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SPENSER'S
THE FAERIE QUEENE
BOOK I
EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
GEORGE ARMSTRONG WAUCHOPE, M.A., Ph.D.
Professor of English in the South Carolina College
_Velut inter ignes luna minores_
New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1921
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1903.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION:
I. The Age which produced the Faerie Queene
II. The Author of the Faerie Queene
III. Study of the Faerie Queene:
1. A Romantic Epic
2. Influence of the New Learning
3. Interpretation of the Allegory
4. The Spenserian Stanza
5. Versification
6. Diction and Style
IV. Chronological Table of Events
THE FAERIE QUEENE. BOOK I:
Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh
Sonnet to Sir Walter Raleigh
Dedication to Queen Elizabeth
Canto I
Canto II
Canto III
Canto IV
Canto V
Canto VI
Canto VII
Canto VIII
Canto IX
Canto X
Canto XI
Canto XII
NOTES
GLOSSARY
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
I. THE AGE WHICH PRODUCED THE _FAERIE QUEENE_
The study of the _Faerie Queene_ should be preceded by a review of the
great age in which it was written. An intimate relation exists between the
history of the English nation and the works of English authors. This close
connection between purely external events and literary masterpieces is
especially marked in a study of the Elizabethan Age. To understand the
marvelous outburst of song, the incomparable drama, and the stately prose
of this period, one must enter deeply into the political, social, and
religious life of the times.
The _Faerie Queene_ was the product of certain definite conditions which
existed in England toward the close of the sixteenth century. The first of
these national conditions was the movement known as the _revival of
chivalry_; the second was the _spirit of nationality_ fostered by the
English Reformation; and the third was that phase of the English
Renaissance commonly called the _revival of learning_.
The closing decade of Queen Elizabeth's reign was marked by a strong
reaction toward romanticism. The feudal system with its many imperfections
had become a memory, and had been idealized by the people. The nation felt
pride in its new aristocracy, sprung largely from the middle class, and
based rather on worth than ancestry. The bitterness of the Wars of the
Roses was forgotten, and was succeeded by an era of reconciliation and good
feeling. England was united in a heroic queen whom all sects, ranks, and
parties idolized. The whole country exulting in its new sense of freedom
and power became a fairyland of youth, springtime, and romantic
achievement.
Wise and gallant courtiers, like Sidney, Leicester, and Raleigh, gathered
about the queen, and formed a new chivalry devoted to deeds of adventure
and exploits of mind in her honor. The spirit of the old sea-kings lived
again in Drake and his bold buccaneers, who swept the proud Spaniards from
the seas. With the defeat of the Invincible Armada, the greatest naval
expedition of modern times, the fear of Spanish and Catholic domination
rolled away. The whole land was saturated with an unexpressed poetry, and
the imagination of young and old was so fired with patriotism and noble
endeavor that nothing seemed impossible. Add to this intense delight in
life, with all its mystery, beauty, and power, the keen zest for learning
which filled the air that men breathed, and it is easy to understand that
the time was ripe for a new and brilliant epoch in literature. First among
the poetic geniuses of the Elizabethan period came Edmund Spenser with his
_Faerie Queene_, the allegory of an ideal chivalry.
This poem is one of the fruits of that intellectual awakening which first
fertilized Italian thought in the twelfth century, and, slowly spreading
over Europe, made its way into England in the fifteenth century. The mighty
impulse of this New Learning culminated during the reign of the Virgin
Queen in a profound quickening of the national consciousness, and in
arousing an intense curiosity to know and to imitate the rich treasures of
the classics and romance. Its first phase was the _classical revival_. The
tyrannous authority of ecclesiasticism had long since been broken; a
general reaction from Christian asceticism had set in; and by the side of
the ceremonies of the church had been introduced a semi-pagan religion of
art--the worship of moral and sensuous beauty. Illiteracy was no longer the
style at court. Elizabeth herself set the example in the study of Greek.
Books and manuscripts were eagerly sought after, Scholars became conversant
with Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and the great tragic poets Sophocles,
Euripides, and Æschylus; and translations for the many of Vergil, Ovid,
Plautus, Terence, and Seneca poured forth from the printing-presses of
London. The English mind was strongly tempered by the idealistic philosophy
of Plato and Aristotle, and the influence of Latin tragedy and comedy was
strongly felt by the early English drama.
Along with this classical culture came a higher appreciation of the _beauty
of mediævalism_. The romantic tendency of the age fostered the study of the
great epics of chivalry, Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_ and Tasso's _Jerusalem
Delivered_, and of the cycles of French romance. From the Italian poets
especially Spenser borrowed freely. Ariosto's fresh naturalness and magic
machinery influenced him most strongly, but he was indebted to the
semi-classical Tasso for whole scenes. On the whole, therefore, Spenser's
literary affinities were more with the Gothic than the classical.
Spenser was also the spokesman of his time on religious questions. The
violent controversies of the Reformation period were over. Having turned
from the beliefs of ages with passionate rejection, the English people had
achieved religious freedom, and were strongly rooted in Protestantism,
which took on a distinctly national aspect. That Calvinism was at that time
the popular and aristocratic form of Protestantism is evident from
references in the _Faerie Queene_.
Spenser lived in the afterglow of the great age of chivalry. The passing
glories of knighthood in its flower impressed his imagination like a
gorgeous dream, and he was thus inspired to catch and crystallize into
permanent art its romantic spirit and heroic deeds. Into the framework of
his romance of chivalry he inserted a veiled picture of the struggles and
sufferings of his own people in Ireland. The _Faerie Queene_ might almost
be called the epic of the English conquest of Ireland. The poet himself and
many of his friends were in that unhappy island as representatives of the
queen's government, trying to pacify the natives, and establish law and
order out of discontent and anarchy. Spenser's poem was written for the
most part amidst all these scenes of misery and disorder, and the courage,
justice, and energy shown by his countrymen were aptly portrayed under the
allegory of a mighty spiritual warfare of the knights of old against the
power of evil.
Spenser's essay on _A View of the Present State of Ireland_ shows that, far
from shutting himself up in a fool's paradise of fancy, he was fully awake
to the social and political condition of that turbulent island, and that it
furnished him with concrete examples of those vices and virtues, bold
encounters and hair-breadth escapes, strange wanderings and deeds of
violence, with which he has crowded the allegory of the _Faerie Queene_.
II. THE AUTHOR OF THE _FAERIE QUEENE_
Edmund Spenser was born in London near the Tower in the year 1552. His
parents were poor, though they were probably connected with the Lancashire
branch of the old family of Le Despensers, "an house of ancient fame," from
which the Northampton Spencers were also descended. The poet's familiarity
with the rural life and dialect of the north country supports the theory
that as a boy he spent some time in Lancashire. Beyond two or three facts,
nothing is known with certainty of his early years. He himself tells us
that his mother's name was Elizabeth, and that London was his "most kindly
nurse." His name is mentioned as one of six poor pupils of the Merchant
Taylors' School, who received assistance from a generous country squire.
At the age of seventeen, Master Edmund became a student in Pembroke Hall,
one of the colleges of the great University of Cambridge. His position was
that of a sizar, or paid scholar, who was exempt from the payment of
tuition fees and earned his way by serving in the dining hall or performing
other menial duties. His poverty, however, did not prevent him from forming
many helpful friendships with his fellow-students. Among his most valued
friends he numbered Launcelot Andrews, afterward Bishop of Winchester,
Edward Kirke, a young man of Spenser's own age, who soon after edited his
friend's first important poem, the _Shepheards Calender_, with elaborate
notes, and most important of all, the famous classical scholar, a fellow of
Pembroke, Gabriel Harvey, who was a few years older than Spenser, and was
later immortalized as the Hobbinoll of the _Faerie Queene_. It was by
Harvey that the poet was introduced to Sir Philip Sidney, the most
accomplished gentleman in England, and a favorite of Queen Elizabeth.
Spenser's residence in Cambridge extended over seven years, during which he
received the usual degrees of bachelor and master of arts. He became one of
the most learned of English poets, and we may infer that while at this seat
of learning he laid the foundations for his wide scholarship in the
diligent study of the Greek and Latin classics, the philosophy of Plato and
Aristotle, the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Vergil, and the great
mediæval epics of Italian literature. On account of some misunderstanding
with the master and tutors of his college, Spenser failed to receive the
appointment to a fellowship, and left the University in 1576, at the age of
twenty-four. His failure to attain the highest scholastic recognition was
due, it is supposed, to his being involved in some of the dangerous
controversies which were ripe in Cambridge at that time "with daily
spawning of new opinions and heresies in divinity, in philosophy, in
humanity, and in manners."
On leaving the University, Spenser resided for about a year with relatives
in Lancashire, where he found employment. During this time he had an
unrequited love affair with an unknown beauty whom he celebrated in the
_Shepheards Calender_ under the name of Rosalind, "the widow's daughter of
the glen." A rival, Menalchas, was more successful in finding favor with
his fair neighbor. Although he had before this turned his attention to
poetry by translating the sonnets of Petrarch and Du Bellay (published in
1569), it was while here in the North country that he first showed his high
poetic gifts in original composition.
After a visit to Sir Philip Sidney at Penshurst, Spenser went down to
London with his friend in 1578, and was presented to Sidney's great uncle,
the Earl of Leicester. He thus at once had an opportunity for advancement
through the influence of powerful patrons, a necessity with poor young
authors in that age. An immediate result of his acquaintance with Sidney,
with whom he was now on relations of intimate friendship, was an
introduction into the best society of the metropolis. This period of
association with many of the most distinguished and cultivated men in
England, together with the succession of brilliant pageants, masks, and
processions, which he witnessed at court and at Lord Leicester's mansion,
must have done much to refine his tastes and broaden his outlook on the
world.
In personal appearance Spenser was a fine type of a sixteenth century
gentleman. The grace and dignity of his bearing was enhanced by a face of
tender and thoughtful expression in which warmth of feeling was subdued by
the informing spirit of refinement, truthfulness, simplicity, and nobility.
He possessed a fine dome-like forehead, curling hair, brown eyes, full
sensuous lips, and a nose that was straight and strongly moulded. His long
spare face was adorned with a full mustache and a closely cropped Van Dyke
beard.
The _Shepheards Calender_ was published in the winter of 1579 with a
grateful and complimentary dedication to Sidney. It is an academic exercise
consisting of a series of twelve pastoral poems in imitation of the
eclogues of Vergil and Theocritus. The poem is cast in the form of
dialogues between shepherds, who converse on such subjects as love,
religion, and old age. In three eclogues the poet attacks with Puritan zeal
the pomp and sloth of the worldly clergy, and one is devoted to the courtly
praise of the queen. It was at once recognized as the most notable poem
that had appeared since the death of Chaucer, and placed Spenser
immediately at the head of living English poets.
In 1580 Spenser went over to Ireland as private secretary to Lord Grey of
Wilton, the Artegall of the Legend of Justice in the _Faerie Queene_. After
the recall of his patron he remained in that turbulent island in various
civil positions for the rest of his life, with the exception of two or
three visits and a last sad flight to England. For seven years he was clerk
of the Court of Chancery in Dublin, and then was appointed clerk to the
Council of Munster. In 1586 he was granted the forfeited estate of the Earl
of Desmond in Cork County, and two years later took up his residence in
Kilcolman Castle, which was beautifully situated on a lake with a distant
view of mountains. In the disturbed political condition of the country,
life here seemed a sort of exile to the poet, but its very loneliness and
danger gave the stimulus needed for the development of his peculiar genius.
"Here," says Mr. Stopford Brooke, "at the foot of the Galtees, and bordered
to the north by the wild country, the scenery of which is frequently
painted in the _Faerie Queene_ and in whose woods and savage places such
adventures constantly took place in the service of Elizabeth as are
recorded in the _Faerie Queene_, the first three books of that great poem
were finished." Spenser had spent the first three years of his residence at
Kilcolman at work on this masterpiece, which had been begun in England,
under the encouragement of Sidney, probably before 1580. The knightly
Sidney died heroically at the battle of Zutphen, in 1586, and Spenser
voiced the lament of all England in the beautiful pastoral elegy
_Astrophel_ which he composed in memory of "the most noble and valorous
knight."
Soon after coming to Ireland, Spenser made the acquaintance of Sir Walter
Raleigh, which erelong ripened into intimate friendship. A memorable visit
from Raleigh, who was now a neighbor of the poet's, having also received a
part of the forfeited Desmond estate, led to the publication of the _Faerie
Queene_. Sitting under the shade "of the green alders of the Mulla's
shore," Spenser read to his guest the first books of his poem. So pleased
was Raleigh that he persuaded the poet to accompany him to London, and
there lay his poem at the feet of the great queen, whose praises he had so
gloriously sung. The trip was made, Spenser was presented to Elizabeth, and
read to her Majesty the three Legends of Holiness, Temperance, and
Chastity. She was delighted with the fragmentary epic in which she heard
herself delicately complimented in turn as Gloriana, Belphoebe, and
Britomart, conferred upon the poet a pension of £50 yearly, and permitted
the _Faerie Queene_ to be published with a dedication to herself. Launched
under such auspices, it is no wonder that the poem was received by the
court and all England with unprecedented applause.
The next year while still in London, Spenser collected his early poems and
issued them under the title of _Complaints_. In this volume were the _Ruins
of Time_ and the _Tears of the Muses_, two poems on the indifference shown
to literature before 1580, and the remarkable _Mother Hubberds Tale_, a
bitter satire on the army, the court, the church, and politics. His
_Daphnaida_ was also published about the same time. On his return to
Ireland he gave a charming picture of life at Kilcolman Castle, with an
account of his visit to the court, in _Colin Clout's Come Home Again_. The
story of the long and desperate courtship of his second love, Elizabeth,
whom he wedded in 1594, is told in the _Amoretti_, a sonnet sequence full
of passion and tenderness. His rapturous wedding ode, the _Epithalamion_,
which is, by general consent, the most glorious bridal song in our
language, and the most perfect of all his poems in its freshness, purity,
and passion, was also published in 1595. The next year Spenser was back in
London and published the _Prothalamion_, a lovely ode on the marriage of
Lord Worcester's daughters, and his four _Hymns_ on Love and Beauty,
Heavenly Love, and Heavenly Beauty. The first two _Hymns_ are early poems,
and the two latter maturer work embodying Petrarch's philosophy, which
teaches that earthly love is a ladder that leads men to the love of God. In
this year, 1596, also appeared the last three books of the _Faerie Queene_,
containing the Legends of Friendship, Justice, and Courtesy.
At the height of his fame, happiness, and prosperity, Spenser returned for
the last time to Ireland in 1597, and was recommended by the queen for the
office of Sheriff of Cork. Surrounded by his beloved wife and children, his
domestic life was serene and happy, but in gloomy contrast his public life
was stormy and full of anxiety and danger. He was the acknowledged prince
of living poets, and was planning the completion of his mighty epic of the
private virtues in twelve books, to be followed by twelve more on the civic
virtues. The native Irish had steadily withstood his claim to the estate,
and continually harassed him with lawsuits. They detested their foreign
oppressors and awaited a favorable opportunity to rise. Discord and riot
increased on all sides. The ever growing murmurs of discontent gave place
to cries for vengeance and unrepressed acts of hostility. Finally, in the
fall of 1598, there occurred a fearful uprising known as Tyrone's
Rebellion, in which the outraged peasants fiercely attacked the castle,
plundering and burning. Spenser and his family barely escaped with their
lives. According to one old tradition, an infant child was left behind in
the hurried flight and perished in the flames; but this has been shown to
be but one of the wild rumors repeated to exaggerate the horror of the
uprising. Long after Spenser's death, it was also rumored that the last six
books of the _Faerie Queene_ had been lost in the flight; but the story is
now utterly discredited.
Spenser once more arrived in London, but he was now in dire distress and
prostrated by the hardships which he had suffered. There on January 16,
1599, at a tavern in King Street, Westminster, the great poet died
broken-hearted and in poverty. Drummond of Hawthornden states that Ben
Jonson told him that Spenser "died for lack of bread in King Street, and
refused 20 pieces sent to him by my Lord of Essex, and said He was sorrie
he had no time to spend them." The story is probably a bit of exaggerated
gossip. He was buried close to the tomb of Chaucer in the Poets' Corner in
Westminster Abbey, his fellow-poets bearing the pall, and the Earl of Essex
defraying the expenses of the funeral. Referring to the death of Spenser's
great contemporary, Basse wrote:--
"Renownèd Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
To learnèd Chaucer, and rare Beaumont, lie
A little nearer Spenser, to make room
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb."
"Thus," says Mr. Stopford Brooke, appropriately, "London, 'his most kindly
nurse,' takes care also of his dust, and England keeps him in her love."
Spenser's influence on English poetry can hardly be overestimated. Keats
called him "the poets' poet," a title which has been universally approved.
"He is the poet of all others," says Mr. Saintsbury, "for those who seek in
poetry only poetical qualities." His work has appealed most strongly to
those who have been poets themselves, for with him the poetical attraction
is supreme. Many of the greatest poets have delighted to call him master,
and have shown him the same loving reverence which he gave to Chaucer.
Minor poets like Sidney, Drayton, and Daniel paid tribute to his
inspiration; Milton was deeply indebted to him, especially in _Lycidas_;
and many of the pensive poets of the seventeenth century show traces of his
influence. "Spenser delighted Shakespeare," says Mr. Church; "he was the
poetical master of Cowley, and then of Milton, and in a sense of Dryden,
and even Pope." Giles and Phineas Fletcher, William Browne, Sir William
Alexander, Shenstone, Collins, Cowley, Gray, and James Thomson were all
direct followers of Spenser. His influence upon the poets of the romantic
revival of the nineteenth century is even more marked. "Spenser begot
Keats," says Mr. Saintsbury, "and Keats begot Tennyson, and Tennyson begot
all the rest." Among this notable company of disciples should be mentioned
especially Rossetti, Morris, and Swinburne. If we include within the sphere
of Spenser's influence also those who have made use of the stanza which he
invented, we must add the names of Burns, Shelley, Byron, Beattie,
Campbell, Scott, and Wordsworth. When we consider the large number of poets
in whom Spenser awakened the poetic gift, or those to whose powers he gave
direction, we may safely pronounce him the most seminal poet in the
language.
III. STUDY OF THE _FAERIE QUEENE_
1. A ROMANTIC EPIC.--The _Faerie Queene_ is the most perfect type which we
have in English of the purely _romantic poem_. Four elements enter into its
composition: "it is pastoral by association, chivalrous by temper, ethical
by tendency, and allegorical by treatment" (Renton). Its subject was taken
from the old cycle of Arthurian legends, which were brightened with the
terrorless magic of Ariosto and Tasso. The scene of the adventures is laid
in the enchanted forests and castles of the far away and unreal fairyland
of mediæval chivalry, and the incidents themselves are either highly
improbable or frankly impossible. The language is frequently archaic and
designedly unfamiliar. Much of the machinery and properties used in
carrying on the story, such as speaking myrtles, magic mirrors, swords,
rings, impenetrable armor, and healing fountains, is supernatural. All the
characters--the knights, ladies, dwarfs, magicians, dragons, nymphs,
satyrs, and giants--are the conventional figures of pastoral romance.
The framework of the plot of the _Faerie Queene_ is vast and loosely put
together. There are six main stories, or legends, and each contains several
digressions and involved episodes. The plan of the entire work, which the
author only half completed, is outlined in his letter to Sir Walter
Raleigh. This letter serves as an admirable introduction to the poem, and
should be read attentively by the student. Gloriana, the Queen of
Fairyland, holds at her court a solemn feudal festival, lasting twelve
days, during which she sends forth twelve of her greatest knights on as
many separate adventures. The knights are commissioned to champion the
cause of persons in distress and redress their wrongs. The ideal knight,
Prince Arthur, is the central male figure of the poem. He is enamoured of
Gloriana, having seen her in a wondrous vision, and is represented as
journeying in quest of her. He appears in all of the legends at opportune
moments to succor the knights when they are hard beset or in the power of
their enemies. The six extant books contain respectively the legends of (I)
the Knight of the Redcrosse, or Holiness, (II) Sir Guyon, the Knight of
Temperance, (III) Britomart, the female Knight of Chastity, (IV) Sir
Campbell and Sir Triamond, the Knights of Friendship, (V) Sir Artegall, the
Knight of Justice, and (VI) Sir Caledore, the Knight of Courtesy. Book I is
an allegory of man's relation to God, Book II, of man's relation to
himself, Books III, IV, V, and VI, of man's relation to his fellow-man.
Prince Arthur, the personification of Magnificence, by which Spenser means
Magnanimity (Aristotle's [Greek: megalopsychía]), is the ideal of a perfect
character, in which all the private virtues are united. It is a poem of
culture, inculcating the moral ideals of Aristotle and the teachings of
Christianity.
2. INFLUENCE OF THE NEW LEARNING.--Like Milton, Gray, and other English
poets, Spenser was a scholar familiar with the best in ancient and modern
literature. As to Spenser's specific indebtedness, though he owed much in
incident and diction to Chaucer's version of the _Romance of the Rose_ and
to Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, the great epic poets, Tasso and Ariosto,
should be given first place. The resemblance of passages in the _Faerie
Queene_ to others in the _Orlando Furioso_ and the _Jerusalem Delivered_ is
so striking that some have accused the English poet of paraphrasing and
slavishly borrowing from the two Italians. Many of these parallels are
pointed out in the notes. To this criticism, Mr. Saintsbury remarks: "Not,
perhaps, till the _Orlando_ has been carefully read, and read in the
original, is Spenser's real greatness understood. He has often, and
evidently of purpose, challenged comparison; but in every instance it will
be found that his beauties are emphatically his own. He has followed
Ariosto only as Vergil has followed Homer, and much less slavishly."
The influence of the New Learning is clearly evident in Spenser's use of
_classical mythology_. Greek myths are placed side by side with Christian
imagery and legends. Like Dante, the poet did not consider the Hellenic
doctrine of sensuous beauty to be antagonistic to the truths of religion.
There is sometimes an incongruous confusion of classicism and mediævalism,
as when a magician is seen in the house of Morpheus, and a sorcerer goes to
the realm of Pluto. Spenser was guided by a higher and truer sense of
beauty than the classical purists know.
A very attractive element of his classicism is his _worship of beauty_. The
Greek conception of beauty included two forms--the sensuous and the
spiritual. So richly colored and voluptuous are his descriptions that he
has been called the painters' poet, "the Rubens," and "the Raphael of the
poets." As with Plato, Spenser's idea of the spiritually beautiful includes
the true and the good. Sensuous beauty is seen in the forms of external
nature, like the morning mist and sunshine, the rose gardens, the green
elders, and the quiet streams. His ideal of perfect sensuous and spiritual
beauty combined is found in womanhood. Such a one is Una, the dream of the
poet's young manhood, and we recognize in her one whose soul is as fair as
her face--an idealized type of a woman in real life who calls forth all our
love and reverence.
3. INTERPRETATION OF THE ALLEGORY.--In the sixteenth century it was the
opinion of Puritan England that every literary masterpiece should not only
give entertainment, but should also teach some moral or spiritual lesson.
"No one," says Mr. Patee, "after reading Spenser's letter to Raleigh, can
wander far into Spenser's poem without the conviction that the author's
central purpose was didactic, almost as much as was Bunyan's in _Pilgrim's
Progress._" Milton doubtless had this feature of the _Faerie Queene_ in
mind when he wrote in _Il Penseroso_:--
"And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests and enchantments drear,
_Where more is meant than meets the ear_."
That the allegory of the poem is closely connected with its aim and ethical
tendency is evident from the statement of the author that "the generall end
therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in
vertuous and gentle discipline. Which for that I conceived should be most
plausible and pleasing, being coloured with an historical fiction, the
which the most part of men delight to read, rather for varietie of matter
then for profite of the ensample." The _Faerie Queene_ is, therefore,
according to the avowed purpose of its author, a poem of culture. Though it
is one of the most highly artistic works in the language, it is at the same
time one of the most didactic. "It professes," says Mr. Church, "to be a
veiled exposition of moral philosophy."
The allegory is threefold,--moral, religious, and personal.
(a) _Moral Allegory._--The characters all represent various virtues and
vices, whose intrigues and warfare against each other symbolize the
struggle of the human soul after perfection. The Redcross Knight, for
example, personifies the single private virtue of holiness, while Prince
Arthur stands for that perfect manhood which combines all the moral
qualities; Una represents abstract truth, while Gloriana symbolizes the
union of all the virtues in perfect womanhood.
(b) _Religious or Spiritual Allegory._--Under this interpretation the
Redcross Knight is a personification of Protestant England, or the church
militant, while Una represents the true religion of the Reformed Church. On
the other hand, Archimago symbolizes the deceptions of the Jesuits and
Duessa the false Church of Rome masquerading as true religion.
(c) _Personal and Political Allegory._--Here we find a concrete
presentation of many of Spenser's chief contemporaries. One of Spenser's
prime objects in composing his epic was to please certain powerful persons
at court, and above all to win praise and patronage from the vain and
flattery loving queen, whom he celebrates as Gloriana. Prince Arthur is a
character that similarly pays homage to Lord Leicester. In the Redcross
Knight he compliments, no doubt, some gentleman like Sir Philip Sidney or
Sir Walter Raleigh, as if he were a second St. George, the patron saint of
England, while in Una we may see idealized some fair lady of the court. In
Archimago he satirizes the odious King Philip II of Spain, and in false
Duessa the fascinating intriguer, Mary Queen of Scots, who was undeserving
so hard a blow.
KEY TO THE ALLEGORY IN BOOK I
_Characters_ _Moral_ _Religious and _Personal and
Spirtual_ Political_
Redcross Knight Holiness Reformed England St George
Una Truth True Religion
Prince Arthur Magnificence, or Protestantism, or Lord Leicester
Private Virtue the Church Militant
Gloriana Glory Spirtual Beauty Queen Elizabeth
Archimago Hypocrisy The Jesuits Phillip II of Spain
Duessa Falsehood False Religion Mary Queen of Scots,
Church of Rome
Orgoglio Carnal Pride Antichrist Pope Sixtus V
The Lion Reason, Reformation by Force Henry VIII,
Natural Honor Civil Government
The Dragon Sin The Devil, Satan Rome and Spain
Sir Satyrane Natural Courage Law and Order Sir John Perrott
in Ireland
The Monster Avarice Greed of Romanism Romish Priesthood
Corceca Blind Devotion, Catholic Penance Irish Nuns
Superstition
Abessa Flagrant Sin Immorality Irish Nuns
Kirkrapine Church Robbery Religious State Irish Clergy
of Ireland and Laity
Sansfoy Infidelity
Sansjoy Joylessness Pagan Religion The Sultan and
the Saracens
Sansloy Lawlessness
The Dwarf Prudence,
Common Sense
Sir Trevisan Fear
The Squire Purity The Anglican Clergy
The Horn Truth The English Bible
Lucifera Pride, Vanity Woman of Babylon Church of Rome
4. THE SPENSERIAN STANZA.--The _Faerie Queene_ is written in the Spenserian
Stanza, a form which the poet himself invented as a suitable vehicle for a
long narrative poem. Suggestions for its construction were taken from three
Italian metres--the Ottava Rima, the Terza Rima, the Sonnet--and the
Ballade stanza. There are eight lines in the iambic pentameter measure
(five accents); e.g.--
v -/- | v -/- | v -/- | v -/- | v -/-
a gen | tle knight | was prick | ing on | the plaine
followed by one iambic hexameter, or Alexandrine (six accents); e.g.--
v -/- | v -/- | v -/- | v -/- | v -/- | v -/-
as one | for knight | ly giusts | and fierce | encount | ers fitt
The rhymes are arranged in the following order: _ab ab bc bcc_. It will be
observed that the two quatrains are bound together by the first two b
rhymes, and the Alexandrine, which rhymes with the eighth line, draws out
the harmony with a peculiar lingering effect. In scanning and reading it is
necessary to observe the laws of accentuation and pronunciation prevailing
in Spenser's day; e.g. in _learned_ (I, i), _undeserved_ (I, ii), and
_woundes_ (V, xvii) the final syllable is sounded, _patience_ (X, xxix) is
trisyllabic, _devotion_ (X, xl) is four syllables, and _entertainment_ (X,
xxxvii) is accented on the second and fourth syllables. Frequently there is
in the line a cæsural pause, which may occur anywhere; e.g.--
"And quite dismembred hath; | the thirsty land
Dronke up his life; | his corse left on the strand." (III, xx.)
The rhythm of the meter is also varied by the alternating of end-stopped
and run-on lines, as in the last quotation. An end-stopped line has a pause
at the end, usually indicated by some mark of punctuation. A run-on line
should be read closely with the following line with only a slight pause to
indicate the line-unit. Monotony is prevented by the occasional use of a
light or feminine ending--a syllable on which the voice does not or cannot
rest; e.g.--
"Then choosing out few words most horrible." (I, xxxvii.)
"That for his love refused deity." (III, xxi.)
"His ship far come from watrie wilderness." (III, xxxii.)
The use of alliteration, i.e. having several words in a line beginning with
the same letter, is another device frequently employed by Spenser for
musical effect; e.g.--
"In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare." (I, xxxvi.)
"Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes." (I, xxxvi.)
5. VERSIFICATION.--In the handling of his stanza, Spenser revealed a
harmony, sweetness, and color never before dreamed of in the English. Its
compass, which admitted of an almost endless variety of cadence, harmonized
well with the necessity for continuous narration. It appeals to the eye as
well as to the ear, with its now languid, now vigorous, but always graceful
turn of phrase. Its movement has been compared to the smooth, steady,
irresistible sweep of water in a mighty river. Like Lyly, Marlowe, and
Shakespeare, Spenser felt the new delight in the pictorial and musical
qualities of words, and invented new melodies and word pictures. He aimed
rather at finish, exactness, and fastidious neatness than at ease, freedom,
and irregularity; and if his versification has any fault, it is that of
monotony. The atmosphere is always perfectly adapted to the theme.
6. DICTION AND STYLE.--The peculiar diction of the _Faerie Queene_ should
receive the careful attention of the student. As a romantic poet, Spenser
often preferred archaic and semi-obsolete language to more modern forms. He
uses four classes of words that were recognized as the proper and
conventional language of pastoral and romantic poetry; viz. (a)
_archaisms_, (b) _dialect_, (c) _classicisms_, and (d) _gallicisms_. He did
not hesitate to adopt from Chaucer many obsolete words and grammatical
forms. Examples are: the double negative with _ne_; _eyen_, _lenger_,
_doen_, _ycladd_, _harrowd_, _purchas_, _raught_, _seely_, _stowre_,
_swinge_, _owch_, and _withouten_. He also employs many old words from
Layamon, Wiclif, and Langland, like _swelt_, _younglings_, _noye_, _kest_,
_hurtle_, and _loft_. His dialectic forms are taken from the vernacular of
the North Lancashire folk with which he was familiar. Some are still a part
of the spoken language of that region, such as, _brent_, _cruddled_,
_forswat_, _fearen_, _forray_, _pight_, _sithen_, _carle_, and _carke_.
Examples of his use of classical constructions are: the ablative absolute,
as, _which doen_ (IV, xliii); the relative construction with _when_, as,
_which when_ (I, xvii), _that when_ (VII, xi); the comparative of the
adjective in the sense of "too," as, _weaker_ (I, xlv), harder (II, xxxvi);
the participial construction after _till_, as, _till further tryall made_
(I, xii); the superlative of location, as, _middest_ (IV, xv); and the old
gerundive, as, _wandering wood_ (I, xiii). Most of the gallicisms found are
anglicized loan words from the French _romans d'aventure_, such as,
_disseized_, _cheare_, _chappell_, _assoiled_, _guerdon_, _palfrey_,
_recreaunt_, _trenchand_, _syre_, and _trusse_. Notwithstanding Spenser's
use of foreign words and constructions, his language is as thoroughly
English in its idiom as that of any of our great poets.
"I think that if he had not been a great poet," says Leigh Hunt, "he would
have been a great painter."
"After reading," says Pope, "a canto of Spenser two or three days ago to an
old lady, between seventy and eighty years of age, she said that I had been
showing her a gallery of pictures. I do not know how it is, but she said
very right. There is something in Spenser that pleases one as strongly in
old age as it did in youth. I read the _Faerie Queene_ when I was about
twelve, with infinite delight; and I think it gave me as much, when I read
it over about a year or two ago."
The imperishable charm of the poem lies in its appeal to the pure sense of
beauty. "A beautiful pagan dream," says Taine, "carries on a beautiful
dream of chivalry." The reader hears in its lines a stately and undulating
rhythm that intoxicates the ear and carries him on with an irresistible
fascination, he sees the unsubstantial forms of fairyland go sweeping by in
a gorgeous and dreamlike pageantry, and he feels pulsing in its luxuriant
and enchanted atmosphere the warm and beauty-loving temper of the Italian
Renaissance. "Spenser is superior to his subject," says Taine, "comprehends
it fully, frames it with a view to the end, in order to impress upon it the
proper mark of his soul and his genius. Each story is modified with respect
to another, and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked
out. Thus a beauty issues from this harmony,--the beauty in the poet's
heart,--which his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a laughing
beauty, made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in
sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its
perfection, representing a unique and admirable epoch, the appearance of
paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination of
the North."
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
EVENTS IN SPENSER'S LIFE A.D. CONTEMPORARY EVENTS
Birth of Edmund Spenser (about) 1552 Birth of Sir Walter Raleigh
1553 Death of Edward VI; Mary crowned.
1554 Mary marries Philip of Spain.
1558 Death of Mary; Elizabeth crowned.
1560 Charles IX, king of France.
1568 Council of Trent.
_Visions of Bellay_, published, 1569
_Sonnets of Petrarch_, published, 1569
Enters Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, 1569
1572 Gregory XIII, Pope of Rome.
1572 Massacre of St. Batholomew.
1574 Henry III, king of France.
Received M.A., leaves Cambridge, 1576 Rudolph II, emperor.
Leaves Lancashire, 1578 Elizabeth aids the Netherlands.
Visits Lord Leicester, 1579
_The Shepheards Calender_, 1579
Goes to Ireland, 1580 Massacre of Smerwick.
1581 Tasso's _Jersalem Delivered_.
Lord Grey's return to England, 1582
1584 Assassination of William the
Silent.
1585 Sixtus V, Pope. Drake's voyage.
1585 Leicester goes to the Netherlands.
1586 Death of Sir Philip Sidney.
First marriage (before) 1587 Execution of Mary Queen of Scots.
Clerk to the Council of
Munster, 1588 Defeat of Spanish Armada.
Death of Leicester.
Visits England with Raleigh, 1589 Assassination of Henry III;
Henry IV crowned.
_The Faerie Queene_, Books I, 1590 Shakespeare's _Love's
II, III, Labour's Lost_.
_Mother Hubberds Tale, Tears of 1591 Shakespeare's _Comedy of Errors,
the Muses, Ruines of Time, Henry VI_.
Daphnaida, The Visions_ 1591 Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, trans.
1593 Shakespeare's _Midsummer
Night's Dream_.
1593 _Richard III._
Second marriage, 1594 Shakespeare's _Richard II_.
_Colin Clout's Come Home Again_, 1595 Shakespeare's _King John_.
_Amoretti, Epithalamion, Hymns_ 1595 Johnston's _Seven Champions
of Christendom._
_Astrophel, Prothalamion,_ 1596 Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_.
_The Faerie Queene_, Books I-VI 1596 Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his
Humour._
_Vision of the Present State of 1598 Edict of Nantes,
Ireland_ Philip III crowned.
Death of Spenser, 1599 Revolt of Irish. Expedition
of Essex to Ireland.
* * * * *
THE FAERIE QUEENE
* * * * *
LETTER TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH
A LETTER of the Authors expounding his whole intention in the course of
this worke;[1] which, for that it giveth great light to the reader, for the
better understanding is hereunto annexed.
TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND VALOROUS
SIR WALTER RALEIGH, KNIGHT.
_Lo: Wardein of the Stanneries, and her majesties lieutenaunt of the
countie of Cornewayll._
SIR,
Knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be constructed, and this booke of
mine, which I have entituled _The Faery Queene_, being a continued
Allegorie, or darke conceit, I have thought good, as well for avoyding of
jealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in
reading thereof, (being so, by you commanded) to discover unto you the
generall intention and meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have
fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes, or by-accidents
therein occasioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke, is to
fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline.
Which for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, beeing
coloured with an historicall fiction, the which the most part of men
delight to read, rather for varietie of matter than for profit of the
ensample: I chose the historie of king Arthure, as most fit for the
excellencie of his person, beeing made famous by many mens former workes,
and also furthest from the danger of envie, and suspicion of present time.
In which I have followed all the antique poets historicall: first Homer,
who in the persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governour
and a vertuous man, the one in his _Ilias_, the other in his _Odysseis_:
then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person of _Æneas_:
after him Ariosto comprised them both in his _Orlando_: and lately Tasso
dissevered them againe, and formed both parts in two persons, namely, that
part which they in philosophy call _Ethice_, or vertues of a private man,
coloured in his _Rinaldo_: the other named _Politice_, in his _Godfredo_.
By ensample of which excellent Poets, I laboure to pourtraict in Arthure,
before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve
private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath devised: which if I find to be
well accepted, I may be perhaps encoraged to frame the other part of
pollitike vertues in his person, after he came to bee king.
To some I know this Methode will seem displeasant, which had rather have
good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large,
as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in Allegoricall devises. But
such, mee seeme, should be satisfied with the use of these dayes, seeing
all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not
delightfull and pleasing to common sense. For this cause is Xenophon
preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his
judgement, formed a Commune-wealth, such as it should be; but the other, in
the person of Cyrus and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as might
best be: So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by ensample then
by rule. So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure: whom I
conceive, after his long education by Timon (to whom he was by Merlin
delivered to be brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne)
to have seen in a dreame or vision the Faerie Queene, with whose excellent
beautie ravished, hee awaking, resolved to seek her out: and so, being by
Merlin armed, and by Timon throughly instructed, he went to seeke her forth
in Faery land. In that Faery Queene I mean _Glory_ in my generall
intention: but in my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious
person of our soveraine the Queene, and her kingdome in Faery land. And
yet, in some places else, I doe otherwise shadow her. For considering shee
beareth two persons, the one of a most royall Queene or Empresse, the other
of a most vertuous and beautifull lady, this latter part in some places I
doe expresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your owne
excellent conceipt of Cynthia,[2] (Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of
Diana). So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth magnificence in
particular, which vertue, for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) it
is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in it them all, therefore
in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure appliable to the vertue,
which I write of in that booke. But of the twelve other vertues I make XII
other knights the patrons, for the more varietie of the historic: Of which
these three bookes containe three. The first, of the Knight of the Red
crosse, in whom I expresse Holinesse: the second of Sir Guyon, in whome I
set foorth Temperance: the third of Britomartis, a Lady knight, in whom I
picture Chastitie. But because the beginning of the whole worke seemeth
abrupt and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs that yee know the
occasion of these three knights severall adventures. For the Methode of a
Poet historicall is not such as of an Historiographer. For an
Historiographer discourseth of affaires orderly as they were done,
accounting as well the times as the actions; but a Poet thrusteth into the
middest, even where it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the
things forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleasing analysis
of all. The beginning therefore of my historie, if it were to be told by an
Historiographer, should be the twelfth booke, which is the last; where I
devise that the Faery Queene kept her annuall feast twelve daies; uppon
which twelve severall dayes, the occasions of the twelve severall
adventures hapned, which being undertaken by XII severall knights, are in
these twelve books severally handled and discoursed.
The first was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented him
selfe a tall clownish younge man, who falling before the Queene of Faeries
desired a boone (as the manner then was) which during that feast she might
not refuse: which was that hee might have the atchievement of any
adventure, which during that feast should happen; that being granted, he
rested him selfe on the fioore, unfit through his rusticitie for a better
place. Soone after entred a faire Ladie in mourning weedes, riding on a
white Asse, with a dwarfe behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the
Armes of a knight, and his speare in the dwarfes hand. She falling before
the Queene of Faeries, complayned that her father and mother, an ancient
King and Queene, had bene by an huge dragon many yeers shut up in a brazen
Castle, who thence suffered them not to issew: and therefore besought the
Faery Queene to assigne her some one of her knights to take on him that
exployt. Presently that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure;
whereat the Queene much wondering, and the Lady much gaine-saying, yet he
earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unlesse
that armour which she brought would serve him (that is, the armour of a
Christian man specified by Saint Paul, V. Ephes.) that he could not succeed
in that enterprise: which being forth with put upon him with due furnitures
thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was well
liked of the Lady. And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and mounting on
that straunge Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure: where
beginneth the first booke, viz.
A gentle knight was pricking on the playne, etc.
The second day there came in a Palmer bearing an Infant with bloody hands,
whose Parents he complained to have bene slaine by an enchauntresse called
Acrasia: and therefore craved of the Faery Queene, to appoint him some
knight to performe that adventure, which being assigned to Sir Guyon, he
presently went foorth with the same Palmer: which is the beginning of the
second booke and the whole subject thereof. The third day there came in a
Groome, who complained before the Faery Queene, that a vile Enchaunter,
called Busirane, had in hand a most faire Lady, called Amoretta, whom he
kept in most grevious torment. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that
Lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But beeing unable to performe
it by reason of the hard Enchauntments, after long sorrow, in the end met
with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed his love.
But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled; but rather
as accidents then intendments. As the love of Britomart, the overthrow of
Marinell, the miserie of Florimell, the vertuousness of Belphoebe; and many
the like.
Thus much, Sir, I have briefly-over-run to direct your understanding to the
wel-head of the History, that from thence gathering the whole intention of
the conceit, ye may as in a handfull gripe all the discourse, which
otherwise may happely seem tedious and confused. So humbly craving the
continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th' eternall
establishment of your happines, I humbly take leave.
Yours most humbly affectionate,
EDM. SPENSER.
23 Januarie, 1589.
[1] The letter served as an introduction to the first three books of the
_Faerie Queene_.
[2] An allusion to Sir Walter Raleigh's poem _Cynthia_.
* * * * *
_To the Right Noble and Valorous Knight_,
SIR WALTER RALEIGH,
_Lord Wardein of the Stanneryes, and Lieftenaunt of Cornewaile_,
To thee that art the sommers Nightingale,
Thy soveraigne Goddesses most deare delight,
Why doe I send this rustick Madrigale,
That may thy tunefull eare unseason quite?
Thou onely fit this argument to write
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bowre,
And dainty Love learnd sweetly to endite.
My rimes I know unsavory and sowre,
To taste the streames, that, like a golden showre,
Flow from thy fruitfull head, of thy Loves praise;
Fitter perhaps to thunder martiall stowre,
When so thee list thy loftie Muse to raise:
Yet, till that thou thy poeme wilt make knowne,
Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus rudely showne.
E.S.
* * * * *
TO
THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTIE, AND MAGNIFICENT
EMPERESSE
RENOWNED FOR PIETIE, VERTVE, AND ALL GRATIOVS GOVERNMENT
ELIZABETH
BY THE GRACE OF GOD
Queen of England, Fraunce and Ireland, and of Virginia,
Defender of the Faith etc.
HER MOST HUMBLE SERVAUNT
EDMVND SPENSER
DOTH IN ALL HUMILITIE
DEDICATE, PRESENT, AND CONSECRATE THESE HIS LABOVRS
TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITIE OF HER FAME.
* * * * *
THE FIRST BOOKE OF
THE FAERIE QUEENE
CONTAINING
THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED
CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE
* * * * *
I
Lo I the man,° whose Muse whilome did maske,
As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds,
Am now enforst a far unfitter taske,
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,
And sing of Knights and Ladies° gentle deeds; 5
Whose prayses having slept in silence long,
Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds
To blazon broade emongst her learned throng:
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.
II
Helpe then, O holy Virgin chiefe of nine,° 10
Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will;
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne
The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,
Of Faerie knights° and fairest Tanaquill,°
Whom that most noble Briton Prince° so long 15
Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill,
That I must rue his undeserved wrong:
O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.
III
And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,°
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart 20
At that good knight so cunningly didst rove,
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart,
Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart,
And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde;
Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,° 25
In loves and gentle jollities arrayd,
After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.
IV
And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,°
Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine,
Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light 30
Like Phoebus lampe° throughout the world doth shine,
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne,
And raise my thoughts, too humble and too vile,
To thinke of that true glorious type of thine,°
The argument of mine afflicted stile:° 35
The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dred,° a-while.
* * * * *
CANTO I
The Patron of true Holinesse
foule Errour doth defeate;
Hypocrisie him to entrappe
doth to his home entreate.
I
A GENTLE Knight° was pricking on the plaine,
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,
Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine,
The cruel markes of many'a bloudy fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield: 5
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.
II
And on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore, 10
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead as living ever him ador'd:
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd,
For soveraine hope,° which in his helpe he had: 15
Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.
III
Upon a great adventure he was bond,
That greatest Gloriana° to him gave, 20
That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond,
To winne him worship, and her grace to have,
Which of all earthly things he most did crave;
And ever as he rode, his hart did earne
To prove his puissance in battell brave 25
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne;
Upon his foe, a Dragon° horrible and stearne.
IV
A lovely Ladie° rode him faire beside,
Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow,
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide 30
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low,
And over all a blacke stole she did throw,
As one that inly mournd: so was she sad,
And heavie sat upon her palfrey slow;
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, 35
And by her in a line a milke white lambe she lad.
V
So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,
She was in life and every vertuous lore,
And by descent from Royall lynage came
Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of yore 40
Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore,
And all the world in their subjection held;
Till that infernall feend with foule uprore
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld:
Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld. 45
VI
Behind her farre away a Dwarfe° did lag,
That lasie seemd in being ever last,
Or wearied with bearing of her bag
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past,
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast, 50
And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine
Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast,
That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain,
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.
VII
Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, 55
A shadie grove° not far away they spide,
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand:
Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride
Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide,
Not perceable with power of any starre: 60
And all within were pathes and alleies wide,
With footing worne, and leading inward farre:
Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred arre.
VIII
And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led,
Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, 65
Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred,
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky.
Much can they prayse the trees so straight and hy,
The sayling Pine,° the Cedar proud and tall,
The vine-prop Elme, the Poplar never dry,° 70
The builder Oake,° sole king of forrests all,
The Aspine good for staves, the Cypresse funerall.°
IX
The Laurell,° meed of mightie Conquerours
And Poets sage, the firre that weepeth still,°
The Willow° worne of forlorne Paramours, 75
The Eugh° obedient to the benders will,
The Birch for shaftes, the Sallow for the mill,
The Mirrhe° sweete bleeding in the bitter wound,
The warlike Beech,° the Ash for nothing ill,°
The fruitfull Olive, and the Platane round, 80
The carver Holme,° the Maple seeldom inward sound.
X
Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne;
When weening to returne, whence they did stray,
They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, 85
But wander too and fro in wayes unknowne,
Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene,
That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne:
So many pathes, so many turnings seene,
That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been. 90
XI
At last resolving forward still to fare,
Till that some end they finde or in or out,
That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare,
And like to lead the labyrinth about;
Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, 95
At length it brought them to a hollow cave
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave,
And to the Dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave.
XII
Be well aware, quoth then that Ladie milde, 100
Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke:
The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde,
Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke,
And perill without show: therefore your stroke,
Sir Knight, with-hold, till further triall made. 105
Ah Ladie, (said he) shame were to revoke°
The forward footing for an hidden shade:
Vertue gives her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade.
XIII
Yea but (quoth she) the perill of this place
I better wot then you, though now too late 110
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace,
Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate,
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
This is the wandring wood,° this Errours den,
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: 115
Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then
The fearefull Dwarfe) this is no place for living men.
XIV
But full of fire and greedy hardiment,
The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide,
But forth unto the darksome hole he went, 120
And looked in: his glistring armor made
A litle glooming light, much like a shade,
By which he saw the ugly monster° plaine,
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide,
But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine, 125
Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine.°
XV
And as she lay upon the durtie ground,
Her huge long taile her den all overspred,
Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound,
Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred° 130
A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed,
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs, eachone
Of sundry shapes, yet all ill favored:
Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone,
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. 135
XVI
Their dam upstart, out of her den effraide,
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile
About her cursed head, whose folds displaid
Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile.
She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle 140
Armed to point,° sought backe to turne againe;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,
Ay wont in desert darknesse to remaine,
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine.
XVII
Which when the valiant Elfe° perceiv'd, he lept 145
As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray,
And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept
From turning backe, and forced her to stay:
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray,
And turning fierce, her speckled taile advaunst, 150
Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay:
Who nought aghast his mightie hand enhaunst:
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst.
XVIII
Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd,
Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round, 155
And all attonce her beastly body raizd
With doubled forces high above the ground:
Tho wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd,
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine
All suddenly about his body wound, 160
That hand or foot to stirre he strove in vaine:
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine.
XIX
His Lady sad to see his sore constraint,
Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee,
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint: 165
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee.
That when he heard, in great perplexitie,
His gall did grate for griefe° and high disdaine,
And knitting all his force got one hand free,
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, 170
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine.
XX
Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw,
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke 175
His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe:
Her vomit full of bookes° and papers was,
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke,
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:
Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has. 180
XXI
As when old father Nilus° gins to swell
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale,
His fattie waves do fertile slime outwell,
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale:
But when his later spring gins to avale, 185
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male
And partly female of his fruitful seed;
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed.
XXII
The same so sore annoyed has the knight, 190
That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke,
His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight.
Whose corage when the feend perceiv'd to shrinke,
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke
Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, 195
Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,
With swarming all about his legs did crall,
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.
XXIII
As gentle Shepheard° in sweete even-tide,
When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west, 200
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide,
Markes which do byte their hasty supper best,
A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest,
All striving to infixe their feeble stings,
That from their noyance he no where can rest, 205
But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.
XXIV
Thus ill bestedd,° and fearefull more of shame,
Then of the certeine perill he stood in,
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 210
Resolv'd in minde all suddenly to win,
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin
And strooke at her with more then manly force,
That from her body full of filthie sin
He raft her hatefull head without remorse; 215
A streame of cole black bloud forth gushed from her corse.
XXV
Her scattred brood,° soone as their Parent deare
They saw so rudely falling to the ground,
Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare,
Gathred themselves about her body round, 220
Weening their wonted entrance to have found
At her wide mouth: but being there withstood
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
And sucked up their dying mothers blood,
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good. 225
XXVI
That detestable sight him much amazde,
To see th' unkindly Impes, of heaven accurst,
Devoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd,
Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst,
Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst, 230
And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end
Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst;°
Now needeth him no lenger labour spend,
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should contend.°
XXVII
His Ladie seeing all that chaunst, from farre 235
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie,
And said, Faire knight, borne under happy starre,°
Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye:
Well worthie be you of that Armorie,°
Wherin ye have great glory wonne this day, 240
And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie,
Your first adventure: many such I pray,
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.°
XXVIII
Then mounted he upon his Steede againe,
And with the Lady backward sought to wend; 245
That path he kept which beaten was most plaine,
Ne ever would to any by-way bend,
But still did follow one unto the end,
The which at last out of the wood them brought.
So forward on his way (with God to frend)° 250
He passed forth, and new adventure sought;
Long way he travelled, before he heard of ought.
XXIX
At length they chaunst to meet upon the way
An aged Sire,° in long blacke weedes yclad,
His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray 255
And by his belt his booke he hanging had;
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
Simple in shew, and voyde of malice bad,
And all the way he prayed, as he went, 260
And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.
XXX
He faire the knight saluted, louting low,
Who faire him quited, as that courteous was:
And after asked him, if he did know
Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas. 265
Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas,
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell?
With holy father sits not with such things to mell. 270
XXXI
But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell,
And homebred evil ye desire to heare,
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,
That wasteth all this countrey farre and neare.
Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere, 275
And shall you well reward to shew the place,
In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare:
For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace,
That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.
XXXII
Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse 280
His dwelling is, by which no living wight
May ever passe, but thorough great distresse.
Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night,
And well I wote, that of your later fight
Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong, 285
But wanting rest will also want of might?
The Sunne that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waves emong.
XXXIII
Then with the Sunne take Sir, your timely rest,
And with new day new worke at once begin: 290
Untroubled night they say gives counsell best.
Right well Sir knight ye have advised bin,
(Quoth then that aged man;) the way to win
Is wisely to advise: now day is spent;
Therefore with me ye may take up your In° 295
For this same night. The knight was well content:
So with that godly father to his home they went.
XXXIV
A little lowly Hermitage it was,
Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side,
Far from resort of people, that did pas 300
In travell to and froe: a little wyde°
There was an holy Chappell edifyde,
Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say
His holy things each morne and eventyde:
Thereby a Christall streame did gently play, 305
Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.
XXXV
Arrived there, the little house they fill,
Ne looke for entertainement, where none was:
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will:
The noblest mind the best contentment has. 310
With faire discourse the evening so they pas:
For that old man of pleasing wordes had store,
And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas,
He told of Saintes and Popes, and evermore
He strowd an _Ave-Mary_° after and before. 315
XXXVI
The drouping Night thus creepeth on them fast,
And the sad humour° loading their eye liddes,
As messenger of Morpheus° on them cast
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleepe them biddes.
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: 320
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes,
He to this study goes, and there amiddes
His Magick bookes and artes° of sundry kindes,
He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy mindes.
XXXVII
Then choosing out few words most horrible, 325
(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame,
With which and other spelles like terrible,
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame,°
And cursed heaven and spake reprochfull shame
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light; 330
A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name
Great Gorgon,° Prince of darknesse and dead night,
At which Cocytus° quakes, and Styx is put to flight.
XXXVIII
And forth he cald out of deepe darknesse dred
Legions of Sprights,° the which like little flyes 335
Fluttring about his ever damned hed,
Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
To aide his friends, or fray his enimies:
Of those he chose° out two, the falsest twoo,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; 340
The one of them he gave a message too,
The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo.
XXXIX
He making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and deepe,
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. 345
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is; there Tethys° his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia° still doth steepe
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, 350
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.
XL
Whose double gates° he findeth locked fast,
The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yvory,
The other all with silver overcast;
And wakeful dogges before them farre do lye, 355
Watching to banish Care their enimy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly,
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe. 360
XLI
And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft,°
A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne: 365
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes,
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemyes.
XLII
The messenger approching to him spake, 370
But his wast wordes returnd to him in vaine:
So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine
Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. 375
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine°
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all° his silence breake.
XLIII
The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threatned unto him the dreaded name 380
Of Hecate°: whereat he gan to quake,
And lifting up his lumpish head, with blame
Halfe angry asked him, for what he came.
Hither (quoth he) me Archimago sent,
He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame, 385
He bids thee to him send for his intent
A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.°
XLIV
The God obayde, and, calling forth straightway
A diverse dreame out of his prison darke,
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay 390
His heavie head, devoide of carefull carke,
Whose sences all were straight benumbed and starke.
He backe returning by the Yvorie dore,
Remounted up as light as chearefull Larke,
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore 395
In hast unto his Lord, where he him left afore.
XLV
Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes,
Had made a Lady of that other Spright,
And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes
So lively, and so like in all mens sight, 400
That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight:
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight:
Her all in white he clad, and over it
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme° for Una fit. 405
XLVI
Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought,
Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly,
Where he slept soundly void of evill thought,
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy,
In sort as he him schooled privily: 410
And that new creature, borne without her dew,°
Full of the makers guile, with usage sly
He taught to imitate that Lady trew,
Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew.
XLVII
Thus well instructed, to their worke they hast, 415
And coming where the knight in slomber lay,
The one upon his hardy head him plast
And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play,
That nigh his manly hart did melt away,
Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy: 420
Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,
And to him playnd, how that false winged boy,
Her chast hart had subdewd, to learne Dame Pleasures toy.
XLVIII
And she herselfe of beautie soveraigne Queene,
Fayre Venus° seemde unto his bed to bring 425
Her, whom he waking evermore did weene,
To bee the chastest flowre, that ay did spring
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king,
Now a loose Leman to vile service bound:
And eke the Graces° seemed all to sing, 430
_Hymen Iö Hymen_° dauncing all around,
Whilst freshest Flora° her with Yvie girlond crownd.
XLIX
In this great passion of unwonted lust,
Or wonted feare of doing ought amis,
He started up, as seeming to mistrust 435
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his:
Lo there before his face his Lady is,
Under blake stole hyding her bayted hooke;
And as halfe blushing offred him to kis,
With gentle blandishment and lovely looke, 440
Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took.
L
All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight,
And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,
He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight:
But hasty heat tempring with suffrance wise, 445
He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe advise
To prove his sense,° and tempt her faigned truth.
Wringing her hands in womans pitteous wise,
Tho can she weepe,° to stirre up gentle ruth,
Both for her noble bloud, and for her tender youth. 450
LI
And said, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my love,
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate,
And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,
Or the blind God,° that doth me thus amate,
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate? 455
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state
You, whom my hard avenging destinie
Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.
LII
Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave 460
My Fathers kingdome--There she stopt with teares;
Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave,
And then againe begun; My weaker yeares
Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares,
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde: 465
Let me not dye in languor and long teares.
Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd?
What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?
LIII
Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint,
Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night 470
In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,
Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight.
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight
Suspect her truth: yet since no' untruth he knew,
Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight 475
He would not shend; but said, Deare dame I rew,
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.
LIV
Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;°
For all so deare as life is to my hart,
I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound: 480
Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,
Where cause is none, but to your rest depart.
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
And fed with words that could not chuse but please, 485
So slyding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.
LV
Long after lay he musing at her mood,
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light,
For whose defence he was to shed his blood.
At last, dull wearinesse of former fight 490
Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,
That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine,
With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight:
But when he saw his labour all was vaine,
With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe. 495
* * * * *