacke of hardiment,

And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart,

And eke all knights hast shamed with this knightlesse part.

Yet further hast thou heaped shame to shame, xxxiv

And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard feare.

For first it was to thee reprochfull blame,

To erect this wicked custome, which I heare,

Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou dost reare;

Whom when thou mayst, thou dost of arms despoile,

Or of their vpper garment, which they weare:

Yet doest thou not with manhood, but with guile

Maintaine this euill vse, thy foes thereby to foile.

And lastly in approuance of thy wrong, xxxv

To shew such faintnesse and foule cowardize,

Is greatest shame: for oft it falles, that strong

And valiant knights doe rashly enterprize,

Either for fame, or else for exercize,

A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by fight[496];

Yet haue, through prowesse and their braue emprize,

Gotten great worship in this worldes sight.

For greater force there needs to maintaine wrong, then right.

Yet since[497] thy[498] life vnto this Ladie fayre xxxvi

I giuen haue, liue in reproch and scorne;

Ne euer armes, ne euer knighthood dare

Hence to professe: for shame is to adorne

With so braue badges one so basely borne;

But onely breath sith that I did forgiue.

So hauing from his crauen bodie torne

Those goodly armes, he them away did giue

And onely suffred him this wretched life to liue.

There whilest he thus was setling things aboue, xxxvii

Atwene that Ladie myld and recreant knight,

To whom his life he graunted for her loue,

He gan bethinke him, in what perilous plight

He had behynd him left that saluage wight,

Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought

By this quite slaine in so vnequall fight:

Therefore descending backe in haste, he sought

If yet he were aliue, or to destruction brought.

There he him found enuironed about xxxviii

With slaughtred bodies, which his hand had slaine,

And laying yet a fresh with courage stout

Vpon the rest, that did aliue remaine;

Whom he likewise right sorely did constraine,

Like scattred sheepe, to seeke for safetie,

After he gotten had with busie paine

Some of their weapons, which thereby did lie,

With which he layd about, and made them fast to flie.

Whom when the Prince so felly saw to rage, xxxix

Approching to him neare, his hand he stayd,

And sought, by making signes, him to asswage:

Who them perceiuing, streight to him obayd,

As to his Lord, and downe his weapons layd,

As if he long had to his heasts bene trayned.

Thence he him brought away, and vp conuayd

Into the chamber, where that Dame remayned

With her vnworthy knight, who ill him entertayned.

Whom when the Saluage saw from daunger free, xl

Sitting beside his Ladie there at ease,

He well remembred, that the same was hee,

Which lately sought his Lord for to displease:

Tho all in rage, he on him streight did seaze,

As if he would in peeces him haue rent;

And were not, that the Prince did him appeaze,

He had not left one limbe of him vnrent:

But streight he held his hand at his commaundement.

Thus hauing all things well in peace ordayned, xli

The Prince himselfe there all that night did rest,

Where him _Blandina_ fayrely entertayned,

With all the courteous glee and goodly feast,

The which for him she could imagine best.

For well she knew the wayes to win good will

Of euery wight, that were not too infest,

And how to please the minds of good and ill,

Through tempering of her words and lookes by wondrous skill.

Yet were her words and lookes but false and fayned, xlii

To some hid end to make more easie way,

Or to allure such fondlings, whom she trayned

Into her trap vnto their owne decay:

Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray,

And when her listed, she could fawne and flatter;

Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day,

Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter;

Yet were her words but wynd, and all her teares but water.

Whether such grace were giuen her by kynd, xliii

As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde;

Or learn’d the art to please, I doe not fynd.

This well I wote, that she so well applyde

Her pleasing tongue, that soone she pacifyde

The wrathfull Prince, and wrought her husbands peace.

Who nathelesse not therewith satisfyde,

His rancorous despight did not releasse,

Ne secretly from thought of fell reuenge surceasse.

For all that night, the whyles the Prince did rest xliv

In carelesse couch, not weeting what was ment,

He watcht in close awayt with weapons prest,

Willing to worke his villenous intent

On him, that had so shamefully him shent:

Yet durst he not for very cowardize

Effect the same, whylest all the night was spent.

The morrow next the Prince did early rize,

And passed forth, to follow his first enterprize.

FOOTNOTES:

[489] vi 5 faire _1596_

[490] xii 9 secret _1609 passim_

[491] xvi 1 the] th’ _1596_

[492] xvii 7 _Calidore_] _Calepine_ _corr. Hughes rightly_

[493] xx 8 fight, _1596_, _1609_

[494] xxvi 6 Knight, _1596_, _1609_

[495] xxx 7 gound _1596_

[496] xxxv 6 fight] right _1596_

[497] xxxvi 1 since] sith _1609_

[498] thy] this _1609_

_Cant. VII._

[Illustration:

_Turpine is baffuld, his two knights

doe gaine their treasons meed,

Fayre Mirabellaes punishment

for loues disdaine decreed._

]

Like as the[499] gentle hart it selfe bewrayes, i

In doing gentle deedes with franke delight,

Euen so the baser mind it selfe displayes,

In cancred malice and reuengefull spight.

For to maligne, t’enuie, t’vse shifting slight,

Be arguments of a vile donghill mind,

Which what it dare not doe by open might,

To worke by wicked treason wayes doth find,

By such discourteous deeds discouering his base kind.

That well appeares in this discourteous knight, ii

The coward _Turpine_, whereof now I treat;

Who notwithstanding that in former fight

He of the Prince his life receiued late,

Yet in his mind malitious and ingrate

He gan deuize, to be aueng’d anew

For all that shame, which kindled inward hate.

Therefore so soone as he was out of vew,

Himselfe in hast he arm’d, and did him fast pursew.

Well did he tract his steps, as he did ryde, iii

Yet would not neare approch in daungers eye,

But kept aloofe for dread to be descryde,

Vntill fit time and place he mote espy,

Where he mote worke him scath[500] and villeny.

At last he met two knights to him vnknowne,

The which were armed[501] both agreeably,

And both combynd, what euer chaunce were blowne,

Betwixt them to diuide, and each to make his owne.

To whom false _Turpine_ comming courteously, iv

To cloke the mischiefe, which he inly ment,

Gan to complaine of great discourtesie,

Which a straunge knight, that neare afore him went,

Had doen to him, and his deare Ladie shent:

Which if they would afford him ayde at need

For to auenge, in time conuenient,

They should accomplish both a knightly deed,

And for their paines obtaine of him a goodly meed.

The knights beleeu’d, that all he sayd, was trew, v

And being fresh and full of youthly spright,

Were glad to heare of that aduenture new,

In which they mote make triall of their might,

Which neuer yet they had approu’d in fight;

And eke desirous of the offred meed,

Said then the one of them; Where[502] is that wight,

The which hath doen to thee this wrongfull deed,

That we may it auenge, and punish him with speed?

He rides (said _Turpine_) there not farre afore, vi

With a wyld man soft footing by his syde,

That if ye list to haste a litle more,

Ye may him ouertake in timely tyde.[503]

Eftsoones they pricked forth with forward pryde,

And ere that litle while they ridden had,

The gentle Prince not farre away they spyde,

Ryding a softly pace with portance sad,

Deuizing of his loue more, then of daunger drad.

Then one of them aloud vnto him cryde, vii

Bidding him turne againe, false traytour knight,

Foule womanwronger, for he him defyde.

With that they both at once with equall spight

Did bend their speares, and both with equall might

Against him ran; but th’one did misse his marke,

And being carried with his force forthright,

Glaunst swiftly by; like to that heauenly sparke,

Which glyding through the ayre lights all the heauens darke.

But th’other ayming better, did him smite viii

Full in the shield, with so impetuous powre,

That all his launce in peeces shiuered quite,

And scattered all about, fell on the flowre.

But the stout Prince, with much more steddy stowre

Full on his beuer did him strike so sore,

That the cold steele through piercing, did deuowre

His vitall breath, and to the ground him bore,

Where still he bathed lay in his owne bloody gore.

As when a cast of Faulcons make their flight ix

At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing,

The whyles they strike at him with heedlesse might,

The warie foule his bill doth backward wring;

On which the first, whose force her first doth bring,

Her selfe quite through the bodie doth engore,

And falleth downe to ground like senselesse thing,

But th’other not so swift, as she before,

Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth hurt no more.

By this the other, which was passed by, x

Himselfe recouering, was return’d to fight;

Where when he saw his fellow lifelesse ly,

He much was daunted with so dismall sight;

Yet nought abating of his former spight,

Let driue at him with so malitious mynd,

As if he would haue passed through him quight:

But the steele-head no stedfast hold could fynd,

But glauncing by, deceiu’d him of that he desynd.

Not so the Prince: for his well learned speare xi

Tooke surer hould, and from his horses backe

Aboue a launces length him forth did beare,

And gainst the cold hard earth so sore him strake,

That all his bones in peeces nigh he brake.

Where seeing him so lie, he left his steed,

And to him leaping, vengeance thought to take

Of him, for all his former follies meed,

With flaming sword in hand his terror more to breed.

The fearefull swayne beholding death so nie, xii

Cryde out aloud for mercie him to saue;

In lieu whereof he would to him descrie,

Great treason to him meant, his life to reaue.

The Prince soone hearkned, and his life forgaue.

Then thus said he, There is a straunger knight,

The which for promise of great meed, vs draue

To this attempt, to wreake his hid despight,

For that himselfe thereto did want sufficient might.

The Prince much mused at such villenie, xiii

And sayd; Now sure ye well haue earn’d your meed,

For th’one is dead, and th’other soone shall die,

Vnlesse to me thou hether bring with speed

The wretch, that hyr’d you to this wicked deed.[504]

He glad of life, and willing eke to wreake

The guilt on him, which did this mischiefe breed,

Swore by his sword, that neither day nor weeke

He would surceasse, but him, where so he were, would seeke.

So vp he rose, and forth streight way he went xiv

Backe to the place, where _Turpine_ late he lore;

There he him found in great astonishment,

To see him so bedight with bloodie gore,

And griesly wounds that him appalled sore.

Yet thus at length he said, How[505] now Sir knight?

What meaneth this, which here I see before?

How fortuneth this foule vncomely plight,

So different from that, which earst ye seem’d in sight?

Perdie (said he) in euill houre it fell, xv

That euer I for meed did vndertake

So hard a taske, as life for hyre to sell;

The which I earst aduentur’d for your sake.

Witnesse the wounds, and this wyde bloudie lake,

Which ye may see yet all about me steeme.

Therefore now yeeld, as ye did promise make,

My due reward, the which right well I deeme

I yearned[506] haue, that life so dearely did redeeme.

But where then is (quoth he halfe wrothfully[507]) xvi

Where is the bootie, which therefore I bought,

That cursed caytiue, my strong enemy,

That recreant knight, whose hated life I sought?

And where is eke your friend, which halfe it ought?

He lyes (said he) vpon the cold bare ground,

Slayne of that errant knight, with whom he fought;

Whom afterwards my selfe with many a wound

Did slay againe, as ye may see there in the stound.

Thereof false _Turpin_ was full glad and faine, xvii

And needs with him streight to the place would ryde,

Where he himselfe might see his foeman slaine;

For else his feare could not be satisfyde.

So as they rode, he saw the way all dyde

With streames of bloud; which tracting[508] by the traile,

Ere long they came, whereas in euill tyde

That other swayne, like ashes deadly pale,

Lay in the lap of death, rewing his wretched bale.

Much did the Crauen seeme to mone his case, xviii

That for his sake his deare life had forgone;

And him bewayling with affection base,

Did counterfeit kind pittie, where was none:

For wheres no courage, theres no ruth nor mone.

Thence passing forth, not farre away he found,

Whereas the Prince himselfe lay all alone,

Loosely displayd vpon the grassie ground,

Possessed of sweete sleepe, that luld him soft in swound.

Wearie of trauell in his former fight, xix

He there in shade himselfe had layd to rest,

Hauing his armes and warlike things vndight,

Fearelesse of foes that mote his peace molest;

The whyles his salvage page, that wont be prest,

Was wandred in the wood another way,

To doe some thing, that seemed to him best,

The whyles his Lord in siluer slomber[509] lay,

Like to the Evening starre adorn’d with deawy ray.

Whom when as _Turpin_ saw so loosely layd, xx

He weened well, that he in deed was dead,

Like as that other knight to him had sayd:

But when he nigh approcht, he mote aread

Plaine signes in him of life and liuelihead.

Whereat much grieu’d against that straunger knight,

That him too light of credence did mislead,

He would haue backe retyred from that sight,

That was to him on earth the deadliest despight.

But that same knight would not once let him start, xxi

But plainely gan to him declare the case

Of all his mischiefe, and late lucklesse smart;

How both he and his fellow there in place

Were vanquished, and put to foule disgrace,

And how that he in lieu of life him lent,

Had vow’d vnto the victor, him to trace

And follow through the world, where so he went,

Till that he him deliuered to his punishment.

He therewith much abashed and affrayd, xxii

Began to tremble euery limbe and vaine;

And softly whispering him, entyrely prayd,

T’aduize him better, then by such a traine

Him to betray vnto a straunger swaine:

Yet rather counseld him contrarywize,

Sith he likewise did wrong by him sustaine,

To ioyne with him and vengeance to deuize,

Whylest time did offer meanes him sleeping to surprize.

Nathelesse for all his speach, the gentle knight xxiii

Would not be tempted to such villenie,

Regarding more his faith, which he did plight,

All were it to his mortall enemie,

Then to entrap him by false treacherie:

Great shame in lieges blood to be embrew’d.

Thus whylest they were debating diuerslie,

The Saluage forth out of the wood issew’d

Backe to the place, whereas his Lord he sleeping vew’d.

There when he saw those two so neare him stand, xxiv

He doubted much what mote their meaning bee,

And throwing downe his load out of his hand,

To weet great store of forrest frute, which hee

Had for his food late gathered from the tree,

Himselfe vnto his weapon he betooke,

That was an oaken plant, which lately hee

Rent by the root; which he so sternely shooke,

That like an hazell wand, it quiuered and quooke.

Whereat the Prince awaking, when he spyde xxv

The traytour _Turpin_ with that other knight,

He started vp, and snatching neare his syde

His trustie sword, the seruant of his might,

Like a fell Lyon leaped to him light,

And his left hand vpon his collar layd.

Therewith the cowheard deaded with affright,

Fell flat to ground, ne word vnto him sayd,

But holding vp his hands, with silence mercie prayd.

But he so full of indignation was, xxvi

That to his prayer nought he would incline,

But as he lay vpon the humbled gras,

His foot he set on his vile necke, in signe

Of seruile yoke, that nobler harts repine.

Then letting him arise like abiect thrall,

He gan to him obiect his haynous crime,

And to reuile, and rate, and recreant call,

And lastly to despoyle of knightly bannerall.

And after all, for greater infamie, xxvii

He by the heeles him hung vpon a tree,

And baffuld so, that all which passed by,

The picture of his punishment might see,

And by the like ensample warned bee,

How euer they through treason doe trespasse.

But turne we now backe to that Ladie free,

Whom late we left ryding vpon an Asse,

Led by a Carle and foole, which by her side did passe.

She was a Ladie of great dignitie, xxviii

And lifted vp to honorable place,

Famous through all the land of Faerie,

Though of meane parentage and kindred base,

Yet deckt with wondrous giftes of natures grace,

That all men did her person much admire,

And praise the feature of her goodly face,

The beames whereof did kindle louely fire

In th’harts of many a knight, and many a gentle squire.

But she thereof grew proud and insolent, xxix

That none she worthie thought to be her fere,

But scornd them all, that loue vnto her ment,

Yet was she lou’d of many a worthy pere,

Vnworthy she to be belou’d so dere,

That could not weigh of worthinesse aright.

For beautie is more glorious bright and clere,

The more it is admir’d of many a wight,

And noblest she, that serued is of noblest knight.

But this coy Damzell thought contrariwize, xxx

That such proud looks would make her praysed more;

And that the more she did all loue despize,

The more would wretched louers her adore.

What cared she, who sighed for her sore,

Or who did wayle or watch the wearie night?

Let them that list, their lucklesse lot deplore;

She was borne free, not bound to any wight,

And so would euer liue, and loue her owne delight.

Through such her stubborne stifnesse, and hard hart, xxxi

Many a wretch, for want of remedie,

Did languish long in lifeconsuming smart,

And at the last through dreary dolour die:

Whylest she, the Ladie of her libertie,

Did boast her beautie had such soueraine might,

That with the onely twinckle of her eye,

She could or saue, or spill, whom she would hight.

What could the Gods doe more, but doe it more aright?

But loe the Gods, that mortall follies vew, xxxii

Did worthily reuenge this maydens pride;

And nought regarding her so goodly hew,

Did laugh at her, that many did deride,

Whilest she did weepe, of no man mercifide.

For on a day, when _Cupid_ kept his court,

As he is wont at each Saint Valentide,

Vnto the which all louers doe resort,

That of their loues successe they there may make report;[510]

It fortun’d then, that when the roules[511] were red, xxxiii

In which the names of all loues folke were fyled,

That many there were missing, which were ded,

Or kept in bands, or from their loues exyled,

Or by some other violence despoyled.

Which when as _Cupid_ heard, he wexed wroth,

And doubting to be wronged, or beguyled,

He bad his eyes to be vnblindfold both,

That he might see his men, and muster them by oth.

Then found he many missing of his crew, xxxiv

Which wont doe suit and seruice to his might;

Of whom what was becomen, no man knew.

Therefore a Iurie was impaneld streight,

T’enquire of them, whether by force, or sleight,

Or their owne guilt, they were away conuayd.

To whom foule _Infamie_, and fell _Despight_

Gaue euidence, that they were all betrayd,

And murdred cruelly by a rebellious Mayd.

Fayre _Mirabella_ was her name, whereby xxxv

Of all those crymes she there indited was:

All which when _Cupid_ heard, he by and by

In great displeasure, wild a _Capias_

Should issue forth, t’attach that scornefull lasse.

The warrant straight was made, and therewithall

A Baylieffe errant forth in post did passe,

Whom they by name there[512] _Portamore_ did call;

He which doth summon louers to loues iudgement hall.

The damzell was attacht, and shortly brought xxxvi

Vnto the barre, whereas she was arrayned:

But she thereto nould plead, nor answere ought

Euen for stubborne pride, which her restrayned.

So iudgement past, as is by law ordayned

In cases like, which when at last she saw,

Her stubborne hart, which loue before disdayned,

Gan stoupe, and falling downe with humble awe,

Cryde mercie, to abate the extremitie of law.

The sonne of _Venus_ who is myld by kynd, xxxvii

But where he is prouokt with peeuishnesse,

Vnto her prayers piteously enclynd,

And did the rigour of his doome represse;

Yet not so freely, but that nathelesse

He vnto her a penance did impose,

Which was, that through this worlds wyde wildernes

She wander should in companie of those,

Till she had sau’d so many loues, as she did lose.

So now she had bene wandring two whole yeares xxxviii

Throughout the world, in this vncomely case,

Wasting her goodly hew in heauie teares,

And her good dayes in dolorous disgrace:

Yet had she not in all these two yeares space,

Saued but two, yet in two yeares before,

Through[513] her dispiteous pride, whilest loue lackt place,

She had destroyed two and twenty more.

Aie me, how could her loue make half amends therefore?[514]

And now she was vppon the weary way, xxxix

When as the gentle Squire, with faire _Serene_,

Met her in such misseeming foule array;

The whiles that mighty man did her demeane

With all the euill termes and cruell meane,

That he could make; And eeke that angry foole

Which follow’d her, with cursed hands vncleane

Whipping her horse, did with his smarting toole

Oft whip her dainty selfe, and much augment her doole.

Ne ought it mote auaile her to entreat xl

The one or th’other, better her to vse:

For both so wilfull were and obstinate,

That all her piteous plaint they did refuse,

And rather did the more her beate and bruse.

But most the former villaine, which did lead

Her tyreling iade, was bent her to abuse;

Who though she were with wearinesse nigh dead,

Yet would not let her lite, nor rest a little stead.

For he was sterne, and terrible by nature, xli

And eeke of person huge and hideous,

Exceeding much the measure of mans stature,

And rather like a Gyant monstruous.

For sooth he was descended of the hous

Of those old Gyants, which did warres darraine

Against the heauen in order battailous,

And sib to great _Orgolio_, which was slaine

By _Arthure_, when as _Vnas_ Knight he did maintaine.

His lookes were dreadfull, and his fiery eies xlii

Like two great Beacons, glared bright and wyde,

Glauncing askew, as if his enemies

He scorned in his ouerweening pryde;

And stalking stately like a Crane, did stryde

At euery step vppon the tiptoes hie,

And all the way he went, on euery syde

He gaz’d about, and stared horriblie,

As if he with his lookes would all men terrifie.

He wore no armour, ne for none did care, xliii

As no whit dreading any liuing wight;

But in a Iacket quilted richly rare[515]

Vpon checklaton he was straungely dight,

And on his head a roll of linnen plight,

Like to the Mores of Malaber he wore;

With which his locks, as blacke as pitchy night,

Were bound about, and voyded from before,

And in his hand a mighty yron club he bore.

This was _Disdaine_, who led that Ladies horse xliv

Through thick and thin, through mountains and through plains,

Compelling her, wher she would not, by force[516],

Haling her palfrey by the hempen raines.

But that same foole, which most increast her paines,

Was _Scorne_, who hauing in his hand a whip,

Her therewith yirks, and still when she complaines,

The more he laughes, and does her closely quip,

To see her sore lament, and bite her tender lip.

Whose cruell handling when that Squire beheld, xlv

And saw those villaines her so vildely[517] vse,

His gentle heart with indignation sweld,

And could no lenger beare so great abuse,

As such a Lady so to beate and bruse;

But to him stepping, such a stroke him lent,

That forst him th’halter from his hand to loose,

And maugre all his might, backe to relent:

Else had he surely there bene slaine, or fowly shent.

The villaine, wroth for greeting him so sore, xlvi

Gathered him selfe together soone againe,

And with his yron batton, which he bore,

Let driue at him so dreadfully amaine,

That for his safety he did him constraine

To giue him ground, and shift to euery side,

Rather then once his burden to sustaine:

For bootelesse thing him seemed, to abide[518]

So mighty blowes, or proue the puissaunce of his pride.

Like as a Mastiffe hauing at a bay xlvii

A saluage Bull, whose cruell hornes doe threat

Desperate daunger, if he them assay,

Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat,

To spy where he may some aduauntage get;

The whiles the beast doth rage and loudly rore:[519]

So did the Squire, the whiles the Carle did fret,

And fume in his disdainefull mynd the more,

And oftentimes by Turmagant and Mahound swore.

Nathelesse so sharpely still he him pursewd, xlviii

That at aduantage him at last he tooke,

When his foote slipt (that slip he dearely rewd,)

And with his yron club to ground him strooke;

Where still he lay, ne out of swoune awooke,

Till heauy hand the Carle vpon him layd,

And bound him fast: Tho when he vp did looke,

And saw him selfe captiu’d, he was dismayd,

Ne powre had to withstand, ne hope of any ayd.

Then vp he made him rise, and forward fare, xlix

Led in a rope, which both his hands did bynd;

Ne ought that foole for pitty did him spare,

But with his whip him following behynd,

Him often scourg’d, and forst his feete to fynd:

And other whiles with bitter mockes and mowes

He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd

Was much more grieuous, then the others blowes:

Words[520] sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of scorning growes.

The faire _Serena_, when she saw him fall l

Vnder that villaines club, then surely thought

That slaine he was, or made a wretched thrall,

And fled away with all the speede she mought,

To seeke for safety, which long time she sought:

And past through many perils by the way,

Ere she againe to _Calepine_ was brought;

The which discourse as now I must delay,

Till _Mirabellaes_ fortunes I doe further say.

FOOTNOTES:

[499] i 1 the] a _1609_

[500] iii 5 scathe _1609_

[501] 7 arm’d _1596_

[502] v 7 where _1596_

[503] vi 4 tyde: _1596_ tide: _1609_

[504] xiii 5 deed, _1596_

[505] xiv 6 how _1596_

[506] xv 9 earned _1609_

[507] xvi 1 wrathfully _1609_

[508] xvii 6 tracking _1609_

[509] xix 8 slumber _1609_

[510] xxxii 9 report. _1596_

[511] xxxiii 1 rolles _1609_

[512] xxxv 8 there] their _1609_

[513] xxxviii 7 Throgh _1596_ (_4^o Art. Seld. S. 22, Bodl._)

[514] 9 therefore. _1596_: therfore. _1609_

[515] xliii 3 rare, _1596_, _1609_

[516] xliv 3 not by force _1596_, _1609_

[517] xlv 2 vilely _1609_

[518] xlvi 8 abide, _1596_

[519] xlvii 6 rore, _1596_

[520] xlix 9 Words] Swords _conj. Church_

_Cant. VIII._

[Illustration:

_Prince Arthure ouercomes Disdaine,

Quites Mirabell from dreed:

Serena found of Saluages,

By Calepine is freed._

]

Ye gentle Ladies, in whose soueraine powre i

Loue hath the glory of his kingdome left,

And th’hearts of men, as your eternall dowre,

In yron chaines, of liberty bereft,

Deliuered hath into your hands by gift;

Be well aware, how ye the same doe vse,

That pride doe not to tyranny you lift;

Least if men you of cruelty accuse,

He from you take that chiefedome, which ye doe abuse.

And as ye soft and tender are by kynde, ii

Adornd with goodly gifts of beauties grace,

So be ye soft and tender eeke in mynde;

But cruelty and hardnesse from you chace,

That all your other praises will deface,

And from you turne the loue of men to hate.

Ensample take of _Mirabellaes_ case,

Who from the high degree of happy state,

Fell into wretched woes, which she repented late.

Who after thraldome of the gentle Squire, iii

Which she beheld with lamentable eye,

Was touched with compassion entire,

And much lamented his calamity,

That for her sake fell into misery:

Which booted nought for prayers, nor for threat

To hope for to release or mollify;

For aye the more, that she did them entreat,[521]

The more they him misust, and cruelly did beat.

So as they forward on their way did pas, iv

Him still reuiling and afflicting sore,

They met Prince _Arthure_ with Sir _Enias_,

(That was that courteous Knight, whom he before

Hauing subdew’d, yet did to life restore,)

To whom as they approcht, they gan augment

Their cruelty, and him to punish more,

Scourging and haling him more vehement;

As if it them should grieue to see his punishment.

The Squire him selfe when as he saw his Lord, v

The witnesse of his wretchednesse, in place,

Was much asham’d, that with an hempen cord

He like a dog was led in captiue case,

And did his head for bashfulnesse abase,

As loth to see, or to be seene at all:

Shame would be hid. But whenas _Enias_

Beheld two such, of two such villaines thrall,

His manly mynde was much emmoued therewithall.

And to the Prince thus sayd; See you Sir Knight, vi

The greatest shame that euer eye yet saw?

Yond Lady and her Squire with foule despight

Abusde, against all reason and all law,

Without regard of pitty or of awe.

See how they doe that Squire beat and reuile;

See how they doe the Lady hale and draw.

But if ye please to lend me leaue a while,

I will them soone acquite, and both of blame assoile.

The Prince assented, and then he streight way vii

Dismounting light, his shield about him threw,

With which approching, thus he gan to say;

Abide ye caytiue treachetours vntrew,

That haue with treason thralled vnto you

These two, vnworthy of your wretched bands;

And now your crime with cruelty pursew.

Abide, and from them lay your loathly hands;

Or else abide the death, that hard before you stands.

The villaine stayd not aunswer to inuent, viii

But with his yron club preparing way,

His mindes sad message backe vnto him sent;

The which descended with such dreadfull sway,

That seemed nought the course thereof could stay:

No more then lightening from the lofty sky.

Ne list the Knight the powre thereof assay,

Whose doome was death, but lightly slipping by,

Vnwares defrauded his intended destiny.

And to requite him with the like againe, ix

With his sharpe sword he fiercely at him flew,

And strooke so strongly, that the Carle with paine

Saued him selfe, but that he there him slew:

Yet sau’d not so, but that the bloud it drew,

And gaue his foe good hope of victory.

Who therewith flesht, vpon him set anew,

And with the second stroke, thought certainely

To haue supplyde the first, and paide the vsury.

But Fortune aunswerd not vnto his call; x

For as his hand was heaued vp on hight,

The villaine met him in the middle fall,

And with his club bet backe his brondyron bright

So forcibly, that with his owne hands might

Rebeaten backe vpon him selfe againe,

He driuen was to ground in selfe despight;

From whence ere he recouery could gaine,

He in his necke had set his foote with fell disdaine.

With that the foole, which did that end awayte, xi

Came running in, and whilest on ground he lay,

Laide heauy hands on him, and held so strayte,

That downe he kept him with his scornefull sway,

So as he could not weld[522] him any way.

The whiles that other villaine went about

Him to haue bound, and thrald without delay;

The whiles the foole did him reuile and flout,

Threatning to yoke them two[523] and tame their corage stout.