As when a sturdy ploughman with his hynde xii

By strength haue ouerthrowne a stubborne steare,

They downe him hold, and fast with cords do bynde,

Till they him force the buxome yoke to beare:

So did these two this Knight oft tug and teare.

Which when the Prince beheld, there standing by,

He left his lofty steede to aide him neare,

And buckling soone him selfe, gan fiercely fly

Vppon that Carle, to saue his friend from ieopardy.

The villaine leauing him vnto his mate xiii

To be captiu’d, and handled as he list,

Himselfe addrest vnto this new debate,

And with his club him all about so blist,

That he which way to turne him scarcely wist:

Sometimes aloft he layd, sometimes alow;

Now here, now there, and oft him neare he mist;

So doubtfully, that hardly one could know

Whether more wary were to giue or ward the blow.

But yet the Prince so well enured was xiv

With such huge strokes, approued oft in fight,

That way to them he gaue forth right to pas.

Ne would endure the daunger of their might,

But wayt aduantage, when they downe did light.

At last the caytiue after long discourse,

When all his strokes he saw auoyded quite,

Resolued in one t’assemble all his force,

And make one end of him without ruth or remorse.

His dreadfull hand he heaued vp aloft, xv

And with his dreadfull instrument of yre,

Thought sure haue pownded[524] him to powder soft,

Or deepe emboweld in the earth entyre:

But Fortune did not with his will conspire.

For ere his stroke attayned his intent,

The noble childe preuenting his desire,

Vnder his club with wary boldnesse went,

And smote him on the knee, that neuer yet was bent.

It neuer yet was bent, ne bent it now, xvi

Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were,

That seem’d a marble pillour it could bow,

But all that leg, which did his body beare,

It crackt throughout, yet did no bloud appeare;

So as it was vnable to support

So huge a burden on such broken geare,

But fell to ground, like to a lumpe of durt,

Whence he assayd to rise, but could not for his hurt.

Eftsoones the Prince to him full nimbly stept, xvii

And least he should recouer foote againe,

His head meant from his shoulders to haue swept.

Which when the Lady saw, she cryde amaine;

Stay stay, Sir Knight, for loue of God abstaine,

From[525] that vnwares ye weetlesse doe intend;

Slay not that Carle, though worthy to be slaine:

For more on him doth then him selfe depend;

My life will by his death haue lamentable end.

He staide his hand according her desire, xviii

Yet nathemore him suffred to arize;

But still suppressing gan of her inquire,

What meaning mote those vncouth words comprize,

That in that villaines health her safety lies:

That, were no might in man, nor heart in Knights,

Which durst her dreaded reskue enterprize,

Yet heauens them selues, that fauour feeble rights,

Would for it selfe redresse, and punish such despights.

Then bursting forth in teares, which gushed fast xix

Like many water streames, a while she stayd;

Till the sharpe passion being ouerpast,

Her tongue to her restord, then thus she sayd;

Nor heauens, nor men can me most wretched mayd

Deliuer from the doome of my desart,

The which the God of loue hath on me layd,

And damned to endure this direfull smart,

For penaunce of my proud and hard rebellious hart.

In prime of youthly yeares, when first the flowre xx

Of beauty gan to bud, and bloosme delight,

And nature me endu’d with plenteous dowre,

Of all her gifts, that pleasde each liuing sight,

I was belou’d of many a gentle Knight,

And sude and sought with all the seruice dew:

Full many a one for me deepe groand and sight,

And to the dore of death for sorrow drew,

Complayning out on me, that would not on them rew.

But let them loue that list, or liue or die; xxi

Me list not die for any louers doole:

Ne list me leaue my loued libertie,

To pitty him that list to play the foole:

To loue my selfe I learned had in schoole.

Thus I triumphed long in louers paine,

And sitting carelesse on the scorners stoole,

Did laugh at those that did lament and plaine:

But all is now repayd with interest againe.

For loe the winged God, that woundeth harts, xxii

Causde me be called to accompt[526] therefore,

And for reuengement of those wrongfull smarts,

Which I to others did inflict afore,

Addeem’d me to endure this penaunce sore;

That in this wize, and this vnmeete array,

With these two lewd companions, and no more,

_Disdaine_ and _Scorne_, I through the world should stray,

Till I haue sau’d so many, as I earst did slay.

Certes (sayd then the Prince) the God is iust, xxiii

That taketh vengeaunce of his peoples spoile.

For were no law in loue, but all that lust,

Might them oppresse, and painefully turmoile,

His kingdome would continue but a while.

But tell me Lady, wherefore doe you beare

This bottle thus before you with such toile,

And eeke this wallet at your backe arreare,

That for these Carles to carry much more comely were?

Here in this bottle (sayd the sory Mayd) xxiv

I put the teares of my contrition,

Till to the brim I haue it full defrayd:

And in this bag which I behinde me don,

I put repentaunce for things past and gon.

Yet is the bottle leake, and bag so torne,

That all which I put in, fals out anon;

And is behinde me trodden downe of _Scorne_,

Who mocketh all my paine, and laughs the more I mourn.

The Infant hearkned wisely to her tale, xxv

And wondred much at _Cupids_ iudg’ment wise,

That could so meekly make proud hearts auale,

And wreake him selfe on them, that him despise.

Then suff’red he _Disdaine_ vp to arise,

Who was not able vp him selfe to reare,

By meanes his leg through his late luckelesse prise,

Was crackt in twaine, but by his foolish feare

Was holpen vp, who him supported standing neare.

But being vp, he lookt againe aloft, xxvi

As if he neuer had receiued fall;

And with sterne eye-browes stared at him oft,

As if he would haue daunted him withall:[527]

And standing on his tiptoes, to seeme tall,

Downe on his golden feete he often gazed,

As if such pride the other could apall;

Who was so far from being ought amazed,

That he his lookes despised, and his boast dispraized.

Then turning backe vnto that captiue thrall, xxvii

Who all this while stood there beside them bound,

Vnwilling to be knowne, or seene at all,

He from those bands weend him to haue vnwound.

But when approching neare, he plainely found,

It was his owne true groome, the gentle Squire,

He thereat wext exceedingly astound,

And him did oft embrace, and oft admire,

Ne could with seeing satisfie his great desire.

Meane while the Saluage man, when he beheld xxviii

That huge great foole oppressing th’other Knight,

Whom with his weight vnweldy[528] downe he held,

He flew vpon him, like a greedy kight

Vnto some carrion offered to his sight,

And downe him plucking, with his nayles and teeth

Gan him to hale, and teare, and scratch, and bite;

And from him taking his owne whip, therewith

So sore him scourgeth, that the bloud downe followeth.

And sure I weene, had not the Ladies cry xxix

Procur’d the Prince his cruell hand to stay,

He would with whipping, him haue done to dye:

But being checkt, he did abstaine streight way,

And let him rise. Then thus the Prince gan say;

Now Lady sith your fortunes thus dispose,

That if ye list haue liberty, ye may,

Vnto your selfe I freely leaue to chose,

Whether I shall you leaue, or from these villaines lose.

Ah nay Sir Knight (sayd she) it may not be, xxx

But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill

This penaunce, which enioyned is to me,

Least vnto me betide a greater ill;

Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will.

So humbly taking leaue, she turnd aside,

But _Arthure_ with the rest, went onward still

On his first quest, in which did him betide

A great aduenture, which did him from them deuide.

But first it falleth me by course to tell xxxi

Of faire _Serena_, who as earst you heard,

When first the gentle Squire at variaunce fell

With those two Carles, fled fast away, afeard

Of villany to be to her inferd:

So fresh the image of her former dread,

Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard,

That euery foote did tremble, which did tread,

And euery body two, and two she foure did read.

Through hils and dales, through bushes and through breres xxxii

Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought

Her selfe now past the perill of her feares.

Then looking round about, and seeing nought,[529]

Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought,

She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine,

And sitting downe, her selfe a while bethought

Of her long trauell and turmoyling paine;

And often did of loue, and oft of lucke complaine.

And euermore she blamed _Calepine_ xxxiii

The good Sir _Calepine_, her owne true Knight,

As th’onely author of her wofull tine:

For being of his loue to her so light,

As her to leaue in such a piteous plight.

Yet neuer Turtle truer to his make,

Then he was tride vnto his Lady bright:

Who all this while endured for her sake,

Great perill of his life, and restlesse paines did take.

Tho when as all her plaints[530] she had displayd, xxxiv

And well disburdened her engrieued brest,

Vpon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd;

Where being tyrde with trauell, and opprest

With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest.

There whilest in _Morpheus_ bosome safe she lay,

Fearelesse of ought, that mote her peace molest,

False Fortune did her safety betray,

Vnto a straunge mischaunce, that menac’d her decay.

In these wylde deserts, where she now abode, xxxv

There dwelt a saluage nation, which did liue

Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode

Into their neighbours borders; ne did giue

Them selues to any trade, as for to driue

The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,

Or by aduentrous marchandize to thriue;

But on the labours of poore men to feed,

And serue their owne necessities with others need.

Thereto they vsde one most accursed order, xxxvi

To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde,

And straungers to deuoure, which on their border

Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde.

A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde.

They towards euening wandring euery way,

To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde,

Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray,

Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay.

Soone as they spide her, Lord what gladfull glee xxxvii

They made amongst them selues; but when her face

Like the faire yuory shining they did see,

Each gan his fellow solace and embrace,

For ioy of such good hap by heauenly grace.

Then gan they to deuize what course to take:

Whether to slay her there vpon the place,

Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,

And then her eate attonce; or many meales to make.

The best aduizement was of bad, to let her xxxviii

Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment:

For sleepe they sayd would make her battill better.

Then when she wakt, they all gaue one consent,

That since[531] by grace of God she there was sent,

Vnto their God they would her sacrifize,

Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud they would present,

But of her dainty flesh they did deuize

To make a common feast, and feed with gurmandize.

So round about her they them selues did place xxxix

Vpon the grasse, and diuersely dispose,

As each thought best to spend the lingring space.

Some with their eyes the daintest[532] morsels chose;

Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose;

Some whet their kniues, and strip their elboes bare:

The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose

Of finest flowres, and with full busie care

His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare.

The Damzell wakes, then all attonce vpstart, xl

And round about her flocke, like many flies,

Whooping, and hallowing[533] on euery part,

As if they would haue rent the brasen skies.

Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies,

Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew

Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud she cries,

Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew,

And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew.

But all bootes not: they hands vpon her lay; xli

And first they spoile her of her iewels[534] deare,

And afterwards of all her rich array;

The which amongst them they in peeces teare,

And of the pray each one a part doth beare.

Now being naked, to their sordid eyes

The goodly threasures of nature appeare:

Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes,

Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest enuyes.

Her yuorie necke, her alablaster brest, xlii

Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were,

For loue in soft delight thereon to rest;

Her tender sides[535], her bellie white and clere,

Which like an Altar did it selfe vprere,

To offer sacrifice diuine thereon;

Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare

Like a triumphall Arch, and thereupon

The spoiles of Princes hang’d, which were in battel won.

Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight, xliii

Which mote not be prophan’d of common eyes,

Those villeins vew’d with loose lasciuious sight,

And closely tempted with their craftie spyes;

And some of them gan mongst themselues deuize,

Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure.

But them the Priest rebuking, did aduize

To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure,

Vow’d to the gods: religion held euen theeues in measure.

So being stayd, they her from thence directed xliv

Vnto a litle groue not farre asyde,

In which an altar shortly they erected,

To slay her on. And now the Euentyde

His brode black wings had through the heauens wyde

By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned

For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:

Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned,

And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned.

Tho when as all things readie were aright, xlv

The Damzell was before the altar set,

Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright.

To whom the Priest with naked armes full net

Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet,

Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme,

With other diuelish ceremonies met:

Which doen he gan aloft t’aduance his arme,

Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud[536] alarme.

Then gan the bagpypes and the hornes to shrill, xlvi

And shrieke aloud, that with the peoples voyce

Confused, did the ayre with terror fill,

And made the wood to tremble at the noyce:

The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce.

Now mote ye vnderstand that to this groue

Sir _Calepine_ by chaunce, more then by choyce,

The selfe same euening fortune hether droue,

As he to seeke _Serena_ through the woods did roue.

Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle xlvii

Had traueld still on foot in heauie armes,

Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyles[537],

Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes:

And now all weetlesse of the wretched stormes,

In which his loue was lost[538], he slept full fast,

Till being waked with these loud alarmes,

He lightly started vp like one aghast,

And catching vp his arms streight to the noise forth past.

There by th’vncertaine glims of starry night, xlviii

And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,

He mote perceiue a litle dawning sight

Of all, which there was doing in that quire:

Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire

He spyde, lamenting her vnluckie strife,

And groning sore from grieued hart entire,

Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife

Readie to launch her brest, and let out loued life.

With that he thrusts into the thickest throng, xlix

And euen as his right hand adowne descends,

He him preuenting, layes on earth along,

And sacrifizeth to th’infernall feends.

Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends,

Of whom he makes such hauocke and such hew,

That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends:

The rest that scape his sword and death eschew,

Fly like a flocke of doues before a Faulcons vew.

From them returning to that Ladie backe, l

Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find,

Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke

Of clothes to couer, what they[539] ought by kind,

He first her hands beginneth to vnbind;

And then to question of her present woe;

And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind.

But she for nought that he could say or doe,

One word durst speake, or answere him a whit[540] thereto.

So inward shame of her vncomely case li

She did conceiue, through care of womanhood,

That though the night did couer her disgrace,

Yet she in so vnwomanly a mood,

Would not bewray the state in which she stood.

So all that night to him vnknowen she past.

But day, that doth discouer bad and good,

Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:

The end whereof Ile keepe vntill another cast.

FOOTNOTES:

[521] iii 8 entreat _1596_

[522] xi 5 wield _1609_

[523] 9 two] tow _1596_

[524] xv 3 powned _1609_

[525] xvii 6 From] For _1596_

[526] xxii 2 account _1609_

[527] xxvi 4 with all _1596_

[528] xxviii 3 vnwieldy _1609_

[529] xxxii 4 nought. _1596_

[530] xxxiv 1 plaints, _1596_

[531] xxxviii 5 since] sith _1609_

[532] xxxix 4 daintiest _1609_

[533] xl 3 hollowing _1609_

[534] xli 2 iewls _1596_

[535] xlii 4 sides _1596_, _1609_

[536] xlv 9 aloud _1609_

[537] xlvii 3 toyle _1609_

[538] 6 lost] tost _Drayton_ (_teste Collier_)

[539] l 4 they] shee _1609_

[540] 9 awhit _1596_, _1609_

_Cant. IX._

[Illustration:

_Calidore hostes with Melibœ

and loues fayre Pastorell;

Coridon enuies him, yet he

for ill rewards him well._

]

Now turne againe my teme thou iolly swayne, i

Backe to the furrow which I lately left;

I lately left a furrow, one or twayne

Vnplough’d, the which my coulter hath not cleft:

Yet seem’d the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft,

As I it past, that were too great a shame,

That so rich frute should be from vs bereft;

Besides the great dishonour and defame,

Which should befall to _Calidores_ immortall name.

Great trauell hath the gentle _Calidore_ ii

And toyle endured, sith I left him last

Sewing the _Blatant beast_, which I forbore

To finish then, for other present hast.

Full many pathes and perils he hath past,

Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, and throgh plaines

In that same quest which fortune on him cast,

Which he atchieued to his owne great gaines,

Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.

So sharply he the Monster did pursew, iii

That day nor night he suffred him to rest,

Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew,

For dread of daunger, not to be redrest,

If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest.

Him first from court he to the citties coursed,

And from the citties to the townes him prest,

And from the townes into the countrie forsed,

And from the country back to priuate farmes he scorsed.

From thence into the open fields he fled, iv

Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat,

And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed,

Layes of sweete loue and youthes delightfull heat:

Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat

He followed fast, and chaced him so nie,

That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat,

And to the litle cots[541], where shepherds lie

In winters wrathfull time[542], he forced him to flie.

There on a day as he pursew’d the chace, v

He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes,

Playing on pypes, and caroling apace,

The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes

Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes:

For other worldly wealth they cared nought.

To whom Sir _Calidore_ yet sweating comes,

And them to tell him courteously besought,

If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought.

They answer’d him, that no such beast they saw, vi

Nor any wicked feend, that mote offend

Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw:

But if that such there were (as none they kend)

They prayd high God him[543] farre from them[543] to send.

Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,

After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,

Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat,

And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat.

The knight was nothing nice, where was no need, vii

And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne

They prayd him sit, and gaue him for to feed

Such homely what, as serues the simple clowne,

That doth despise the dainties of the towne.

Tho having fed his fill, he there besyde

Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne

Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde[544],

Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde.

Vpon a litle hillocke she was placed viii

Higher then all the rest, and round about

Enuiron’d with a girland, goodly graced,

Of louely lasses, and them all without

The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,

The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,

And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout,

As if some miracle of heauenly hew

Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.

And soothly sure she was full fayre of face, ix

And perfectly well shapt in euery lim,

Which she did more augment with modest grace,

And comely carriage of her count’nance trim,

That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:

Who her admiring as some heauenly wight,

Did for their soueraine goddesse her esteeme,

And caroling her name both day and night,

The fayrest _Pastorella_ her by name did hight.

Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne x

But her did honour, and eke many a one

Burnt in her loue, and with sweet pleasing payne

Full many a night for her did sigh and grone:

But most of all the shepheard _Coridon_

For her did languish, and his deare life spend;

Yet neither she for him, nor other none

Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:

Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend.

Her whyles Sir _Calidore_ there vewed well, xi

And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed

So farre the meane of shepheards to excell,

As that he in his mind her worthy deemed,

To be a Princes Paragone esteemed,

He was vnwares surprisd in subtile bands

Of the blynd boy, ne thence could be redeemed

By any skill out of his cruell hands,

Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands.

So stood he still long gazing thereupon, xii

Ne any will had thence to moue away,

Although his quest were farre afore him gon;

But after he had fed, yet did he stay,

And sate there still, vntill the flying day

Was farre forth spent, discoursing diuersly

Of sundry things, as fell,[545] to worke delay;

And euermore his speach he did apply

To th’heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy.

By this the moystie night approching fast, xiii

Her deawy humour gan on th’earth to shed,

That warn’d the shepheards to their homes to hast

Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,

For feare of wetting them before their bed;

Then came to them a good old aged syre,

Whose siluer lockes bedeckt his beard and hed,

With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,

That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre.

He was to weet by common voice esteemed xiv

The father of the fayrest _Pastorell_,

And of her selfe in very deede so deemed;

Yet was not so, but as old stories tell

Found her by fortune, which to him befell,

In th’open fields an Infant left alone,

And taking vp brought home, and noursed well

As his owne chyld; for other he had none,

That she in tract of time accompted was his owne.

She at his bidding meekely did arise, xv

And streight vnto her litle flocke did fare:

Then all the rest about her rose likewise,

And each his sundrie sheepe with seuerall care

Gathered together, and them homeward bare:

Whylest euerie one with helping hands did striue

Amongst themselues, and did their labours share,

To helpe faire _Pastorella_, home to driue

Her fleecie flocke; but _Coridon_ most helpe did giue.

But _Melibœe_ (so hight that good old man) xvi

Now seeing _Calidore_ left all alone,

And night arriued hard at hand, began

Him to inuite vnto his simple home;

Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,

And all things therein meane, yet better so

To lodge, then in the saluage fields to rome.

The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,

Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go.

There he was welcom’d of that honest syre, xvii

And of his aged Beldame homely well;

Who him besought himselfe to disattyre,

And rest himselfe, till supper time befell.

By which home came the fayrest _Pastorell_,

After her flocke she in their fold had tyde,

And supper readie dight, they to it fell

With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,

The which doth litle craue contented to abyde.

Tho when they had their hunger slaked well, xviii

And the fayre mayd the table ta’ne away,

The gentle knight, as he that did excell

In courtesie, and well could doe and say,

For so great kindnesse as he found that day,

Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife;

And drawing thence his speach another way,

Gan highly to commend the happie life,

Which Shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife.

How much (sayd he) more happie is the state, xix

In which ye father here doe dwell at ease,

Leading a life so free and fortunate,

From all the tempests of these worldly seas,

Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease;

Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie

Doe them afflict, which no man can appease,

That certes I your happinesse enuie,

And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.

Surely my sonne (then answer’d he againe) xx

If happie, then it is in this intent,

That hauing small, yet doe I not complaine

Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,

But doe my self, with that I haue, content;

So taught of nature, which doth litle need

Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:

The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;

No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed.

Therefore I doe not any one enuy, xxi

Nor am enuyde of any one therefore;

They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby,

And store of cares doth follow riches store.

The litle that I haue, growes dayly more

Without my care, but onely to attend it;

My lambes doe euery yeare increase their score,

And my flockes father daily doth amend it.

What haue I, but to praise th’Almighty, that doth send it?

To them, that list, the worlds gay showes I leaue, xxii

And to great ones such follies doe forgiue,

Which oft through pride do their owne perill weaue,

And through ambition downe themselues doe driue

To sad decay, that might contented liue.

Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend,

Ne once my minds vnmoued quiet grieue,

But all the night in siluer sleepe I spend,

And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend.

Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe xxiii

Vnto my Lambes, and him dislodge away;

Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe,

Or from the Goat her kidde how to conuay;

Another while I baytes and nets display,

The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle:

And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay

My limbes in euery shade, to rest from toyle,

And drinke of euery brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle.

The time was once, in my first prime of yeares, xxiv

When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,

That I disdain’d amongst mine equall peares

To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire:

For further fortune then I would inquire.

And leauing home, to roiall court I sought;

Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire,

And in the Princes gardin daily wrought:

There I beheld such vainenesse, as I neuer thought.

With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded xxv

With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine,

After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded

From natiue home, and spent my youth in vaine,

I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine,

And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare.

Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe,

I from thenceforth haue learn’d to loue more deare

This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here.

Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare[546] xxvi

Hong still vpon his melting mouth attent;

Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,

That he was rapt[547] with double rauishment,

Both of his speach that wrought him great content,

And also of the obiect of his vew,

On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;

That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew,

He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew.

Yet to occasion meanes, to worke his mind, xxvii

And to insinuate his harts desire,

He thus replyde; Now surely syre, I find,

That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,

Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre

Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead,

Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre,

Which tosseth states, and vnder foot doth tread

The mightie ones, affrayd of euery chaunges dread.

That euen I which daily doe behold xxviii

The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won,

And now haue prou’d, what happinesse ye hold

In this small plot of your dominion,

Now loath great Lordship and ambition;

And wish the heauens[548] so much had graced mee,

As graunt me liue in like condition;

Or that my fortunes might transposed bee

From pitch of higher place, vnto this low degree.

In vaine (said then old _Melibœ_) doe men xxix

The heauens of their fortunes fault accuse,

Sith they know best, what is the best for them:

For they to each such fortune doe diffuse,

As they doe know each can most aptly vse.

For not that, which men couet most, is best,

Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse;

But fittest is, that all contented rest

With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.

It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill, xxx

That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:

For some, that hath abundance at his will,

Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store;

And other, that hath litle, askes no more,

But in that litle is both rich and wise.

For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore

They are, which fortunes doe by vowes deuize,

Sith each vnto himselfe his life may fortunize.

Since then in each mans self (said _Calidore_) xxxi

It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate,

Giue leaue awhyle, good father, in this shore

To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late

With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate,

In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine,

That whether quite from them for to retrate

I shall resolue, or backe to turne againe,

I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine.

Not that the burden of so bold a guest xxxii

Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all;

For your meane food shall be my daily feast,

And this your cabin both my bowre and hall.

Besides for recompence hereof, I shall

You well reward, and golden guerdon giue,

That may perhaps you better much withall,

And in this quiet make you safer liue.

So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it driue.

But the good man, nought tempted with the offer xxxiii

Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away,

And thus bespake; Sir knight, your bounteous proffer

Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display

That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,

That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread.

But if ye algates couet to assay

This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead,

Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread.

So there that night Sir _Calidore_ did dwell, xxxiv

And long while after, whilest him list remaine,

Dayly beholding the faire _Pastorell_,

And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane.

During which time he did her entertaine

With all kind courtesies, he could inuent;

And euery day, her companie to gaine,

When to the field she went, he with her went:

So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment.

But she that neuer had acquainted beene xxxv

With such queint vsage, fit for Queenes and Kings,

Ne euer had such knightly seruice seene,

But being bred vnder base shepheards wings,

Had euer learn’d to loue the lowly things,

Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,

But cared more for _Colins_ carolings

Then all that he could doe, or euer[549] deuize:

His layes, his loues, his lookes she did them all despize.

Which _Calidore_ perceiuing, thought it best xxxvi

To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke;

And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest

In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke,

In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke,

That who had seene him then, would haue bethought

On _Phrygian Paris_ by _Plexippus_ brooke,

When he the loue of fayre _Oenone_[550] sought,

What time the golden apple was vnto him brought.

So being clad, vnto the fields he went xxxvii

With the faire _Pastorella_ euery day,

And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,

Watching to driue the rauenous Wolfe away,

The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play;

And euery euening helping them to fold:

And otherwhiles for need, he did assay

In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,

And out of them to presse the milke: loue so much could.

Which seeing _Coridon_, who her likewise xxxviii

Long time had lou’d, and hop’d her loue to gaine,

He much was troubled at that straungers guize,

And many gealous thoughts conceiu’d in vaine,

That this of all his labour and long paine

Should reap the haruest, ere it ripened were,

That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine

Of _Pastorell_ to all the shepheards there,

That she did loue a stranger swayne then him more dere.

And euer when he came in companie, xxxix

Where _Calidore_ was present, he would loure,

And byte his lip, and euen for gealousie

Was readie oft his owne hart to deuoure,

Impatient of any paramoure:

Who on the other side did seeme so farre

From malicing, or grudging his good houre,

That all he could, he graced him with her,

Ne euer shewed signe of rancour or of iarre.

And oft, when _Coridon_ vnto her brought xl

Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest,

Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought,

Or other daintie thing for her addrest,

He would commend his guift, and make the best.

Yet she no whit his presents did regard,

Ne him could find to fancie in her brest:

This newcome shepheard had his market mard.

Old loue is litle worth when new is more prefard.

One day when as the shepheard swaynes together xli

Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee,

As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather,

The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee,

They fell to daunce: then did they all agree,

That _Colin Clout_[551] should pipe as one most fit;

And _Calidore_ should lead the ring, as hee

That most in _Pastorellaes_ grace did sit.

Thereat frown’d _Coridon_, and his lip closely bit.

But _Calidore_ of courteous inclination xlii

Tooke _Coridon_, and set him in his place,

That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion;

For _Coridon_ could daunce, and trimly trace.

And when as _Pastorella_, him to grace,

Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head,

And plast on his, he did it soone displace,

And did it put on _Coridons_ in stead:

Then _Coridon_ woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead.

Another time, when as they did dispose xliii

To practise games, and maisteries[552] to try,

They for their Iudge did _Pastorella_ chose;

A garland was the meed of victory.

There _Coridon_ forth stepping openly,

Did chalenge _Calidore_ to wrestling game:

For he through long and perfect industry,

Therein well practisd was, and in the same

Thought sure t’auenge his grudge, and worke his foe great shame.

But _Calidore_ he greatly did mistake; xliv

For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,

That with one fall his necke he almost brake,

And had he not vpon him fallen light,

His dearest ioynt he sure had broken quight.

Then was the oaken crowne by _Pastorell_

Giuen to _Calidore_, as his due right;

But he, that did in courtesie excell,

Gaue it to _Coridon_, and said he wonne it well.

Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare xlv

Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,

That euen they, the which his riuals were,

Could not maligne him, but commend him needs:

For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds[553]

Good will and fauour. So it surely wrought

With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the seeds

Of perfect loue did sow, that last forth brought

The fruite of ioy and blisse, though long time dearely bought[554].

Thus _Calidore_ continu’d there long time, xlvi

To winne the loue of the faire _Pastorell_;

Which hauing got, he vsed without crime

Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well,

That he of all the rest, which there did dwell[555],

Was fauoured, and to her grace commended.

But what straunge fortunes vnto him befell,

Ere he attain’d the point by him intended,

Shall more conueniently in other place be ended.

FOOTNOTES:

[541] iv 8 cotes _1609_

[542] 9 time] tine _conj. Church_

[543] vi 5 him] them _1596_

[544] vii 8 tyde. _1596_

[545] xii 7 fell _1596_

[546] xxvi 1 care _1609_

[547] 4 wrapt _1609_

[548] xxviii 6 th’heauens _1596_, _1609_

[549] xxxv 8 ev’r _1609_

[550] xxxvi 8 _Benone_ _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Hughes_

[551] xli 6 _clout_ _1596_

[552] xliii 2 masteries _1609_

[553] xlv 5 breeds: _1596_

[554] 9 bought] sought _conj. Church_

[555] xlvi 5 dwell] well _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1611_

_Cant. X._

[Illustration:

_Calidore sees the Graces daunce,

To Colins melody:

The whiles his Pastorell is led,

Into captiuity._

]

Who now does follow the foule _Blatant Beast_, i

Whilest _Calidore_ does follow that faire Mayd,

Vnmyndfull of his vow and high beheast,

Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd,

That he should neuer leaue, nor be delayd

From chacing him, till he had it attchieued?

But now entrapt of loue, which him betrayd,

He mindeth more, how he may be relieued

With grace from her, whose loue his heart hath sore engrieued.

That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew ii

His former quest, so full of toile and paine;

Another quest, another game in vew

He hath, the guerdon of his loue to gaine:

With whom he myndes for euer to remaine,

And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort,

Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine

Of courtly fauour, fed with light report[556]

Of euery blaste, and sayling alwaies in[557] the port.

Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be, iii

From so high step to stoupe vnto so low.

For who had tasted once (as oft did he)

The happy peace, which there doth ouerflow,

And prou’d the perfect pleasures, which doe grow

Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales,

Would neuer more delight in painted show

Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales,

T’entrap vnwary fooles in their eternall bales.

For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze iv

Like to one sight, which _Calidore_ did vew?

The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze,

That neuer more they should endure the shew

Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew.

Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare,

(Saue onely _Glorianaes_ heauenly hew

To which what can compare?) can it compare;

The which as commeth now, by course I will declare.

One day as he did raunge the fields abroad, v

Whilest his faire _Pastorella_ was elsewhere,

He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,

Vnto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere

To passe all others, on the earth which were:

For all that euer was by natures skill

Deuized to worke delight, was gathered there,

And there by her were poured forth at fill,

As if this to adorne, she all the rest did pill.

It was an hill plaste in an open plaine, vi

That round about was bordered with a wood

Of matchlesse hight, that seem’d th’earth to disdaine,

In which all trees of honour stately stood,

And did all winter as in sommer bud,

Spredding pauilions for the birds to bowre,

Which in their lower braunches sung aloud;

And in their tops the soring hauke did towre,

Sitting like King of fowles in maiesty and powre.

And at the foote thereof, a gentle flud vii

His siluer waues did softly tumble downe,

Vnmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud,

Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne

Thereto approch, ne filth mote therein drowne:

But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did sit,

In the woods shade, which did the waters crowne,

Keeping all noysome things away from it,

And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit.

And on the top thereof a spacious plaine viii

Did spred it selfe, to serue to all delight,

Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine,

Or else to course about[558] their bases light;

Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might[559]

Desired be, or thence to banish bale:

So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight,

Did seeme to ouerlooke the lowly vale;

Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount _Acidale_.

They say that _Venus_, when she did dispose ix

Her selfe to pleasaunce, vsed to resort

Vnto this place, and therein to repose

And rest her selfe, as in a gladsome port,

Or with the Graces there to play and sport;

That euen her owne Cytheron, though in it

She vsed most to keepe her royall court,

And in her soueraine Maiesty to sit,

She in regard hereof refusde and thought vnfit.

Vnto this place when as the Elfin Knight x

Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound

Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight,

And many feete fast thumping th’hollow ground,

That through the woods their Eccho did rebound.

He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be;

There he a troupe of Ladies dauncing found

Full merrily, and making gladfull glee,

And in the midst a Shepheard piping he did see.

He durst not enter into th’open greene, xi

For dread of them vnwares to be descryde,

For breaking of their daunce, if he were seene;

But in the couert of the wood did byde,

Beholding all, yet of them vnespyde.

There he did see, that pleased much his sight,

That euen he him selfe his eyes enuyde,

An hundred naked maidens lilly white,

All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight.

All they without were raunged in a ring, xii

And daunced round; but in the midst of them

Three other Ladies did both daunce and sing,

The whilest the rest them round about did hemme,

And like a girlond did in compasse stemme:

And in the middest of those same three, was placed

Another Damzell, as a precious gemme,

Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced,

That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced.

Looke how the Crowne, which _Ariadne_ wore xiii

Vpon her yuory forehead that same day,

That _Theseus_ her vnto his bridale bore,

When the bold _Centaures_ made that bloudy fray,

With the fierce _Lapithes_, which did them dismay;

Being now placed in the firmament,

Through the bright heauen doth her beams display,

And is vnto the starres an ornament,

Which round about her moue in order excellent.

Such was the beauty of this goodly band, xiv

Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell:

But she that in the midst of them did stand,

Seem’d all the rest in beauty to excell,

Crownd with a rosie girlond, that right well

Did her beseeme. And euer, as the crew

About her daunst, sweet flowres, that far did smell,

And fragrant odours they vppon her threw;

But most of all, those three did her with gifts endew.

Those were the Graces, daughters of delight, xv

Handmaides of _Venus_, which are wont to haunt

Vppon this hill, and daunce there day and night:

Those three to men all gifts of grace do graunt,

And all, that _Venus_ in her selfe doth vaunt,

Is borrowed of them. But that faire one,

That in the midst was placed parauaunt,

Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone,

That made him pipe so merrily, as neuer none.

She was to weete that iolly Shepheards lasse, xvi

Which piped there vnto that merry rout,

That iolly shepheard, which there piped, was

Poore _Colin Clout_ (who knowes not _Colin Clout_?)

He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about.

Pype iolly shepheard, pype thou now apace

Vnto thy loue, that made thee low to lout:

Thy loue is present there with thee in place,

Thy loue is there aduaunst to be another Grace.

Much wondred _Calidore_ at this straunge sight, xvii

Whose like before his eye had neuer seene,

And standing long astonished in spright,

And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene;

Whether it were the traine of beauties Queene,

Or Nymphes, or Faeries, or enchaunted show,

With which his eyes mote haue deluded beene.

Therefore resoluing, what it was, to know,

Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go.

But soone as he appeared to their vew, xviii

They vanisht all away out of his sight,

And cleane were gone, which way he neuer knew;

All saue the shepheard, who for fell despight

Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight,

And made great mone for that vnhappy turne.

But _Calidore_, though no lesse sory wight,

For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne,

Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne.

And first him greeting, thus vnto him spake, xix

Haile iolly shepheard, which thy ioyous dayes

Here leadest in this goodly merry make,

Frequented of these gentle Nymphes alwayes,

Which to thee flocke, to heare thy louely layes;

Tell me, what mote these dainty Damzels be,

Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes?

Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see:

But why when I them saw, fled they away from me?

Not I so happy[560], answerd then that swaine, xx

As thou vnhappy, which them thence didst chace,

Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe,

For being gone, none can them bring in place,

But whom they of them selues list so to grace.

Right sory I, (saide then Sir _Calidore_,)

That my ill fortune did them hence displace.

But since things passed none may now restore,

Tell me, what were they all, whose lacke thee grieues so sore.

Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate; xxi

Then wote thou shepheard, whatsoeuer thou bee,

That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late,

Are _Venus_ Damzels, all within[561] her fee,

But differing in honour and degree:

They all are Graces, which on her depend,

Besides a thousand more, which ready bee

Her to adorne, when so she forth doth wend:

But those three in the midst, doe chiefe on her attend.

They are the daughters of sky-ruling Ioue, xxii

By him begot of faire _Eurynome_,

The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant groue,

As he this way comming from feastfull glee,

Of _Thetis_ wedding with _Æacidee_,[562]

In sommers shade him selfe[563] here rested weary.

The first of them hight mylde _Euphrosyne_,

Next faire _Aglaia_, last _Thalia_ merry:

Sweete Goddesses all three which me in mirth do cherry.

These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, xxiii

Which decke the body or adorne the mynde,

To make them louely or well fauoured show,

As comely carriage, entertainement kynde,

Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde,

And all the complements of curtesie:

They teach vs, how to each degree and kynde

We should our selues demeane, to low, to hie;

To friends, to foes, which skill men call Ciuility.

Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile, xxiv

That we likewise should mylde and gentle be,

And also naked are, that without guile

Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see,

Simple and true from couert malice free:

And eeke them selues so in their daunce they bore,

That two of them still froward[564] seem’d to bee,

But one still towards shew’d her selfe afore;

That good should from vs goe, then come in greater store.

Such were those Goddesses, which ye did see; xxv

But that fourth Mayd, which there amidst them traced,

Who can aread, what creature mote she bee,

Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced

With heauenly gifts from heuen first enraced?

But what so sure she was, she worthy was,

To be the fourth with those three other placed:

Yet was she certes but a countrey[565] lasse,

Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe.

So farre as doth the daughter of the day, xxvi

All other lesser lights in light excell,

So farre doth she in beautyfull array,

Aboue all other lasses beare the bell,

Ne lesse in vertue that beseemes her well,

Doth she exceede the rest of all her race,

For which the Graces that here wont to dwell,

Haue for more honor brought her to this place,

And graced her so much to be another Grace.

Another Grace she well deserues to be, xxvii

In whom so many Graces gathered are,

Excelling much the meane of her degree;

Diuine resemblaunce, beauty soueraine rare,

Firme Chastity, that spight ne blemish dare;

All which she with such courtesie doth grace,

That all her peres cannot with her compare,

But quite are dimmed, when she is in place.

She made me often pipe and now to pipe apace.

Sunne of the world, great glory of the sky, xxviii

That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes,

Great _Gloriana_, greatest Maiesty,

Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many layes,

As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes,

To make one minime of thy poore handmayd,

And vnderneath thy feete to place her prayse,

That when thy glory shall be farre displayd

To future age of her this mention may be made.

When thus that shepherd ended had his speach, xxix

Sayd _Calidore_; Now sure it yrketh mee,

That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse breach,

As now the author of thy bale to be,

Thus to bereaue thy loues deare sight from thee:

But gentle Shepheard pardon thou my shame,

Who rashly sought that, which I mote not see.

Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his blame,

And to recomfort him, all comely meanes did frame.

In such discourses they together spent xxx

Long time, as fit occasion forth them led;

With which the Knight him selfe did much content,

And with delight his greedy fancy fed,

Both of his words, which he with reason red;

And also of the place, whose pleasures rare

With such regard his sences rauished,

That thence, he had no will away to fare,

But wisht, that with that shepheard he mote dwelling share.

But that enuenimd sting, the which of yore, xxxi

His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart

Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore,

And to renue the rigour of his smart:

Which[566] to recure, no skill of Leaches art

Mote him auaile, but to returne againe

To his wounds worker, that with louely dart

Dinting his brest, had bred his restlesse paine,

Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from the maine.

So taking leaue of that same gentle swaine, xxxii

He backe returned to his rusticke wonne,

Where his faire _Pastorella_ did remaine:

To whome in sort, as he at first begonne,

He daily did apply him selfe to donne[567]

All dewfull seruice voide of thoughts impure[568]:

Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne,

By which he might her to his loue allure,

And liking in her yet vntamed heart procure.

And euermore the shepheard _Coridon_, xxxiii

What euer thing he did her to aggrate,

Did striue to match with strong contention,

And all his paines did closely emulate;

Whether it were to caroll, as they sate

Keeping their sheepe, or games to exercize,

Or to present her with their labours late;

Through which if any grace chaunst to arize

To him, the Shepheard streight with iealousie did frize.

One day as they all three together went xxxiv

To the greene wood, to gather strawberies,

There chaunst to them a dangerous accident;

A Tigre forth out of the wood did rise,

That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize,

And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate,

Did runne at _Pastorell_ her to surprize:

Whom she beholding, now all desolate

Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe her[569] all too late.

Which _Coridon_ first hearing, ran in hast xxxv

To reskue her, but when he saw the feend,

Through cowherd feare he fled away as fast,

Ne durst abide the daunger of the end;

His life he steemed dearer then his frend.

But _Calidore_ soone comming to her ayde,

When he the beast saw ready now to rend

His loues deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde,

He ran at him enraged in stead of being frayde.

He had no weapon, but his shepheards hooke, xxxvi

To serue the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will,

With which so sternely he the monster strooke,

That to the ground astonished he fell;

Whence ere he could recou’r, he did him quell,

And hewing off his head, <he>[570] it presented

Before the feete of the faire _Pastorell_;

Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted,

A thousand times him thankt, that had her death preuented.

From that day forth she gan him to affect, xxxvii

And daily more her fauour to augment;

But _Coridon_ for cowherdize reiect,

Fit to keepe sheepe, vnfit for loues content:

The gentle heart scornes base disparagement.

Yet _Calidore_ did not despise him quight,

But vsde him friendly for further intent,

That by his fellowship, he colour might

Both his estate, and loue from skill of any wight.

So well he wood her, and so well he wrought her, xxxviii

With humble seruice, and with daily sute,

That at the last vnto his will he brought her;

Which he so wisely well did prosecute,

That of his loue he reapt the timely frute,

And ioyed long in close felicity:

Till fortune fraught with malice, blinde, and brute,

That enuies louers long prosperity,

Blew vp a bitter storme of foule aduersity.

It fortuned one day, when _Calidore_ xxxix

Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade)

A lawlesse people, _Brigants_ hight of yore,

That neuer vsde to liue by plough nor spade,

But fed on spoile and booty, which they made

Vpon their neighbours, which did nigh them border,

The dwelling of these shepheards did inuade,

And spoyld their houses, and them selues did murder;

And droue away their flocks[571], with other much disorder.

Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray, xl

They spoyld old _Melibee_ of all he had,

And all his people captiue led away,

Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad,

Faire _Pastorella_, sorrowfull and sad,

Most sorrowfull, most sad, that euer sight,

Now made the spoile of theeues and _Brigants_ bad,

Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight,

That euer liu’d, and th’onely glory of his might.

With them also was taken _Coridon_, xli

And carried captiue by those theeues away;

Who in the couert of the night, that none

Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray,

Vnto their dwelling did them close conuay.

Their dwelling in a little Island was,

Couered with shrubby woods, in which no way

Appeard for people in nor out to pas,

Nor any footing fynde for ouergrowen gras.

For vnderneath the ground their way was made, xlii

Through hollow caues, that no man mote discouer

For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade

From view of liuing wight, and couered ouer:

But darkenesse dred and daily night did houer

Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelt,

Ne lightned was with window, nor with louer,

But with continuall candlelight, which delt

A doubtfull sense of things, not so well seene, as felt.

Hither those _Brigants_ brought their present pray, xliii

And kept them with continuall watch and ward,

Meaning so soone, as they conuenient may,

For slaues to sell them, for no small reward,

To merchants, which them kept in bondage hard,

Or sold againe. Now when faire _Pastorell_

Into this place was brought, and kept with gard

Of griesly theeues, she thought her self in hell,

Where with such damned fiends she should in darknesse dwell.

But for to tell the dolefull dreriment, xliv

And pittifull complaints, which there she made,

Where[572] day and night she nought did but lament

Her wretched life, shut vp in deadly shade,

And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade

Like to a flowre, that feeles no heate of sunne,

Which may her feeble leaues with comfort glade.[573]

But[574] what befell her in that theeuish wonne,

Will in an other Canto better be begonne.

FOOTNOTES:

[556] ii 8 report. _1596_

[557] 9 in] on _1596_

[558] viii 4 course-about _1609_

[559] 5 might, _1596_

[560] xx 1 happy _1596_

[561] xxi 4 within] with in _1596_

[562] xxii 5 _AEcidee_ _1596_: _Aecidee_, _1609_

[563] 6 selfe] felfe _1596_

[564] xxiv 7 froward] forward _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1612-13_

[565] xxv 8 counrtey _1596_

[566] xxxi 5 Whch _1596_

[567] xxxii 5 donne, _1596_

[568] 6 impare _1596_

[569] xxxiv 9 her] ere _Drayton_ (_teste Collier_)

[570] xxxvi 6 <he> _om. 1596, 1609_

[571] xxxix 9 flocke _1609_

_Cant. XI._

[Illustration:

_The theues fall out for Pastorell,

Whilest Melibee is slaine:

Her Calidore from them redeemes,

And bringeth backe againe._

]

The ioyes of loue, if they should euer last, i

Without affliction or disquietnesse,

That worldly chaunces doe amongst them cast,

Would be on earth too great a blessednesse,

Liker to heauen, then mortall wretchednesse.

Therefore the winged God, to let men weet,

That here on earth is no sure happinesse,

A thousand sowres hath tempred with one sweet,

To make it seeme more deare and dainty, as is meet.

Like as is now befalne to this faire Mayd, ii

Faire _Pastorell_, of whom is now my song,

Who being now in dreadfull darknesse layd,

Amongst those theeues, which her in bondage strong

Detaynd, yet Fortune not with all this wrong

Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw,

And sorrowes heapt on her in greater throng;

That who so heares her heauinesse, would rew

And pitty her sad plight, so chang’d from pleasaunt hew.

Whylest thus she in these hellish dens remayned, iii

Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts vnrest,

It so befell (as Fortune had ordayned)

That he, which was their Capitaine profest,

And had the chiefe commaund of all the rest,

One day as he did all his prisoners vew,

With lustfull eyes,[575] beheld that louely guest,

Faire _Pastorella_, whose sad mournefull hew

Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog did shew.

At sight whereof his barbarous heart was fired, iv

And inly burnt with flames most raging whot,

That her alone he for his part desired

Of all the other pray, which they had got,

And her in mynde did to him selfe allot.

From that day forth he kyndnesse to her showed,[576]

And sought her loue, by all the meanes he mote;

With looks, with words, with gifts he oft her wowed;

And mixed threats among, and much vnto her vowed.

But all that euer he could doe or say, v

Her constant mynd could not a whit remoue,

Nor draw vnto the lure of his lewd lay,

To graunt him fauour, or afford him loue.

Yet ceast he not to sew and all waies proue,

By which he mote accomplish his request,

Saying and doing all that mote behoue;

Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest,

But her all night did watch, and all the day molest.

At last when him she so importune saw, vi

Fearing least he at length the raines would lend

Vnto his lust, and make his will his law,

Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend,

She thought it best, for shadow to pretend

Some shew of fauour, by him gracing small,

That she thereby mote either freely wend,

Or at more ease continue there his thrall:

A little well is lent, that gaineth more withall.

So from thenceforth, when loue he to her made, vii

With better tearmes she did him entertaine,

Which gaue him hope, and did him halfe perswade,

That he in time her ioyaunce should obtaine.

But when she saw, through that small fauours gaine,

That further, then she willing was, he prest,

She found no meanes to barre him, but to faine

A sodaine sickenesse, which her sore opprest,

And made vnfit to serue his lawlesse mindes behest.

By meanes whereof she would not him permit viii

Once to approch to her in priuity,

But onely mongst the rest by her to sit,

Mourning the rigour of her malady,

And seeking all things meete for remedy.

But she resolu’d no remedy to fynde,

Nor better cheare to shew in misery,

Till Fortune would her captiue bonds vnbynde,

Her sickenesse was not of the body but the mynde.

During which space that she thus sicke did lie, ix

It chaunst a sort of merchants, which were wount

To skim those coastes, for bondmen there to buy,

And by such trafficke after gaines to hunt,

Arriued in this Isle though bare and blunt,

T’inquire for slaues; where being readie met

By some of these same theeues at the instant[577] brunt,

Were brought vnto their Captaine, who was set

By his faire patients side with sorrowfull regret.

To whom they shewed, how those marchants were x

Arriu’d in place, their bondslaues for to buy,

And therefore prayd, that those same captiues there

Mote to them for their most commodity

Be sold, and mongst them shared equally.

This their request the Captaine much appalled;

Yet could he not their iust demaund deny,

And willed streight the slaues should forth be[578] called,

And sold for most aduantage not to be forstalled.

Then forth the good old _Melibœ_ was brought, xi

And _Coridon_, with many other moe,

Whom they before in diuerse spoyles had caught:

All which he to the marchants sale did showe.

Till some, which did the sundry prisoners knowe,

Gan to inquire for that[579] faire shepherdesse,

Which with the rest they tooke not long agoe,

And gan her forme and feature to expresse,

The more t’augment her price, through praise of comlinesse.

To whom the Captaine in full angry wize xii

Made answere, that the Mayd of whom they spake,

Was his owne purchase and his onely prize,

With which none had to doe, ne ought partake,

But he himselfe, which did that conquest make;

Litle for him to haue one silly lasse:

Besides through sicknesse now so wan and weake,

That nothing meet in marchandise to passe.

So shew’d them her, to proue how pale and weake she was.

The sight of whom, though now decayd and mard, xiii

And eke but hardly seene by candle-light,

Yet like a Diamond of rich regard,

In doubtfull shadow of the darkesome night,

With starrie beames about her shining bright,

These marchants fixed eyes did so amaze,

That what through wonder, and what through delight,

A while on her they greedily did gaze,

And did her greatly like, and did her greatly praize.

At last when all the rest them offred were, xiv

And prises[580] to them placed at their pleasure,

They all refused in regard of her,

Ne ought would buy, how euer prisd with measure,

Withouten her, whose worth aboue all threasure

They did esteeme, and offred store of gold.

But then the Captaine fraught with more displeasure,

Bad them be still, his loue should not be sold:

The rest take if they would, he her to him would hold.

Therewith some other of the chiefest theeues xv

Boldly him bad such iniurie forbeare;

For that same mayd, how euer it him greeues,

Should with the rest be sold before him theare,

To make the prises[581] of the rest more deare.

That with great rage he stoutly doth denay;

And fiercely drawing forth his blade, doth sweare,

That who so hardie hand on her doth lay,

It dearely shall aby, and death for handsell pay.

Thus as they words amongst them multiply, xvi

They fall to strokes, the frute of too much talke,

And the mad steele about doth fiercely fly,

Not sparing wight, ne leauing any balke,

But making way for death at large to walke:

Who in the horror of the griesly night,

In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst them stalke,

And makes huge hauocke, whiles the candlelight

Out quenched, leaues no skill nor difference of wight.

Like as a sort of hungry dogs ymet xvii

About some carcase by the common way,

Doe fall together, stryuing each to get

The greatest portion of the greedie pray;

All on confused heapes themselues assay,

And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, and teare;

That who them sees, would wonder at their tray,

And who sees not, would be affrayd to heare.

Such was the conflict of those cruell _Brigants_ there.

But first of all, their captiues they doe kill, xviii

Least they should ioyne against the weaker side,

Or rise against the remnant at their will;

Old _Melibœ_ is slaine, and him beside

His aged wife, with many others wide,

But _Coridon_ escaping craftily,

Creepes forth of dores, whilst darknes him doth hide,

And flyes away as fast as he can hye,

Ne stayeth leaue to take, before his friends doe dye.

But _Pastorella_, wofull wretched Elfe, xix

Was by the Captaine all this while defended,

Who minding more her safety then himselfe,

His target alwayes ouer her pretended;[582]

By meanes whereof, that mote not be amended,

He at the length was slaine, and layd on ground,

Yet holding fast twixt both his armes extended

Fayre _Pastorell_, who with the selfe same wound

Launcht through the arme, fell down with him in drerie swound.

There lay she couered with confused preasse xx

Of carcases, which dying on her fell.

Tho when as he was dead, the fray gan ceasse,

And each to other calling, did compell

To stay their cruell hands from slaughter fell,

Sith they that were the cause of all, were gone.

Thereto they all attonce agreed well,

And lighting candles new, gan search anone,

How many of their friends were slaine, how many fone.

Their Captaine there they cruelly found kild, xxi

And in his armes the dreary dying mayd,

Like a sweet Angell twixt two clouds vphild:

Her louely light was dimmed and decayd,

With cloud of death vpon her eyes displayd;

Yet did the cloud make euen that dimmed light

Seeme much more louely in that darknesse layd,

And twixt the twinckling of her eye-lids bright,

To sparke out litle beames, like starres in foggie night.

But when they mou’d the carcases aside, xxii

They found that life did yet in her remaine:

Then all their helpes they busily applyde,

To call the soule backe to her home againe;

And wrought so well with labour and long paine,

That they to life recouered her at last.

Who sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine

Had riuen bene, and all her hart strings brast,

With drearie drouping eyne lookt vp like one aghast.

There she beheld, that sore her grieu’d to see, xxiii

Her father and her friends about her lying,

Her selfe sole left, a second spoyle to bee

Of those, that hauing saued her from dying,

Renew’d her death by timely death denying:

What now is left her, but to wayle and weepe,

Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud crying?

Ne cared she her wound in teares to steepe,

Albe with all their might those _Brigants_ her did keepe.

But when they saw her now reliu’d[583] againe, xxiv

They left her so, in charge of one the best

Of many worst, who with vnkind disdaine

And cruell rigour her did much molest;

Scarse yeelding her due food, or timely rest,

And scarsely suffring her infestred wound,

That sore her payn’d, by any to be drest.

So leaue we her in wretched thraldome bound,

And turne we backe to _Calidore_, where we him found.

Who when he backe returned from the wood, xxv

And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled quight,

And his loue reft away, he wexed wood,

And halfe enraged at that ruefull sight,

That euen his hart for very fell despight,

And his owne flesh he readie was to teare,

He chauft, he grieu’d, he fretted, and he sight,

And fared like a furious wyld Beare,

Whose whelpes are stolne away, she being otherwhere.

Ne wight he found, to whom he might complaine, xxvi

Ne wight he found, of whom he might inquire;

That more increast the anguish of his paine.

He sought the woods; but no man could see there:[584]

He sought the plaines; but could no tydings heare.

The woods did nought but ecchoes vaine rebound;

The playnes all waste and emptie did appeare:

Where wont the shepheards oft their pypes resound,

And feed an hundred flocks, there now not one he found.

At last as there he romed vp and downe, xxvii

He chaunst one comming towards him to spy,

That seem’d to be some sorie simple clowne,

With ragged weedes, and lockes vpstaring hye,

As if he did from some late daunger fly,

And yet his feare did follow him behynd:

Who as he vnto him approched nye,

He mote perceiue by signes, which he did fynd,

That _Coridon_ it was, the silly shepherds hynd.

Tho to him running fast, he did not stay xxviii

To greet him first, but askt where were the rest;

Where _Pastorell_? who full of fresh dismay,

And gushing forth in teares, was so opprest,

That he no word could speake, but smit his brest,

And vp to heauen his eyes fast streming threw.

Whereat the knight amaz’d, yet did not rest,

But askt againe, what ment that rufull hew;

Where was his _Pastorell_? where all the other crew?

Ah well away (sayd he then sighing sore) xxix

That euer I did liue, this day to see,

This dismall day, and was not dead before,

Before I saw faire _Pastorella_ dye.

Die? out alas![585] then _Calidore_ did cry:

How could the death dare euer her to quell?

But read thou shepheard, read what destiny,

Or other dyrefull hap from heauen or hell

Hath wrought this wicked deed, doe feare away, and tell.

Tho when the shepheard breathed had a whyle, xxx

He thus began: Where[586] shall I then commence

This wofull tale? or how those _Brigants_ vyle,

With cruell rage and dreadfull violence

Spoyld all our cots, and caried vs from hence?

Or how faire _Pastorell_ should haue bene sold

To marchants, but was sau’d with strong defence?

Or how those theeues, whilest one sought her to hold,

Fell all at ods, and fought through fury fierce and bold.

In that same conflict (woe is me) befell xxxi

This fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident,

Whose heauy tydings now I haue to tell.

First all the captiues, which they here had hent,

Were by them slaine by generall consent;

Old _Melibœ_ and his good wife withall

These eyes saw die, and dearely did lament:

But when the lot to _Pastorell_ did fall,

Their Captaine long withstood, and did her death forstall.

But what could he gainst all them doe alone?[587] xxxii

It could not boot, needs mote she die at last:

I onely scapt through great confusione

Of cryes and clamors, which amongst them past,

In dreadfull darknesse dreadfully aghast;

That better were with them to haue bene dead,

Then here to see all desolate and wast,

Despoyled of those ioyes and iollyhead,[588]

Which with those gentle shepherds here I wont to lead.

When _Calidore_ these ruefull newes had raught, xxxiii

His hart quite deaded was with anguish great,

And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught,

That he his face, his head, his brest did beat,

And death it selfe vnto himselfe did threat;

Oft cursing th’heauens, that so cruell were

To her, whose name he often did repeat;

And wishing oft, that he were present there,

When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour nere.

But after griefe awhile had had his course, xxxiv

And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last

Began to mitigate his swelling sourse,

And in his mind with better reason cast,

How he might saue her life, if life did last;

Or if that dead, how he her death might wreake,

Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;

Or if it to reuenge he were too weake,

Then for to die with her, and his liues threed to breake.

Tho _Coridon_ he prayd, sith he well knew xxxv

The readie way vnto that theeuish wonne,

To wend with him, and be his conduct trew

Vnto the place, to see what should be donne.

But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne,

Would not for ought be drawne to former drede,

But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne:

Yet _Calidore_ so well him wrought with meed,

And faire bespoke with words, that he at last agreed.

So forth they goe together (God before) xxxvi

Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,

And both with shepheards hookes: But _Calidore_

Had vnderneath, him armed priuily.

Tho to the place when they[589] approched nye,

They chaunst, vpon an hill not farre away,

Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy;

To whom they both agreed to take their way,

In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best assay.

There did they find, that which they did not feare, xxxvii

The selfe same flocks, the which those theeues had reft

From _Melibœ_ and from themselues[590] whyleare,

And certaine of the theeues there by them left,

The which for want of heards themselues then kept.

Right well knew _Coridon_ his owne late sheepe,

And seeing them, for tender pittie wept:

But when he saw the theeues, which did them keepe,[591]

His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe.

But _Calidore_ recomforting his griefe, xxxviii

Though not his feare; for nought may feare disswade;

Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe

Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade,

Whom _Coridon_ him counseld to inuade

Now all vnwares, and take the spoyle away;

But he, that in his mind had closely made

A further purpose, would not so them slay,

But gently waking them, gaue them the time of day.

Tho sitting downe by them vpon the greene, xxxix

Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine;

That he by them might certaine tydings weene

Of _Pastorell_, were she aliue or slaine.

Mongst which the theeues them questioned againe,

What mister men, and eke from whence they were.

To whom they answer’d, as did appertaine,

That they were poore heardgroomes, the which whylere

Had from their maisters fled, and now sought hyre elswhere.

Whereof right glad they seem’d, and offer made xl

To hyre them well, if they their flockes would keepe:

For they themselues were euill groomes, they sayd,

Vnwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe,

But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe.

Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke,

To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe:

For they for better hyre did shortly looke,

So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke.

Tho when as towards darksome night it drew, xli

Vnto their hellish dens those theeues them brought,

Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew,

And all the secrets of their entrayles sought.

There did they find, contrarie to their thought,

That _Pastorell_ yet liu’d, but all the rest

Were dead, right so as _Coridon_ had taught:

Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,

But chiefly _Calidore_, whom griefe had most possest.

At length when they occasion fittest found, xlii

In dead of night, when all the theeues did rest

After a late forray, and slept full sound,

Sir _Calidore_ him arm’d, as he thought best,

Hauing of late by diligent inquest,

Prouided him a sword of meanest sort:

With which he streight went to the Captaines nest.

But _Coridon_ durst not with him consort,

Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse effort.

When to the Caue they came, they found it fast: xliii

But _Calidore_ with huge resistlesse might,

The dores assayled, and the locks vpbrast.

With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light,

Vnto the entrance ran: where the bold knight

Encountring him with small resistance slew;

The whiles faire _Pastorell_ through great affright

Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new

Some vprore were like that, which lately she did vew.

But when as _Calidore_ was comen in, xliv

And gan aloud for _Pastorell_ to call,

Knowing his voice although not heard long sin,

She sudden was reuiued therewithall,

And wondrous ioy felt in her spirits thrall:

Like him that being long in tempest tost,

Looking each houre into deathes mouth to fall,

At length espyes at hand the happie cost,

On which he safety hopes, that earst feard to be lost.

Her gentle hart, that now long season past xlv

Had neuer ioyance felt, nor chearefull thought,

Began some smacke of comfort new to tast,

Like lyfull[592] heat to nummed senses brought,

And life to feele, that long for death had sought;

Ne lesse in hart reioyced _Calidore_,

When he her found, but like to one distraught

And robd of reason, towards her him bore,

A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more.

But now by this, with noyse of late vprore, xlvi

The hue and cry was raysed all about;

And all the _Brigants_ flocking in great store,

Vnto the caue gan preasse, nought hauing dout

Of that was doen, and entred in a rout.

But _Calidore_ in th’entry close did stand,

And entertayning them with courage stout,

Still slew the formost, that came first to hand,

So long till all the entry was with bodies mand.

Tho when no more could nigh to him approch, xlvii

He breath’d his sword, and rested him till day,

Which when he spyde vpon the earth t’encroch,

Through the dead carcases he made his way,

Mongst which he found a sword of better say,

With which he forth went into th’open light:

Where all the rest for him did readie stay,

And fierce assayling him, with all their might

Gan all vpon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight.

How many flyes in whottest sommers day xlviii

Do seize vpon some beast, whose flesh is bare,

That all the place with swarmes do ouerlay,

And with their litle stings right felly fare,

So many theeues about him swarming are,

All which do him assayle on euery side,

And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare:

But he doth with his raging brond diuide

Their thickest troups, and round about him scattreth wide.

Like as a Lion mongst an heard of dere, xlix

Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray,

So did he fly amongst them here and there,

And all that nere him came, did hew and slay,

Till he had strowd with bodies all the way;

That none his daunger daring to abide,

Fled from his wrath, and did themselues conuay

Into their caues, their heads from death to hide,

Ne any left, that victorie to him enuide.

Then backe returning to his dearest deare, l

He her gan to recomfort, all he might,

With gladfull speaches, and with louely cheare,

And forth her bringing to the ioyous light,

Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight,

Deuiz’d all goodly meanes, from her to driue

The sad remembrance of her wretched plight.

So her vneath at last he did reuiue,

That long had lyen dead, and made againe aliue.

This doen, into those theeuish dens he went, li

And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take,

Which they from many long had robd and rent,

But fortune now the victors meed did make;

Of which the best he did his loue betake;

And also all those flockes, which they before

Had reft from _Melibœ_ and from his make,

He did them all to _Coridon_ restore.[593]

So droue them all away, and his loue with him bore.

FOOTNOTES:

[572] xliv 3 (Where _1609_

[573] 7 glade) _1609_

[574] 8 But] And _1609_

[575] iii 7 eyes _1609_

[576] iv 6 shewed _1609_

[577] ix 7 th’instant _1609_

[578] x 8 be] he _1609_

[579] xi 6 that] the _1609_

[580] xiv 2 prices _1609_

[581] xv 5 prices _1609_

[582] xix 4 protended _conj. Collier_

[583] xxiv 1 reuiv’d _1609_

[584] xxvi 4 there, _1596_

[585] xxix 5 alas _1596_, _1609_

[586] xxx 2 where _1596_

[587] xxxii 1 alone: _1596_

[588] 8 iolly head _1596_, _1609_

[589] xxxvi 5 they] him _1609_

[590] xxxvii 3 themseles _1596_

[591] 8 keepe _1596_

[592] xlv 4 lifefull _1609_

_Cant. XII._

[Illustration:

_Fayre Pastorella by great hap

her parents understands,

Calidore doth the Blatant beast

subdew, and bynd in bands._

]

Like as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde i

Directs her course vnto one certaine cost,

Is met of many a counter winde and tyde,

With which her winged speed is let and crost,

And she her selfe in stormie surges tost;

Yet making many a borde, and many a bay,

Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost:

Right so it fares with me in this long way,

Whose course is often stayd, yet neuer is astray.

For all that hetherto hath long delayd ii

This gentle knight, from sewing his first quest,

Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd,

To shew the courtesie by him profest,

Euen vnto the lowest and the least.

But now I come into my course againe,

To his atchieuement of the _Blatant beast_;

Who all this while at will did range and raine,

Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to restraine.

Sir _Calidore_ when thus he now had raught iii

Faire _Pastorella_ from those _Brigants_ powre,

Vnto the Castle of _Belgard_ her brought,

Whereof was Lord the good Sir _Bellamoure_;

Who whylome was in his youthes freshest flowre

A lustie knight, as euer wielded speare,

And had endured many a dreadfull stoure

In bloudy battell for a Ladie deare,

The fayrest Ladie then of all that liuing were.

Her name was _Claribell_, whose father hight iv

The Lord of _Many Ilands_, farre renound

For his great riches and his greater might.

He through the wealth, wherein he did abound,

This daughter thought in wedlocke to haue bound

Vnto the Prince of _Picteland_ bordering nere,

But she whose sides before with secret wound

Of loue to _Bellamoure_ empierced were,

By all meanes shund to match with any forrein fere.

And _Bellamour_ againe so well her pleased, v

With dayly seruice and attendance dew,

That of her loue he was entyrely seized,

And closely did her wed, but knowne to few.

Which when her father vnderstood, he grew

In so great rage, that them in dongeon deepe

Without compassion cruelly he threw;

Yet did so streightly them a sunder keepe,

That neither could to company of th’other creepe.

Nathlesse Sir _Bellamour_, whether through grace vi

Or secret guifts so with his keepers wrought,

That to his loue sometimes he came in place,

Whereof her wombe vnwist to wight was fraught,

And in dew time a mayden child forth brought.

Which she streight way for dread least, if her syre

Should know thereof, to slay he would haue sought,

Deliuered to her handmayd, that for hyre

She should it cause be fostred vnder straunge attyre.

The trustie damzell bearing it abrode vii

Into the emptie fields, where liuing wight

Mote not bewray the secret of her lode,

She forth gan lay vnto the open light

The litle babe, to take thereof a sight.

Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold,

Vpon the litle brest like christall bright,

She mote perceiue a litle purple mold,

That like a rose her silken leaues did faire vnfold.

Well she it markt, and pittied the more, viii

Yet could not remedie her wretched case,

But closing it againe like as before,

Bedeaw’d with teares there left it in the place:

Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space

Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde,

To weet what mortall hand, or heauens grace

Would for the wretched infants helpe prouyde,

For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde.

At length a Shepheard, which there by did keepe ix

His fleecie flocke vpon the playnes around,

Led with the infants cry, that loud did weepe,

Came to the place, where when he wrapped found

Th’abandond spoyle, he softly it vnbound;

And seeing there, that did him pittie sore,

He tooke it vp, and in his mantle wound;

So home vnto his honest wife it bore,

Who as her owne it nurst, and named euermore.

Thus long continu’d _Claribell_ a thrall, x

And _Bellamour_ in bands, till that her syre

Departed life, and left vnto them all.

Then all the stormes of fortunes former yre

Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre.

Thenceforth they ioy’d in happinesse together,

And liued long in peace and loue entyre,

Without disquiet or dislike of ether[594],

Till time that _Calidore_ brought _Pastorella_ thether

Both whom they goodly well did entertaine; xi

For _Bellamour_ knew _Calidore_ right well,

And loued for his prowesse, sith they twaine

Long since had fought in field. Als _Claribell_

No lesse did tender the faire _Pastorell_,

Seeing her weake and wan, through durance long.

There they a while together thus did dwell

In much delight, and many ioyes among,

Vntill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong.

Tho gan Sir _Calidore_ him to aduize xii

Of his first quest, which he had long forlore,

Asham’d to thinke, how he that enterprize,

The which the Faery Queene had long afore

Bequeath’d to him, forslacked had so sore;

That much he feared, least reprochfull blame

With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore;

Besides the losse of so much loos[595] and fame,

As through the world thereby should glorifie his name.

Therefore resoluing to returne in hast xiii

Vnto so great atchieuement, he bethought

To leaue his loue, now perill being past,

With _Claribell_, whylest he that monster sought

Throughout[596] the world, and to destruction brought.

So taking leaue of his faire _Pastorell_,

Whom to recomfort, all the meanes he wrought,

With thanks to _Bellamour_ and _Claribell_,

He went forth on his quest, and did, that him befell.

But first, ere I doe his aduentures tell, xiv

In this exploite, me needeth to declare,

What did betide to the faire _Pastorell_,

During his absence left in heauy care,

Through daily mourning, and nightly misfare:

Yet did that auncient matrone all she might,

To cherish her with all things choice and rare;

And her owne handmayd, that _Melissa_ hight,

Appointed to attend her dewly day and night.

Who in a morning, when this Mayden faire xv

Was dighting her, hauing her snowy brest

As yet not laced, nor her golden haire

Into their comely tresses dewly drest,

Chaunst to espy vpon her yuory chest

The rosie marke, which she remembred well

That litle Infant had, which forth she kest,

The daughter of her Lady _Claribell_,

The which she bore, the whiles in prison she did dwell.

Which well auizing, streight she gan to cast xvi

In her conceiptfull mynd, that this faire Mayd

Was that same infant, which so long sith[597] past

She in the open fields had loosely layd

To fortunes spoile, vnable it to ayd.

So full of ioy, streight forth she ran in hast

Vnto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd,

To tell her, how the heauens had her graste,

To saue her chylde, which in misfortunes mouth was plaste.

The sober mother seeing such her mood, xvii

Yet knowing not, what meant that sodaine thro,

Askt her, how mote her words be vnderstood,

And what the matter was, that mou’d her so.

My liefe (sayd she) ye know, that long ygo,

Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gaue

A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho;

The same againe if now ye list to haue,

The same is yonder Lady, whom high God did saue.

Much was the Lady troubled at that speach, xviii

And gan to question streight how she it knew.

Most certaine markes, (sayd she) do me it teach,

For on her brest I with these eyes did vew

The litle purple rose, which thereon grew,

Whereof her name ye then to her did giue.

Besides her countenaunce, and her likely hew,

Matched with equall yeares, do surely prieue

That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet doth liue[598].

The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire, xix

But forth in hast ran to the straunger Mayd;

Whom catching greedily for great desire,

Rent vp her brest, and bosome open layd,

In which that rose she plainely saw displayd.

Then her embracing twixt her armes twaine,

She long so held, and softly weeping sayd;

And liuest thou my daughter now againe?

And art thou yet aliue, whom dead I long did faine[599]?

Tho further asking her of sundry things, xx

And times comparing with their accidents,

She found at last by very certaine signes,

And speaking markes of passed monuments,

That this young Mayd, whom chance to her presents

Is her owne daughter, her owne infant deare.

Tho wondring long at those so straunge euents,

A thousand times she her embraced nere,

With many a ioyfull kisse, and many a melting teare.

Who euer is the mother of one chylde, xxi

Which hauing thought long dead, she fyndes aliue,

Let her by proofe of that, which she hath fylde

In her owne breast, this mothers ioy descriue:

For other none such passion can contriue

In perfect forme, as this good Lady felt,

When she so faire a daughter saw suruiue,

As _Pastorella_ was, that nigh she swelt

For passing ioy, which did all into pitty melt.

Thence running forth vnto her loued Lord, xxii

She vnto him recounted, all that fell:

Who ioyning ioy with her in one accord,

Acknowledg’d for his owne faire _Pastorell_.

There leaue we them in ioy, and let vs tell

Of _Calidore_, who seeking all this while

That monstrous Beast by finall force to quell,

Through euery place, with restlesse paine and toile

Him follow’d, by the tract[600] of his outragious spoile.

Through all estates he found that he had past, xxiii

In which he many massacres had left,

And to the Clergy now was come at last;

In which such spoile, such hauocke, and such theft

He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft,

That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin Knight,

Who now no place besides vnsought had left,

At length into a Monastere did light,

Where he him found despoyling all with maine and might.

Into their cloysters now he broken had, xxiv

Through which the Monckes he chaced here and there,

And them pursu’d into their dortours sad,

And searched all their cels and secrets neare;

In which what filth and ordure did appeare,

Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule Beast

Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare,

And ransacke all their dennes from most to least,

Regarding nought religion, nor their holy heast.

From thence into the sacred Church he broke, xxv

And robd the Chancell, and the deskes downe threw,

And Altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke,

And th’Images for all their goodly hew,

Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew;

So all confounded and disordered there.

But seeing _Calidore_, away he flew,

Knowing his fatall hand by former feare;

But he him fast pursuing, soone approched neare.

Him in a narrow place he ouertooke, xxvi

And fierce assailing forst him turne againe:

Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke

With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine

With open mouth, that seemed to containe

A full good pecke within the vtmost brim,

All set with yron teeth in raunges[601] twaine,

That terrifide his foes, and armed him,

Appearing like the mouth of _Orcus_ griesly grim.

And therein were a thousand tongs empight, xxvii

Of sundry kindes, and sundry quality,

Some were of dogs, that barked day and night,

And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry,

And some of Beares, that groynd continually,

And some of Tygres, that did seeme to gren,

And snar at all, that euer passed by:

But most of them were tongues of mortall men,

Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor when.

And them amongst were mingled here and there, xxviii

The tongues of Serpents with three forked stings,

That spat out poyson and gore bloudy gere

At all, that came within his rauenings,

And spake licentious words, and hatefull things

Of good and bad alike, of low and hie;

Ne Kesars spared he a whit, nor Kings,

But either blotted them with infamie,

Or bit them with his banefull teeth of iniury.

But _Calidore_ thereof no whit afrayd, xxix

Rencountred him with so impetuous might,

That th’outrage of his violence he stayd,

And bet abacke, threatning in vaine to bite,

And spitting[602] forth the poyson of his spight,

That fomed all about his bloody iawes.

Tho rearing vp his former feete on hight,

He rampt vpon him with his rauenous pawes,

As if he would haue rent him with his cruell clawes.

But he right well aware, his rage to ward, xxx

Did cast his shield atweene, and therewithall

Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu’d so hard,

That backeward he enforced him to fall,

And being downe, ere he new helpe could call,

His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held,

Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall

Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld,

Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld.

Full cruelly the Beast did rage and rore, xxxi

To be downe held, and maystred so with might,

That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore,

Striuing in vaine to rere him selfe vpright.

For still the more he stroue, the more the Knight

Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew;

That made him almost mad for fell despight.

He grind, hee bit, he scratcht, he venim threw,

And fared like a feend, right horrible in hew.

Or like the hell-borne _Hydra_, which they faine xxxii

That great _Alcides_ whilome ouerthrew,

After that he had labourd long in vaine,

To crop his thousand heads, the which still new

Forth budded, and in greater number grew.

Such was the fury of this hellish Beast,

Whilest _Calidore_ him vnder him downe threw;

Who nathemore his heauy load releast,

But aye the more he rag’d, the more his powre increast.

Tho when the Beast saw, he mote nought auaile, xxxiii

By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply,

And sharpely at him to reuile and raile,

With bitter termes of shamefull infamy;

Oft interlacing many a forged lie,

Whose like he neuer once did speake, nor heare,

Nor euer thought thing so vnworthily:

Yet did he nought for all that him forbeare,

But strained him so streightly, that he chokt him neare.

At last when as he found his force to shrincke, xxxiv

And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzell strong

Of surest yron, made with many a lincke;

Therewith he mured vp his mouth along,

And therein shut vp his blasphemous tong,

For neuer more defaming gentle Knight,

Or vnto louely Lady doing wrong:

And thereunto a great long chaine he tight,

With which he drew him forth, euen in his own despight.

Like as whylome that strong _Tirynthian_ swaine, xxxv

Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of hell,

Against his will fast bound in yron chaine,

And roring horribly, did him compell

To see the hatefull sunne, that he might tell

To griesly _Pluto_, what on earth was donne,

And to the other damned ghosts, which dwell

For aye in darkenesse, which day light doth shonne.

So led this Knight his captyue with like conquest wonne.

Yet greatly did the Beast repine at those xxxvi

Straunge bands, whose like till then he neuer bore,

Ne euer any durst till then impose,

And chauffed inly, seeing now no more

Him liberty was left aloud to rore:

Yet durst he not draw backe; nor once withstand

The proued powre of noble _Calidore_,

But trembled vnderneath his mighty hand,

And like a fearefull dog him followed through the land.

Him through all Faery land he follow’d so, xxxvii

As if he learned had obedience long,

That all the people where so he did go,

Out of their townes did round about him throng,

To see him leade that Beast in bondage strong,

And seeing it, much wondred at the sight;

And all such persons, as he earst did wrong,

Reioyced much to see his captiue plight,

And much admyr’d the Beast, but more admyr’d the Knight.

Thus was this Monster by the maystring might xxxviii

Of doughty _Calidore_, supprest and tamed,

That neuer more he mote endammadge wight

With his vile tongue, which many had defamed,

And many causelesse caused to be blamed:

So did he eeke long after this remaine,

Vntill that, whether wicked fate so framed,

Or fault of men, he broke his yron chaine,

And got into the world at liberty againe.

Thenceforth more mischiefe and more scath[603] he wrought xxxix

To mortall men, then he had done before;

Ne euer could by any more be brought

Into like bands, ne maystred any more:

Albe that long time after _Calidore_,

The good Sir _Pelleas_ him tooke in hand,

And after him Sir _Lamoracke_ of yore,

And all his brethren borne in Britaine land;

Yet none of them could euer bring him into band.

So now he raungeth through the world againe, xl

And rageth sore in each degree and state;

Ne any is, that may him now restraine,

He growen is so great and strong of late,

Barking and biting all that him doe bate,

Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime:

Ne spareth he most learned[604] wits to rate,

Ne spareth he the gentle Poets rime,

But rends without regard of person or of time.

Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest, xli

Hope[605] to escape his venemous despite,

More then my former writs, all were they clearest[606]

From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite,

With which some wicked tongues[607] did it backebite,

And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure,

That neuer so deserued to endite.

Therfore do you my rimes keep better measure,

And seeke to please, that now is counted wisemens threasure.

FOOTNOTES:

[593] li 8 restore _1596_

[594] x 8 either _1609_

[595] xii 8 loos] praise _1609_

[596] xiii 5 Troughout _1596_

[597] xvi 3 sith] since _1609_

[598] xviii 9 liue _1596_

[599] xix 9 faine. _1596_

[600] xxii 9 track _1609_

[601] xxvi 7 ranges _1609_

[602] xxix 5 spetting _1609_

[603] xxxix i scathe _1609_

[604] xl 7 learned] gentle _1609_

[605] xli 2 H’ope _1596_

[606] 3 clearest] cleanest _conj. Hughes_

[607] 5 tongnes _1596_

_FINIS._

TWO CANTOS

OF

_MUTABILITIE_:

Which, both for Forme and Matter, appeare

to be parcell of some following Booke of the

_FAERIE QVEENE_,

⁂

VNDER THE LEGEND

OF

_Constancie_.

Neuer before imprinted.

Canto VI.

[Illustration:

_Proud_ Change (_not pleasd, in mortall things,

beneath the Moone, to raigne_)

_Pretends, as well of Gods, as Men,

to be the Soueraine._

]

What man that sees the euer-whirling wheele i

Of _Change_, the which all mortall things doth sway,

But that therby doth find, and plainly feele,

How _MVTABILITY_ in them doth play

Her cruell sports, to many mens decay?

Which that to all may better yet appeare,

I will rehearse that whylome I heard say,

How she at first her selfe began to reare,

Gainst all the Gods, and th’empire sought from them to beare.

But first, here falleth fittest to vnfold ii

Her antique race and linage ancient,

As I haue found it registred of old,

In _Faery_ Land mongst records permanent:

She was, to weet, a daughter by descent

Of those old _Titans_, that did whylome striue

With _Saturnes_ sonne for heauens regiment.

Whom, though high _Ioue_ of kingdome did depriue,

Yet many of their stemme long after did surviue.

And many of them, afterwards obtain’d iii

Great power of _Ioue_, and high authority;

As _Hecaté_, in whose almighty hand,

He plac’t all rule and principality,

To be by her disposed diuersly,

To Gods, and men, as she them list diuide:

And drad _Bellona_, that doth sound on hie

Warres and allarums vnto Nations wide,

That makes both heauen and earth to tremble at her pride.

So likewise did this _Titanesse_ aspire, iv

Rule and dominion to her selfe to gaine;

That as a Goddesse, men might her admire,

And heauenly honours yield, as to them twaine.

At first, on earth she sought it to obtaine;

Where she such proofe and sad examples shewed

Of her great power, to many ones great paine,

That not men onely (whom she soone subdewed)

But eke all other creatures, her bad dooings rewed.

For, she the face of earthly things so changed, v

That all which Nature had establisht first

In good estate, and in meet order ranged,

She did pervert, and all their statutes burst:

And all the worlds faire frame (which none yet durst

Of Gods or men to alter or misguide)

She alter’d quite, and made them all accurst

That God had blest; and did at first prouide

In that still happy state for euer to abide.

Ne shee the lawes of Nature onely brake, vi

But eke of Iustice, and of Policie;

And wrong of right, and bad of good did make,

And death for life exchanged foolishlie:

Since which, all liuing wights haue learn’d to die,

And all this world is woxen daily worse.

O pittious worke of _MVTABILITIE_!

By which, we all are subiect to that curse,

And death in stead of life haue sucked from our Nurse.

And now, when all the earth she thus had brought vii

To her behest, and thralled to her might,

She gan to cast in her ambitious thought,

T’attempt the empire[608] of the heauens hight,

And _Ioue_ himselfe to shoulder from his right.

And first, she past the region of the ayre,

And of the fire, whose substance thin and slight,

Made no resistance, ne could her contraire,

But ready passage to her pleasure did prepaire.

Thence, to the Circle of the Moone she clambe, viii

Where _Cynthia_ raignes in euerlasting glory,

To whose bright shining palace straight she came,

All fairely deckt with heauens goodly story;

Whose siluer gates (by which there sate an hory

Old aged Sire, with hower-glasse in hand,

Hight _Tyme_) she entred, were he liefe or sory:

Ne staide till she the highest stage had scand,

Where _Cynthia_ did sit, that neuer still did stand.

Her sitting on an Iuory throne shee found, ix

Drawne of two steeds, th’one black, the other white,

Environd with tenne thousand starres around,

That duly her attended day and night;

And by her side, there ran her Page, that hight

_Vesper_, whom we the Euening-starre intend:

That with his Torche, still twinkling like twylight,

Her lightened all the way where she should wend,

And ioy to weary wandring trauailers did lend:

That[609] when the hardy _Titanesse_ beheld x

The goodly building of her Palace bright,

Made of the heauens substance, and vp-held

With thousand Crystall pillors of huge hight,

Shee gan to burne in her ambitious spright,

And t’envie her that in such glorie raigned.

Eftsoones she cast by force and tortious might,

Her to displace; and to her selfe to haue gained

The kingdome of the Night, and waters by her wained.

Boldly she bid the Goddesse downe descend, xi

And let her selfe into that Ivory throne;

For, shee her selfe more worthy thereof wend,

And better able it to guide alone:

Whether to men, whose fall she did bemone,

Or vnto Gods, whose state she did maligne,

Or to th’infernall Powers, her need giue lone

Of her faire light, and bounty most benigne,

Her selfe of all that rule shee deemed most condigne.

But shee that had to her that soueraigne seat xii

By highest _Ioue_ assign’d, therein to beare

Nights burning lamp, regarded not her threat,

Ne yielded ought for fauour or for feare;

But with sterne countenaunce and disdainfull cheare,

Bending her horned browes, did put her back:

And boldly blaming her for comming there,

Bade her attonce from heauens coast to pack,

Or at her perill bide the wrathfull Thunders wrack.

Yet nathemore the _Giantesse_ forbare: xiii

But boldly preacing-on, raught forth her hand

To pluck her downe perforce from off her chaire;

And there-with lifting vp her golden wand,

Threatned to strike her if she did with-stand.

Where-at the starres, which round about her blazed,

And eke the Moones bright wagon, still did stand,

All beeing with so bold attempt amazed,

And on her vncouth habit and sterne looke still gazed.

Meane-while, the lower World, which nothing knew xiv

Of all that chaunced here, was darkned quite;

And eke the heauens, and all the heauenly crew

Of happy wights, now vnpurvaide of light,

Were much afraid, and wondred at that sight;

Fearing least _Chaos_ broken had his chaine,

And brought againe on them eternall night:

But chiefely _Mercury_, that next doth raigne,

Ran forth in haste, vnto the king of Gods to plaine.

All ran together with a great out-cry, xv

To _Ioues_ faire Palace, fixt in heauens hight;

And beating at his gates full earnestly,

Gan call to him aloud with all their might,

To know what meant that suddaine lack of light.

The father of the Gods when this he heard,

Was troubled much at their so strange affright,

Doubting least _Typhon_ were againe vprear’d,

Or other his old foes, that once him sorely fear’d.

Eftsoones the sonne of _Maia_ forth he sent xvi

Downe to the Circle of the Moone, to knowe

The cause of this so strange astonishment,

And why shee did her wonted course forslowe;

And if that any were on earth belowe

That did with charmes or Magick her molest,

Him to attache, and downe to hell to throwe:

But, if from heauen it were, then to arrest

The Author, and him bring before his presence prest.

The wingd-foot God, so fast his plumes did beat, xvii

That soone he came where-as the _Titanesse_

Was striuing with faire _Cynthia_ for her seat:

At whose strange sight, and haughty hardinesse,

He wondred much, and feared her no lesse.

Yet laying feare aside to doe his charge,

At last, he bade her (with bold stedfastnesse)

Ceasse to molest the Moone to walke at large,

Or come before high _Ioue_, her dooings to discharge.

And there-with-all, he on her shoulder laid xviii

His snaky-wreathed Mace, whose awfull power

Doth make both Gods and hellish fiends affraid:

Where-at the _Titanesse_ did sternely lower,

And stoutly answer’d, that in euill hower

He from his _Ioue_ such message to her brought,

To bid her leaue faire _Cynthias_ siluer bower;

Sith shee his _Ioue_ and him esteemed nought,

No more then _Cynthia’s_ selfe; but all their kingdoms sought.

The Heauens Herald staid not to reply, xix

But past away, his doings to relate

Vnto his Lord; who now in th’highest sky,

Was placed in his principall Estate,

With all the Gods about him congregate:

To whom when _Hermes_ had his message told,

It did them all exceedingly amate,

Saue _Ioue_; who, changing nought his count’nance bold,

Did vnto them at length these speeches wise vnfold;

Harken to mee awhile yee heauenly Powers; xx

Ye may remember since th’Earths cursed seed

Sought to assaile the heauens eternall towers,

And to vs all exceeding feare did breed:

But how we then defeated all their deed,

Yee all doe knowe, and them destroied quite;

Yet not so quite, but that there did succeed

An off-spring of their bloud, which did alite

Vpon the fruitfull earth, which doth vs yet despite.

Of that bad seed is this bold woman bred, xxi

That now with bold presumption doth aspire

To thrust faire _Phœbe_ from her siluer bed,

And eke our selues from heauens high Empire,

If that her might were match to her desire:

Wherefore, it now behoues vs to advise

What way is best to driue her to retire;

Whether by open force, or counsell wise,

Areed ye sonnes of God, as best ye can deuise.

So hauing said, he ceast; and with his brow xxii

(His black eye-brow, whose doomefull dreaded beck

Is wont to wield the world vnto his vow,

And euen the highest Powers of heauen to check)

Made signe to them in their degrees to speake:

Who straight gan cast their counsell graue and wise.

Meane-while, th’Earths daughter, thogh she nought did reck

Of _Hermes_ message; yet gan now advise,

What course were best to take in this hot[610] bold emprize.

Eftsoones she thus resolv’d; that whil’st the Gods xxiii

(After returne of _Hermes_ Embassie)

Were troubled, and amongst themselues at ods,

Before they could new counsels re-allie,

To set vpon them in that extasie;

And take what fortune time and place would lend:

So, forth she rose, and through the purest sky

To _Ioues_ high Palace straight cast to ascend,

To prosecute her plot: Good on-set boads good end.

Shee there arriuing, boldly in did pass; xxiv

Where all the Gods she found in counsell close,

All quite vnarm’d, as then their manner was.

At sight of her they suddaine all arose,

In great amaze, ne wist what way to chose.

But _Ioue_, all fearelesse, forc’t them to aby;

And in his soueraine throne, gan straight dispose

Himselfe more full of grace and Maiestie,

That mote encheare his friends, and foes mote terrifie.

That, when the haughty _Titanesse_ beheld, xxv

All were she fraught with pride and impudence,

Yet with the sight thereof was almost queld;

And inly quaking, seem’d as reft of sense,

And voyd of speech in that drad audience;

Vntill that _Ioue_ himselfe, her selfe bespake:

Speake thou fraile woman, speake with confidence,

Whence art thou, and what doost thou here now make?

What idle errand hast thou,[611] earths mansion to forsake?

Shee, halfe confused with his great commaund, xxvi

Yet gathering spirit of her natures pride,

Him boldly answer’d thus to his demaund:

I am a daughter, by the mothers side,

Of her that is Grand-mother magnifide

Of all the Gods, great _Earth_, great _Chaos_ child:

But by the fathers (be it not envide)

I greater am in bloud (whereon I build)

Then all the Gods, though wrongfully from heauen exil’d.

For, _Titan_ (as ye all acknowledge must) xxvii

Was _Saturnes_ elder brother by birth-right;

Both, sonnes of _Vranus_: but by vniust

And guilefull meanes, through _Corybantes_ slight,

The younger thrust the elder from his right:

Since which, thou _Ioue_, iniuriously hast held

The Heauens rule from _Titans_ sonnes by might;

And them to hellish dungeons downe hast feld:

Witnesse ye Heauens the truth of all that I haue teld.

Whil’st she thus spake, the Gods that gaue good eare xxviii

To her bold words, and marked well her grace,

Beeing of stature tall as any there

Of all the Gods, and beautifull of face,

As any of the Goddesses in place,

Stood all astonied, like a sort of Steeres;

Mongst whom, some beast of strange and forraine race,

Vnwares is chaunc’t, far straying from his peeres:

So did their ghastly gaze bewray their hidden feares.

Till hauing pauz’d awhile, _Ioue_ thus bespake; xxix

Will neuer mortall thoughts ceasse to aspire,

In this bold sort, to Heauen claime to make,

And touch celestiall seates with earthly mire?

I would haue thought, that bold _Procrustes_[612] hire,

Or _Typhons_ fall, or proud _Ixions_ paine,

Or great _Prometheus_, tasting of our ire,

Would haue suffiz’d, the rest for to restraine;

And warn’d all men by their example to refraine:

But now, this off-scum of that cursed fry, xxx

Dare to renew the like bold enterprize,

And chalenge th’heritage of this our skie;

Whom what should hinder, but that we likewise

Should handle as the rest of her allies,

And thunder-driue to hell? With that, he shooke

His Nectar-deawed locks, with which the skyes

And all the world beneath for terror quooke,

And eft his burning levin-brond in hand he tooke.

But, when he looked on her louely face, xxxi

In which, faire beames of beauty did appeare,

That could the greatest wrath soone turne to grace

(Such sway doth beauty euen in Heauen beare)

He staide his hand: and hauing chang’d his cheare,

He thus againe in milder wise began;

But ah! if Gods should striue with flesh yfere,

Then shortly should the progeny of Man

Be rooted out, if _Ioue_ should doe still what he can:

But thee faire _Titans_ child, I rather weene, xxxii

Through some vaine errour or inducement light,

To see that mortall eyes haue neuer seene;

Or through ensample of thy sisters might,

_Bellona_; whose great glory thou doost spight,

Since thou hast seene her dreadfull power belowe,

Mongst wretched men (dismaide with her affright)

To bandie Crownes, and Kingdomes to bestowe:

And sure thy worth, no lesse then hers doth seem to showe.