Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FAERIE QUEENE: BOOK 6, CANTOS 4-6, by EDMUND SPENSER



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FAERIE QUEENE: BOOK 6, CANTOS 4-6, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Calepine by a salvage man
Last Line: And passed forth, to follow his first enterprize.
Alternate Author Name(s): Clout, Colin


CANTO IV

Calepine by a salvage man
From Turpine reskewed is;
And whylest an infant from a beare
He saves, his love doth misse.

I

LIKE as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,
Having spent all her mastes and her ground-hold,
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
At last some fisher barke doth neare behold,
That giveth comfort to her courage cold:
Such was the state of this most courteous knight,
Being oppressed by that faytour bold,
That he remayned in most perilous plight,
And his sad ladie left in pitifull affright.

II

Till that by fortune, passing all foresight,
A salvage man, which in those woods did wonne,
Drawne with that ladies loud and piteous shright,
Toward the same incessantly did ronne,
To understand what there was to be donne.
There he this most discourteous craven found,
As fiercely yet as when he first begonne
Chasing the gentle Calepine around,
Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound.

III

The salvage man, that never till this houre
Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure,
Was much emmoved at his perils vew,
That even his ruder hart began to rew,
And feele compassion of his evill plight,
Against his foe that did him so pursew:
From whom he meant to free him, if he might,
And him avenge of that so villenous despight.

IV

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight,
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments,
Save such as sudden rage him lent to smite.
But naked, without needfull vestiments
To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,
No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents:
For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare,
He was invulnerable made by magicke leare.

V

He stayed not t' advize, which way were best
His foe t' assayle, or how himselfe to gard,
But with fierce fury and with force infest
Upon him ran; who being well prepard,
His first assault full warily did ward,
And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare
Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard
That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare;
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

VI

With that the wyld man more enraged grew,
Like to a tygre that hath mist his pray,
And with mad mood againe upon him flew,
Regarding neither speare, that mote him slay,
Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay:
The salvage nation doth all dread despize.
Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,
And held the same so hard, that by no wize
He could him force to loose, or leave his enterprize.

VII

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,
And every way did try, but all in vaine:
For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,
But hayld and puld with all his might and maine,
That from his steed him nigh he drew againe.
Who having now no use of his long speare,
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,
Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

VIII

But after him the wyld man ran apace,
And him pursewed with importune speed,
(For he was swift as any bucke in chace)
And had he not in his extreamest need,
Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,
He had him overtaken in his flight.
Who ever, as he saw him nigh succeed,
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,
And shrieked out, a thing uncomely for a knight.

IX

But when the salvage saw his labour vaine,
In following of him that fled so fast,
He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe
With speede unto the place whereas he last
Had left that couple, nere their utmost cast.
There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,
And eke the ladie fearefully aghast,
Both for the perill of the present stound,
And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound.

X

For though she were right glad, so rid to bee
From that vile lozell which her late offended,
Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,
And perill, by this salvage man pretended;
Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended,
By reason that her knight was wounded sore.
Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended
To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

XI

But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare,
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
And by rude tokens made to her appeare
His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;
For other language had he none, nor speach,
But a soft murmure, and confused sound
Of senselesse words, which Nature did him teach,
T' expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach.

XII

And comming likewise to the wounded knight,
When he beheld the streames of purple blood
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight,
He made great mone after his salvage mood,
And running streight into the thickest wood,
A certaine herbe from thence unto him brought,
Whose vertue he by use well understood:
The juyce whereof into his wound he wrought,
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.

XIII

Then taking up that recreants shield and speare,
Which earst he left, he signes unto them made,
With him to wend unto his wonning neare:
To which he easily did them perswade.
Farre in the forrest, by a hollow glade,
Covered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode
Did underneath them make a gloomy shade;
Where foot of living creature never trode,
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.

XIV

Thether he brought these unacquainted guests;
To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed
By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests.
But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrowed,
Must be their bed, their pillow was unsowed,
And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:
For their bad stuard neither plough'd nor sowed,
Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wyld beast
Did taste the bloud, obaying Natures first beheast.

XV

Yet howsoever base and meane it were,
They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,
Which had them freed from that deadly feare,
And sav'd from being to that caytive thrall.
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)
Compelled were themselves a while to rest,
Glad of that easement, though it were but small;
That having there their wounds awhile redrest,
They mote the abler be to passe unto the rest.

XVI

During which time, that wyld man did apply
His best endevour and his daily paine,
In seeking all the woods both farre and nye
For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine,
When ought he did that did their lyking gaine.
So as ere long he had that knightes wound
Recured well, and made him whole againe:
But that same ladies hurt no herbe he found
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly unsound.

XVII

Now when as Calepine was woxen strong,
Upon a day he cast abrode to wend,
To take the ayre and heare the thrushes song,
Unarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend,
And without sword his person to defend.
There him befell, unlooked for before,
An hard adventure with unhappie end,
A cruell beare, the which an infant bore
Betwixt his bloodie jawes, besprinckled all with gore.

XVIII

The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,
And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,
As if his cry did meane for helpe to call
To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill,
Percing his hart, with pities point did thrill;
That after him he ran with zealous haste,
To rescue th' infant, ere he did him kill:
Whom though he saw now somewhat overpast,
Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.

XIX

Well then him chaunst his heavy armes to want,
Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,
And hinder him from libertie to pant:
For having long time, as his daily weed,
Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,
Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,
That like an hauke, which feeling her selfe freed
From bels and jesses, which did let her flight,
Him seem'd his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.

XX

So well he sped him, that the wearie beare
Ere long he overtooke, and forst to stay,
And without weapon him assayling neare,
Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.
Wherewith the beast, enrag'd to loose his pray,
Upon him turned, and with greedie force
And furie, to be crossed in his way,
Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse
To be aveng'd on him, and to devoure his corse.

XXI

But the bold knight, no whit thereat dismayd,
But catching up in hand a ragged stone,
Which lay thereby (so Fortune him did ayde)
Upon him ran, and thrust it all attone
Into his gaping throte, that made him grone
And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,
Being unable to digest that bone;
Ne could it upward come, nor downward passe,
Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

XXII

Whom when as he thus combred did behold,
Stryving in vaine that night his bowels brast,
He with him closd, and laying mightie hold
Upon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,
That, wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast;
And then oppressing him with urgent paine,
Ere long enforst to breath his utmost blast,
Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,
And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine.

XXIII

Then tooke he up betwixt his armes twaine
The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;
Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,
From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,
And from his face the filth that did it ray,
And every litle limbe he searcht around,
And every part that under sweathbands lay,
Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound
Made in his tender flesh; but whole them all he found.

XXIV

So having all his bands againe uptyde,
He with him thought backe to returne againe:
But when he lookt about on every syde,
To weet which way were best to entertaine,
To bring him to the place where he would faine,
He could no path nor tract of foot descry,
Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme;
For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,
That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

XXV

Much was he then encombred, ne could tell
Which way to take: now west he went a while,
Then north; then neither, but as fortune fell.
So up and downe he wandred many a mile,
With wearie travell and uncertaine toile,
Yet nought the nearer to his journeys end;
And evermore his lovely litle spoile
Crying for food did greatly him offend.
So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend.

XXVI

At last, about the setting of the sunne,
Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,
And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne:
Where lookingall about, where he mote fynd
Some place of succour to content his mynd,
At length he heard under the forrests syde
A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd
Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,
And oft complayn'd of Fate, and Fortune oft defyde.

XXVII

To whom approching, when as she perceived
A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,
As if she doubted to have bene deceived,
Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd.
Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd,
He to her drew, and with faire blandishment
Her chearing up, thus gently to her sayd:
'What be you, wofull dame, which thus lament?
And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent.'

XXVIII

To whom she thus: 'What need me, sir, to tell
That which your selfe have earst ared so right?
A wofull dame ye have me termed well;
So much more wofull, as my wofull plight
Cannot redressed be by living wight.'
'Nathlesse,' quoth he, 'if need doe not you bynd,
Doe it disclose, to ease your grieved spright
Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd
Find remedie unsought, which seeking cannot fynd.'

XXIX

Then thus began the lamentable dame:
'Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord,
I am th' unfortunate Matilde by name,
The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is lord
Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword
From a great gyant, called Cormoraunt;
Whom he did overthrow by younder foord,
And in three battailes did so deadly daunt,
That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt.

XXX

'So is my lord now seiz'd of all the land,
As in his fee, with peaceable estate,
And quietly doth hold it in his hand,
Ne any dares with him for it debate.
But to these happie fortunes cruell fate
Hath joyn'd one evill, which doth overthrow
All these our joyes, and all our blisse abate;
And like in time to further ill to grow,
And all this land with endlesse losse to overflow.

XXXI

'For th' heavens, envying our prosperitie,
Have not vouchsaft to graunt unto us twaine
The gladfull blessing of posteritie,

Which we might see after our selves remaine
In th' heritage of our unhappie paine:
So that for want of heires it to defend,
All is in time like to returne againe
To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend
To leape into the same after our lives end.

XXXII

'But most my lord is grieved herewithall,
And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke
That all this land unto his foe shall fall,
For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke,
That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.
Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne
Be gotten, not begotten, which should drinke
And dry up all the water which doth ronne
In the next brooke, by whom that feend shold be fordonne.

XXXIII

'Well hop't he then, when this was propheside,
That from his sides some noble chyld should rize,
The which through fame should farre be magnifide,
And this proud gyant should with brave emprize
Quite overthrow, who now ginnes to despize
The good Sir Bruin, growing farre in yeares;
Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize.
Lo! this my cause of griefe to you appeares;
For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth ceaselesse teares.'

XXXIV

Which when he heard, he inly touched was
With tender ruth for her unworthy griefe,
And when he had devized of her case,
He gan in mind conceive a fit reliefe
For all her paine, if please her make the priefe.
And having cheared her, thus said: 'Faire dame,
In evils counsell is the comfort chiefe;
Which though I be not wise enough to frame,
Yet, as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame.

XXXV

'If that the cause of this your languishment
Be lacke of children to supply your place,
Lo! how good fortune doth to you present
This litle babe, of sweete and lovely face,
And spotlesse spirit, in which ye may enchace
What ever formes ye list thereto apply,
Being now soft and fit them to embrace;
Whether ye list him traine in chevalry,
Or noursle up in lore of learn'd philosophy.

XXXVI

'And certes it hath oftentimes bene seene,
That of the like, whose linage was unknowne,
More brave and noble knights have raysed beene,
As their victorious deedes have often showen,
Being with fame through many nations blowen,
Then those which have bene dandled in the lap.
Therefore some thought that those brave imps were sowen
Here by the gods, and fed with heavenly sap,
That made them grow so high t' all honorable hap.'

XXXVII

The ladie, hearkning to his sensefull speach,
Found nothing that he said unmeet nor geason,
Having oft seene it tryde, as he did teach.
Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,
Agreeing well both with the place and season,
She gladly did of that same babe accept,
As of her owne by liverey and seisin,
And having over it a litle wept,
She bore it thence, and ever as her owne it kept.

XXXVIII

Right glad was Calepine to be so rid
Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought:
Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did,
And with her husband under hand so wrought,
That when that infant unto him she brought,
She made him thinke it surely was his owne,
And it in goodly thewes so well upbrought,
That it became a famous knight well knowne,
And did right noble deedes, the which elswhere are showne.

XXXIX

But Calepine now being left alone
Under the greenewoods side in sorie plight,
Withouten armes or steede to ride upon,
Or house to hide his head from heavens spight,
Albe that dame, by all the meanes she might,
Him oft desired home with her to wend,
And offred him, his courtesie to requite,
Both horse and armes, and what so else to lend,
Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend;

XL

And for exceeding griefe which inly grew,
That he his love so lucklesse now had lost,
On the cold ground, maugre, himselfe he threw,
For fell despight, to be so sorely crost;
And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,
Vowing that never he in bed againe
His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,
Till that his ladies sight he mote attaine,
Or understand that she in safetie did remaine.

CANTO V

The salvage serves Serena well
Till she Prince Arthure fynd;
Who her together with his squyre
With th' hermit leaves behynd.

I

O WHAT an easie thing is to descry
The gentle bloud, how ever it be wrapt
In sad misfortunes foule deformity,
And wretched sorrowes, which have often hapt!
For howsoever it may grow mis-shapt,
Like this wyld man, being undisciplynd,
That to all vertue it may seeme unapt,
Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd,
And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd.

II

That plainely may in this wyld man be red,
Who, though he were still in this desert wood,
Mongst salvage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,
Ne ever saw faire guize, ne learned good,
Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood
By gentle usage of that wretched dame.
For certes he was borne of noble blood,
How ever by hard hap he hether came;
As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.

III

Who, when as now long time he lacked had
The good Sir Calepine, that farre was strayd,
Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,
As he of some misfortune were afrayd:
And leaving there this ladie all dismayd,
Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde,
To seeke if he perchance a sleepe were layd,
Or what so else were unto him betyde:
He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde.

IV

Tho, backe returning to that sorie dame,
He shewed semblant of exceeding mone,
By speaking signes, as he them best could frame;
Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,
Now beating his hard head upon a stone,
That ruth it was to see him so lament.
By which she well perceiving what was done,
Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,
And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment.

V

Upon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw,
Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,
That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,
As if her breast new launcht with murdrous knife
Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life.
There she long groveling and deepe groning lay,
As if her vitall powers were at strife
With stronger death, and feared their decay:
Such were this ladies pangs and dolorous assay.

VI

Whom when the salvage saw so sore distrest,
He reared her up from the bloudie ground,
And sought, by all the meanes that he could best,
Her to recure out of that stony swound,
And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound.
Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,
Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound,
But day and night did vexe her carefull thought,
And ever more and more her owne affliction wrought.

VII

At length, when as no hope of his retourne
She saw now left, she cast to leave the place,
And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,
To seeke some comfort in that sorie case.
His steede, now strong through rest so long a space,
Well as she could, she got, and did bedight,
And being thereon mounted, forth did pace,
Withouten guide, her to conduct aright,
Or gard, her to defend from bold oppressors might.

VIII

Whom when her host saw readie to depart,
He would not suffer her alone to fare,
But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.
Those warlike armes, which Calepine whyleare
Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare,
And put them all about himselfe unfit,
His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare;
But without sword upon his thigh to sit:
Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it.

IX

So forth they traveld, an uneven payre,
That mote to all men seeme an uncouth sight;
A salvage man matcht with a ladie fayre,
That rather seem'd the conquest of his might,
Gotten by spoyle, then purchaced aright.
But he did her attend most carefully,
And faithfully did serve both day and night,
Withouten thought of shame or villeny,
Ne ever shewed signe of foule disloyalty.

X

Upon a day, as on their way they went,
It chaunst some furniture about her steed
To be disordred by some accident:
Which to redresse, she did th' assistance need
Of this her groome, which he by signes did reede,
And streight his combrous armes aside did lay
Upon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed,
And in his homely wize began to assay
T' amend what was amisse, and put in right aray.

XI

Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard,
Lo where a knight together with his squire,
All arm'd to point, came ryding thetherward,
Which seemed by their portance and attire,
To be two errant knights, that did inquire
After adventures, where they mote them get.
Those were to weet (if that ye it require)
Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met
By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

XII

After that Timias had againe recured
The favour of Belphebe, (as ye heard)
And of her grace did stand againe assured,
To happie blisse he was full high uprear'd,
Nether of envy nor of chaunge afeard,
Though many foes did him maligne therefore,
And with unjust detraction him did beard;
Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,
That in her soveraine lyking he dwelt evermore.

XIII

But of them all which did his ruine seeke,
Three mightie enemies did him most despight,
Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,
That him not onely sought by open might
To overthrow, but to supplant by slight.
The first of them by name was cald Despetto,
Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight;
The second, not so strong, but wise, Decetto;
The third, nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest, Defetto.

XIV

Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ,
And severall deceipts, but all in vaine:
For neither they by force could him destroy,
Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine.
Therefore conspiring all together plaine,
They did their counsels now in one compound;
Where singled forces faile, conjoynd may gaine.
The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they found,
To worke his utter shame, and throughly him confound.

XV

Upon a day, as they the time did waite,
When he did raunge the wood for salvage game,
They sent that Blatant Beast to be a baite,
To draw him from his deare beloved dame
Unwares into the daunger of defame.
For well they wist that squire to be so bold,
That no one beast in forrest, wylde or tame,
Met him in chase, but he it challenge would,
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy hould.

XVI

The hardy boy, as they devised had,
Seeing the ugly monster passing by,
Upon him set, of perill nought adrad,
Ne skilfull of the uncouth jeopardy;
And charged him so fierce and furiously,
That, his great force unable to endure,
He forced was to turne from him and fly:
Yet, ere he fled, he with his tooth impure
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.

XVII

Securely he did after him pursew,
Thinking by speed to overtake his flight;
Who through thicke woods and brakes and briers him drew,
To weary him the more, and waste his spight,
So that he now has almost spent his spright:
Till that at length unto a woody glade
he came, whose covert stopt his further sight;
There his three foes, shrowded in guilefull shade,
Out of their ambush broke, and gan him to invade.

XVIII

Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile,
Burning with inward rancour and despight,
And heaped strokes did round about him haile
With so huge force, that seemed nothing might
Beare off their blowes from percing thorough quite.
Yet he them all so warily did ward,
That none of them in his soft flesh did bite,
And all the while his backe for best safegard
He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard.

XIX

Like a wylde bull, that, being at a bay,
Is bayted of a mastiffe and a hound
And a curre-dog, that doe him sharpe assay
On every side, and beat about him round;
But most that curre, barking with bitter sownd,
And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber,
That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground,
And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder:
So did that squire his foes disperse and drive asonder.

XX

Him well behoved so; for his three foes
Sought to encompasse him on every side,
And dangerously did round about enclose.
But most of all Defetto him annoyde,
Creeping behinde him still to have destroyde;
So did Decetto eke him circumvent;
But stout Despetto, in his greater pryde,
Did front him face to face against him bent:
Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.

XXI

Till that at length, nigh tyrd with former chace,
And weary now with carefull keeping ward,
He gan to shrinke, and somewhat to give place,
Full like ere long to have escaped hard;
When as unwares he in the forrest heard
A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast
Did warne his rider be uppon his gard;
With noise whereof the squire, now nigh aghast,
Revived was, and sad dispaire away did cast.

XXII

Eftsoones he spide a knight approching nye,
Who, seeing one in so great daunger set
Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye,
To reskue him, and his weake part abet,
For pitty so to see him overset.
Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,
They fled, and fast into the wood did get:
Him booted not to thinke them to pursew,
The covert was so thicke, that did no passage shew.

XXIII

Then turning to that swaine, him well he knew
To be his Timias, his owne true squire:
Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,
And him embracing twixt his armes entire,
Him thus bespake: 'My liefe, my lifes desire,
Why have ye me alone thus long yleft?
Tell me, what worlds despight, or heavens yre,
Hath you thus long away from me bereft?
Where have ye all this while bin wandring, where bene weft?'

XXIV

With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne:
To whom the squire nought aunswered againe,
But shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,
His deare affect with silence did restraine,
And shut up all his plaint in privy paine.
There they awhile some gracious speaches spent,
As to them seemed fit time to entertaine.
After all which up to their steedes they went,
And forth together rode, a comely couplement.

XXV

So now they be arrived both in sight
Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found
About the sad Serena things to dight,
With those brave armours lying on the ground,
That seem'd the spoile of some right well renownd.
Which when that squire beheld, he to them stept,
Thinking to take them from that hylding hound:
But he it seeing, lightly to him lept,
And sternely with strong hand it from his handling kept.

XXVI

Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly looke,
And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne,
Him with his fist unwares on th' head he strooke,
That made him downe unto the earth encline;
Whence soone upstarting, much he gan repine,
And laying hand upon his wrathfull blade,
Thought therewithall forthwith him to have slaine;
Who it perceiving, hand upon him layd,
And greedily him griping, his avengement stayd.

XXVII

With that aloude the faire Serena cryde
Unto the knight, them to dispart in twaine:
Who to them stepping did them soone divide,
And did from further violence restraine,
Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine.
Then gan the Prince of her for to demand,
What and from whence she was, and by what traine
She fell into that salvage villaines hand,
And whether free with him she now were, or in band.

XXVIII

To whom she thus: 'I am, as now ye see,
The wretchedst dame, that live this day on ground,
Who both in minde, the which most grieveth me,
And body have receiv'd a mortall wound,
That hath me driven to this drery stound.
I was erewhile the love of Calepine,
Who whether he alive be to be found,
Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine,
Since I him lately lost, uneath is to define.

XXIX

'In salvage forrest I him lost of late,
Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
Or else remained in most wretched state,
Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
Kept and delivered me from deadly dread.
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kynd,
Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd
So milde humanity and perfect gentle mynd.

XXX

'Let me therefore this favour for him finde,
That ye will not your wrath upon him wreake,
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens speake:
Small praise to prove your powre on wight so weake.'
With such faire words she did their heate asswage,
And the strong course of their displeasure breake,
That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page.

XXXI

So having all things well about her dight,
She on her way cast forward to proceede,
And they her forth conducted, where they might
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede.
For now her wounds corruption gan to breed;
And eke this squire, who likewise wounded was
Of that same monster late, for lacke of heed,
Now gan to faint, and further could not pas
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has.

XXXII

So forth they rode together all in troupe,
To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease
To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe:
And all the way the Prince sought to appease
The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease,
By all the courteous meanes he could invent;
Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,
And otherwhile with good encouragement,
To make them to endure the pains did them torment.

XXXIII

Mongst which, Serena did to him relate
The foule discourt'sies and unknightly parts,
Which Turpine had unto her shewed late,
Without compassion of her cruell smarts,
Although Blandina did with all her arts
Him otherwise perswade, all that she might;
Yet he of malice, without her desarts,
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary knight.

XXXIV

Wherewith the Prince sore moved, there avoud
That, soone as he returned backe againe,
He would avenge th' abuses of that proud
And shamefull knight, of whom she did complaine.
This wize did they each other entertaine,
To passe the tedious travell of the way;
Till towards night they came unto a plaine,
By which a little hermitage there lay,
Far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may.

XXXV

And nigh thereto a little chappell stoode,
Which being all with yvy overspred,
Deckt all the roofe and shadowing the roode,
Seem'd like a grove faire braunched over hed:
Therein the hermite, which his life here led
In streight observaunce of religious vow,
Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;
And therein he likewise was praying now,
Whenas these knights arriv'd, they wist not where nor how.

XXXVI

They stayd not there, but streight way in did pas.
Whom when the hermite present saw in place,
From his devotion streight he troubled was;
Which breaking of, he toward them did pace,
With stayed steps and grave beseeming grace:
For well it seem'd that whilome he had beene
Some goodly person, and of gentle race,
That could his good to all, and well did weene,
How each to entertaine with curt'sie well beseene.

XXXVII

And soothly it was sayd by common fame,
So long as age enabled him thereto,
That he had bene a man of mickle name,
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:
But being aged now and weary to
Of warres delight and worlds contentious toyle,
The name of knighthood he did disavow,
And hanging up his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.

XXXVIII

He thence them led into his hermitage,
Letting their steedes to graze upon the greene:
Small was his house, and like a little cage,
For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers gay beseene.
Therein he them full faire did entertaine,
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
For courting fooles, that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.

XXXIX

Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
Did use his feeble body to sustaine;
The which full gladly they did take in gree,
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But being well suffiz'd, them rested faine.
But faire Serene all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle squire, for grievous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast
Had given them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.

XL

So all that night they past in great disease,
Till that the morning, bringing earely light
To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
And some asswagement of their painefull plight.
Then up they rose, and gan them selves to dight
Unto their journey; but that squire and dame
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might
Endure to travell, nor one foote to frame:
Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame.

XLI

Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in mynd
Would not permit to make there lenger stay,
Was forced there to leave them both behynd,
In that good hermits charge, whom he did pray
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,
And with him eke the salvage, that whyleare,
Seeing his royall usage and array,
Was greatly growne in love of that brave pere,
Would needes depart, as shall declared be elsewhere.

CANTO VI

The hermite heales both squire and dame
Of their sore maladies;
He Turpine doth defeate, and shame
For his late villanies.

I

No wound, which warlike hand of enemy
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light
As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:
For by no art, nor any leaches might,
It ever can recured be againe;
Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright
Of Podalyrius did in it retaine,
Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine.

II

Such were the wounds the which that Blatant Beast
Made in the bodies of that squire and dame;
And being such, were now much more increast,
For want of taking heede unto the same,
That now corrupt and curelesse they became.
Howbe that carefull hermite did his best,
With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame
The poysnous humour, which did most infest
Their ranckling wounds, and every day them duely drest.

III

For he right well in leaches craft was seene,
And through the long experience of his dayes,
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene,
And past through many perillous assayes,
He knew the diverse went of mortall wayes,
And in the mindes of men had great insight;
Which with sage counsell, when they went astray,
He could enforme, and them reduce aright,
And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright.

IV

For whylome he had bene a doughty knight,
As any one that lived in his daies,
And proved oft in many perillous fight,
Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,
And in all battels bore away the baies.
But being now attacht with timely age,
And weary of this worlds unquiet waies,
He tooke him selfe unto this hermitage,
In which he liv'd alone, like carelesse bird in cage.

V

One day, as he was searching of their wounds,
He found that they had festred privily,
And ranckling inward with unruly stounds,
The inner parts now gan to putrify,
That quite they seem'd past helpe of surgery,
And rather needed to be disciplinde
With holesome reede of sad sobriety,
To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:
Give salves to every sore, but counsell to the minde.

VI

So taking them apart into his cell,
He to that point fit speaches gan to frame,
As he the art of words knew wondrous well,
And eke could doe, as well as say, the same,
And thus he to them sayd: 'Faire daughter dame,
And you, faire sonne, which here thus long now lie
In piteous languor, since ye hither came,
In vaine of me ye hope for remedie,
And I likewise in vaine doe salves to you applie.

VII

'For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie,
To heale your selves, and must proceed alone
From your owne will to cure your maladie.
Who can him cure, that will be cur'd of none?
If therefore health ye seeke, observe this one.
First learne your outward sences to refraine
From things that stirre up fraile affection;
Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talke restraine
From that they most affect, and in due termes containe.

VIII

'For from those outward sences, ill affected,
The seede of all this evill first doth spring,
Which at the first, before it had infected,
Mote easie be supprest with little thing:
But being growen strong, it forth doth bring
Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine
In th' inner parts, and lastly, scattering
Contagious poyson close through every vaine,
It never rests, till it have wrought his finall bane.

IX

'For that beastes teeth, which wounded you tofore,
Are so exceeding venemous and keene,
Made all of rusty yron, ranckling sore,
That where they bite, it booteth not to weene
With salve, or antidote, or other mene,
It ever to amend: ne marvaile ought;
For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,
And long in darksome Stygian den upbrought,
Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is taught.

X

'Echidna is a monster direfull dred,
Whom gods doe hate, and heavens abhor to see;
So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed,
That even the hellish fiends affrighted bee
At sight thereof, and from her presence flee:
Yet did her face and former parts professe
A faire young mayden, full of comely glee;
But all her hinder parts did plaine expresse
A monstrous dragon, full of fearefull uglinesse.

XI

'To her the gods, for her so dreadfull face,
In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie,
And from the earth, appointed have her place
Mongst rocks and caves, where she enrold doth lie
In hideous horrour and obscurity,
Wasting the strength of her immortall age.
There did Typhaon with her company,
Cruell Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage
Make th' heavens tremble oft, and him with vowes asswage.

XII

'Of that commixtion they did then beget
This hellish dog, that hight the Blatant Beast;
A wicked monster, that his tongue doth whet
Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least,
And poures his poysnous gall forth to infest
The noblest wights with notable defame:
Ne ever knight, that bore so lofty creast,
Ne ever lady of so honest name,
But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete shame.

XIII

'In vaine therefore it were, with medicine
To goe about to salve such kynd of sore,
That rather needes wise read and discipline,
Then outward salves, that may augment it more.'
'Aye me!' sayd then Serena, sighing sore,
'What hope of helpe doth then for us remaine,
If that no salves may us to health restore?'
'But sith we need good counsell,' sayd the swaine,
'Aread, good sire, some counsell, that may us sustaine.'

XIV

'The best,' sayd he, 'that I can you advize,
Is to avoide the occasion of the ill:
For when the cause, whence evill doth arize,
Removed is, th' effect surceaseth still.
Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine your will,
Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight,
Use scanted diet, and forbeare your fill,
Shun secresie, and talke in open sight:
So shall you soone repaire your present evill plight.'

XV

Thus having sayd, his sickely patients
Did gladly hearken to his grave beheast,
And kept so well his wise commaundements,
That in short space their malady was ceast,
And eke the biting of that harmefull beast
Was throughly heal'd. Tho when they did perceave
Their wounds recur'd, and forces reincreast,
Of that good hermite both they tooke their leave,
And went both on their way, ne ech would other leave;

XVI

But each the other vow'd t' accompany:
The lady, for that she was much in dred,
Now left alone in great extremity;
The squire, for that he courteous was indeed,
Would not her leave alone in her great need.
So both together traveld, till they met
With a faire mayden clad in mourning weed,
Upon a mangy jade unmeetely set,
And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry and wet.

XVII

But by what meanes that shame to her befell,
And how thereof her selfe she did acquite,
I must a while forbeare to you to tell;
Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite
What fortune to the Briton Prince did lite,
Pursuing that proud knight, the which whileare
Wrought to Sir Calepine so foule despight;
And eke his lady, though she sickely were,
So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare.

XVIII

The Prince, according to the former token,
Which faire Serene to him delivered had,
Pursu'd him streight, in mynd to bene ywroken
Of all the vile demeane, and usage bad,
With which he had those two so ill bestad:
Ne wight with him on that adventure went,
But that wylde man, whom though he oft forbad,
Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent,
Would he restrayned be from his attendement.

XIX

Arriving there, as did by chaunce befall,
He found the gate wyde ope, and in he rode,
Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall:
Where soft dismounting like a weary lode,
Upon the ground with feeble feete he trode,
As he unable were for very neede
To move one foote, but there must make abode;
The whiles the salvage man did take his steede,
And in some stable neare did set him up to feede.

XX

Ere long to him a homely groome there came,
That in rude wise him asked, what he was,
That durst so boldly, without let or shame,
Into his lords forbidden hall to passe.
To whom the Prince, him fayning to embase,
Mylde answer made, he was an errant knight,
The which was fall'n into this feeble case
Through many wounds, which lately he in fight
Received had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight.

XXI

But he, the more outrageous and bold,
Sternely did bid him quickely thence avaunt,
Or deare aby, forwhy his lord of old
Did hate all errant knights, which there did haunt,
Ne lodging would to any of them graunt;
And therefore lightly bad him packe away,
Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt;
And therewithall rude hand on him did lay,
To thrust him out of dore doing his worst assay.

XXII

Which when the salvage, comming now in place,
Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew,
And running streight upon that villaine base,
Like a fell lion at him fiercely flew,
And with his teeth and nailes, in present vew,
Him rudely rent, and all to peeces tore:
So miserably him all helpelesse slew,
That with the noise, whilest he did loudly rore,
The people of the house rose forth in great uprore.

XXIII

Who when on ground they saw their fellow slaine,
And that same knight and salvage standing by,
Upon them two they fell with might and maine,
And on them layd so huge and horribly,
As if they would have slaine them presently.
But the bold Prince defended him so well,
And their assault withstood so mightily,
That, maugre all their might, he did repell
And beat them back, whilest many underneath him fell.

XXIV

Yet he them still so sharpely did pursew,
That few of them he left alive, which fled,
Those evill tidings to their lord to shew.
Who hearing how his people badly sped,
Came forth in hast: where when as with the dead
He saw the ground all strow'd, and that same knight
And salvage with their bloud fresh steeming red,
He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell despight,
And with reprochfull words him thus bespake on hight:

XXV

'Art thou he, traytor, that with treason vile
Hast slaine my men in this unmanly maner,
And now triumphest in the piteous spoile
Of these poore folk, whose soules with black dishonor
And foule defame doe decke thy bloudy baner?
The meede whereof shall shortly be thy shame,
And wretched end, which still attendeth on her.'
With that him selfe to battell he did frame;
So did his forty yeomen, which there with him came.

XXVI

With dreadfull force they all did him assaile,
And round about with boystrous strokes oppresse,
That on his shield did rattle like to haile
In a great tempest; that, in such distresse,
He wist not to which side him to addresse.
And evermore that craven cowherd knight
Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse,
Wayting if he unwares him murther might:
For cowardize doth still in villany delight.

XXVII

Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware,
He to him turnd with furious intent,
And him against his powre gan to prepare;
Like a fierce bull, that being busie bent
To fight with many foes about him ment,
Feeling some curre behinde his heeles to bite,
Turnes him about with fell avengement;
So likewise turnde the Prince upon the knight,
And layd at him amaine with all his will and might.

XXVIII

Who when he once his dreadfull strokes had tasted,
Durst not the furie of his force abyde,
But turn'd abacke, and to retyre him hasted
Through the thick prease, there thinking him to hyde.
But when the Prince had once him plainely eyde,
He foot by foot him followed alway,
Ne would him suffer once to shrinke asyde,
But joyning close, huge lode at him did lay:
Who flying still did ward, and warding fly away.

XXIX

But when his foe he still so eger saw,
Unto his heeles himselfe he did betake,
Hoping unto some refuge to withdraw:
Ne would the Prince him ever foot forsake,
Where so he went, but after him did make.
He fled from roome to roome, from place to place,
Whylest every joynt for dread of death did quake,
Still looking after him that did him chace;
That made him evermore increase his speedie pace.

XXX

At last he up into the chamber came,
Whereas his love was sitting all alone,
Wayting what tydings of her folke became.
There did the Prince him overtake anone,
Crying in vaine to her, him to bemone;
And with his sword him on the head did smyte,
That to the ground he fell in senselesse swone:
Yet whether thwart or flatly it did lyte,
The tempred steele did not into his braynepan byte.

XXXI

Which when the ladie saw, with great affright
She starting up, began to shrieke aloud,
And with her garment covering him from sight,
Seem'd under her protection him to shroud;
And falling lowly at his feet, her bowd
Upon her knee, intreating him for grace,
And often him besought, and prayd, and vowd;
That, with the ruth of her so wretched case,
He stayd his second strooke, and did his hand abase.

XXXII

Her weed she then withdrawing, did him discover,
Who now come to himselfe, yet would not rize,
But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiver,
That even the Prince his basenesse did despize,
And eke his dame, him seeing in such guize,
Gan him recomfort, and from ground to reare.
Who rising up at last in ghastly wize,
Like troubled ghost did dreadfully appeare,
As one that had no life him left through former feare.

XXXIII

Whom when the Prince so deadly saw dismayd,
He for such basenesse shamefully him shent,
And with sharpe words did bitterly upbrayd:
'Vile cowheard dogge, now doe I much repent,
That ever I this life unto thee lent,
Whereof thou, caytive, so unworthie art;
That both thy love, for lacke of hardiment,
And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart,
And eke all knights hast shamed with this knightlesse part.

XXXIV

'Yet further hast thou heaped shame to shame,
And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard feare.
For first it was to thee reprochfull blame,
To erect this wicked custome, which I heare
Gainst errant knights and ladies thou dost reare;
Whom, when thou mayst, thou dost of arms despoile,
Or of their upper garment which they weare:
Yet doest thou not with manhood, but with guile,
Maintaine this evill use, thy foes thereby to foile.

XXXV

'And lastly, in approvance of thy wrong
To shew such faintnesse and foule cowardize
Is greatest shame: for oft it falles, that strong
And valiant knights doe rashly enterprize,
Either for fame, or else for exercize,
A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by fight;
Yet have, through prowesse and their brave emprize,
Gotten great worship in this worldes sight:
For greater force there needs to maintaine wrong then right.

XXXVI

'Yet since thy life unto this ladie fayre
I given have, live in reproch and scorne;
Ne ever armes, ne ever knighthood dare
Hence to professe: for shame is to adorne
With so brave badges one so basely borne;
But onely breath, sith that I did forgive.'
So having from his craven bodie torne
Those goodly armes, he them away did give,
And onely suffred him this wretched life to live.

XXXVII

There whilest he thus was setling things above,
Atwene that ladie myld and recreant knight,
To whom his life he graunted for love,
He gan bethinke him, in what perilous plight
He had behynd him left that salvage wight,
Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought
By this quite slaine in so unequall fight:
Therefore descending backe in haste, he sought
If yet he were alive, or to destruction brought.

XXXVIII

There he him found environed about
With slaughtred bodies, which his hand had slaine,
And laying yet a fresh, with courage stout,
Upon the rest that did alive remaine;
Whom he likewise right sorely did constraine,
Like scattred sheepe, to seeke for safetie,
After he gotten had with busie paine
Some of their weapons which thereby did lie,
With which he layd about, and made them fast to flie.

XXXIX

Whom when the Prince so felly saw to rage,
Approching to him neare, his hand he stayd,
And sought, by making signes, him to asswage:
Who them perceiving, streight to him obayd,
As to his lord, and downe his weapons layd,
As if he long had to his heasts bene trayned.
Thence he him brought away, and up convayd
Into the chamber, where that dame remayned
With her unworthy knight, who ill him entertayned.

XL

Whom when the salvage saw from daunger free,
Sitting beside his ladie there at ease,
He well remembred that the same was hee
Which lately sought his lord for to displease:
Tho all in rage, he on him streight did seaze,
As if he would in peeces him have rent;
And were not that the Prince did him appeaze,
He had not left one limbe of him unrent:
But streight he held his hand at his commaundement.

XLI

Thus having all things well in peace ordayned,
The Prince himselfe there all that night did rest,
Where him Blandina fayrely entertayned,
With all the courteous glee and goodly feast
The which for him she could imagine best.
For well she knew the wayes to win good will
Of every wight, that were not too infest,
And how to please the minds of good and ill,
Through tempering of her words and lookes by wondrous skill.

XLII

Yet were her words and lookes but false and fayned,
To some hid end to make more easie way,
Or to allure such fondlings, whom she trayned
Into her trap unto their owne decay:
Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray,
And when her listed, she could fawne and flatter;
Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day,
Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter;
Yet were her words but wynd, and all her teares but water.

XLIII

Whether such grace were given her by kynd,
As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde,
Or learn'd the art to please, I doe not fynd.
This well I wote, that she so well applyde
Her pleasing tongue, that soone she pacifyde
The wrathfull Prince, and wrought her husbands peace.
Who nathelesse not therewith satisfyde,
His rancorous despight did not releasse,
Ne secretly from thought of fell revenge surceasse.

XLIV

For all that night, the whyles the Prince did rest
In carelesse couch, not weeting what was ment,
He watcht in close awayt with weapons prest,
Willing to worke his villenous intent
On him that had so shamefully him shent:
Yet durst he not for very cowardize
Effect the same, whylest all the night was spent.
The morrow next the Prince did early rize,
And passed forth, to follow his first enterprize.





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