The Penguin Book of Dragons

by The Penguin Book of Dragons (retail) (epub)

  The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers fall.16

  The Trees of Eden

  In all the world like was not to be fownd,

  Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,

  And freely sprong out of the fruitfull grownd,

  As incorrupted Nature did them sow,

  Till that dredd Dragon all did overthrow.

  Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,

  Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know

  Both good and ill. O mournfull memory!

  That tree through one mans fault hath doen us all to dy.

  The Balm of the Tree of Life Saves Redcrosse

  From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,

  A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine

  And dainty deare, which on the ground still fell,

  And overflowed all the fertile plaine,

  As it had deawed bene with timely raine:

  Life and long health that gracious ointment gave,

  And deadly wounds could heale, and reare again

  The sencelesse corse appointed for the grave:

  Into that same he fell, which did from death him save.

  The Dragon Cannot Approach the Tree; Night Falls

  For nigh thereto the ever damned Beast

  Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,

  And al that life preserved did detest;

  Yet he it oft adventur’d to invade.

  By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,

  And yield his rowme to sad succeeding night,

  Who with her sable mantle gan to shade,

  The face of earth and wayes of living wight,

  And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.

  Una Prays Throughout the Night for Redcrosse’s Recovery

  When gentle Una saw the second fall

  Of her deare knight, who, wearie of long fight

  And faint through losse of blood, moov’d not at all,

  But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight,

  Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might

  Did heale his woundes, and scorching heat alay;

  Againe she stricken was with sore affright,

  And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,

  And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.

  The Third Day of the Battle Dawns

  The joyous day gan early to appeare;

  And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed

  Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare

  With rosie cheekes, for shame as blushing red!17

  Her golden locks for hast were loosely shed

  About her eares, when Una her did marke

  Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,

  From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke;

  With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke.

  To the Dragon’s Dismay, Redcrosse Rises Up Fully Restored

  Then freshly up arose the doughty knight,

  All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,

  And did himselfe to battaile ready dight;

  Whose early foe awaiting him beside

  To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,

  When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare,

  As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,

  He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to feare;

  Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare.

  Redcrosse Thrusts His Sword into the Dragon’s Mouth

  And in his first encounter, gaping wyde,

  He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight,

  And rusht upon him with outragious pryde;

  Who him rencountring fierce, as hauke in flight,

  Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright

  Taking advantage of his open jaw,

  Ran through his mouth with so importune might,

  That deepe emperst his darksom hollow maw,

  And, back retyrd, his life blood forth with all did draw.

  The Dragon Falls

  So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,

  That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift;

  So downe he fell, that th’earth him underneath

  Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift;

  So downe he fell, as an huge rocky clift,

  Whose false foundacion waves have washt away,

  With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,

  And rolling downe great Neptune doth dismay:

  So downe he fell, and like a heaped mountaine lay.

  Una Praises the Valor of Redcrosse

  The knight him selfe even trembled at his fall,

  So huge and horrible a masse it seemd;

  And his deare Lady, that beheld it all,

  Durst not approch for dread which she misdeemd;

  But yet at last, when as the direfull feend

  She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright

  She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:

  Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithful knight,

  That had atchievde so great a conquest by his might.

  A FARTING DRAGON BURLESQUE1

  The popularity of Spenser’s lofty Christian verses invited parody in the form of humorous and raunchy songs like the anonymous “Dragon of Wantley.” This burlesque first appeared in print in 1685 and remained popular for centuries, inspiring both a successful opera by Henry Carey (1737) and a widely read novel by Owen Wister (1892). The original lyrics made fun of traditional tales of dragon battles, subverting their religious symbolism while adorning them with absurd characters, like an arrogant knight whose spiky armor gave him the appearance of a “porcupig” and a farting dragon the size of the Trojan Horse. While heroes of old typically vanquished their foes with epic sword blows, “The Dragon of Wantley” depicted a rowdy warrior delivering a lethal kick to his flatulent enemy’s “assgut.” As revealed in the final stanza of the song, this dragon’s Achilles’s heel was his anus!

  Old stories tell, how Hercules

  A dragon slew at Lerna,

  With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,

  To see and well discern-a:

  But he had a club, this dragon to drub,

  Or he ne’er had done it, I warrant ye:

  But More of More-hall, with nothing at all,

  He slew the dragon of Wantley.2

  This dragon had two furious wings,

  Each one upon each shoulder;

  With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl,

  Which made him bolder and bolder.

  He had long claws, and in his jaws

  Four and forty teeth of iron;

  With a hide as tough, as any buff,

  Which did him round environ.3

  Have you not heard how the Trojan horse

  Held seventy men in his belly?

  This dragon was not quite so big,

  But very near, I’ll tell ye.

  Devoured he poor children three,

  That could not with him grapple;

  And at one sup he eat them up,

  As one would eat an apple.

  All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat,

  Some say he ate up trees,

  And that the forests sure he would

  Devour up by degrees:

  For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;

  He ate all, and left none behind,

  But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,

  Which on the hills you will find.


  In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,4

  The place I know it well;

  Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,

  I vow I cannot tell;

  But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,

  And Matthew’s house hard by it;

  O there and then was this dragon’s den,

  You could not chuse but spy it.

  Some say, this dragon was a witch;

  Some say, he was a devil,

  For from his nose a smoke arose,

  And with it burning snivel;

  Which he cast off, when he did cough,

  In a well that he did stand by;

  Which made it look, just like a brook

  Running with burning brandy.

  Hard by a furious knight there dwelt;

  Of whom all towns did ring;

  For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and huff,

  Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:

  By the tail and the main, with his hands twain

  He swung a horse till he was dead;

  And that which is stranger, he for very anger

  Eat him all up but his head.

  These children, as I told, being eat;

  Men, women, girls, and boys,

  Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,

  And made a hideous noise:

  O, save us all, More of More-Hall,

  Thou peerless knight of these woods;

  Do but slay this dragon, who won’t leave us a rag on,

  We’ll give thee all our goods.

  Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;

  But I want, I want, in sooth,

  A fair maid of sixteen, that’s brisk, and keen,

  With smiles about the mouth;

  Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,

  With blushes her cheeks adorning;

  To anoynt me o’er night, ere I go to fight,

  And to dress me in the morning.

  This being done he did engage

  To hew the dragon down;

  But first he went, new armour to

  Bespeak at Sheffield town;5

  With spikes all about, not within but without,

  Of steel so sharp and strong;

  Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o’er,

  Some five or six inches long.

  Had you but seen him in this dress,

  How fierce he look’d and how big,

  You would have thought him for to be

  Some Egyptian porcupig:

  He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,

  Each cow, each horse, and each hog:

  For fear they did flee, for they took him to be

  Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.

  To see this fight, all people then

  Got up on trees and houses,

  On churches some, and chimneys too;

  But these put on their trowses,

  Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,

  To make him strong and mighty,

  He drank by the tale, six pots of ale

  And a quart of aqua-vitæ.

  It is not strength that always wins,

  For wit doth strength excell;

  Which made our cunning champion

  Creep down into a well;

  Where he did think, this dragon would drink,

  And so he did in truth;

  And as he stoop’d low, he rose up and cry’d, boh!

  And hit him in the mouth.6

  Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out,

  Thou disturb’st me in my drink:

  And then he turn’d, and farted at him;

  Good lack how he did stink!

  Beshrew thy soul, thy body’s foul,

  Thy dung smells not like balsam;

  Thou son of a whore, thou stink’st so sore,

  Sure thy diet is unwholesome.

  Our politick knight, on the other side,

  Crept out upon the brink,

  And gave the dragon such a douse,

  He knew not what to think:

  By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?

  And then at him he let fly

  With hand and with foot, and so they went to’t;

  And the word it was, hey boys, hey!

  Your words, quoth the dragon, I don’t understand:

  Then to it they fell at all,

  Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,

  Compare great things with small.

  Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight

  Our champion on the ground;

  Tho’ their strength it was great, this skill it was neat,

  They never had one wound.

  At length the hard earth began to quake,

  The dragon gave him a knock,

  Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,

  To lift him as high as a rock,

  And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,

  Like a valiant son of Mars,

  As he came like a lout, so he turned him about,

  And hit him a kick on the arse.

  Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,

  And turn’d six times together,

  Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing

  Out of his throat of leather;

  More of More-hall! O thou rascàl!

  Would I had seen thee never;

  With the thing at thy foot, thou hast pricked my assgut,

  And I’m quite undone forever.

  Murder, murder, the dragon cry’d,

  Alack, alack, for grief;

  Had you but missed that place, you could

  Have done me no mischief.

  Then his head he shaked, trembled, and quaked,

  And down he laid and cry’d;

  First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;

  So groan’d, kickt, farted, and died.

  THE GREAT SERPENT RETURNS1

  No work of western literature treated the figure of Satan with as much depth as Paradise Lost, a magisterial poem in twelve books published in 1674 by the English poet John Milton (1608–74). Milton’s poem depicted the war waged by Lucifer and the rebel angels against God, their defeat and banishment to Hell, and the creation of the world and the first human beings, Adam and Eve. Eager to thwart God’s plans, the Devil infiltrated this new world, where in serpentine form he tempted Eve with alluring words to eat the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, thus dooming the human race to mortality (see pp. 31–32). Leaving Adam and Eve to their shame and guilt, Satan returned to Hell triumphant. There he relished his victory over humankind and the loss of Paradise before an audience of fallen angels. When he finished his speech, the Devil anticipated praise and applause, but instead he heard “a dismal universal hiss” as his followers transformed before his eyes into a host of hideous snakes. Then, as a punishment for his crime in Eden, God transformed Satan himself into a enormous serpent and deprived him of his ability to speak as punishment for bringing about the Fall of Man with his words.

  So having said, a while he stood, expecting

  Thir universal shout and high applause

  To fill his eare, when contrary he hears

  On all sides, from innumerable tongues

  A dismal universal hiss, the sound

  Of public scorn; he wonderd, but not long

  Had leasure, wondring at himself now more;

  His Visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare,

  His Armes clung to his Ribs, his Leggs entwining


  Each other, till supplanted down he fell

  A monstrous Serpent on his Belly prone,

  Reluctant, but in vaine, a greater power

  Now rul’d him, punisht in the shape he sin’d,

  According to his doom: he would have spoke,

  But hiss for hiss returnd with forked tongue

  To forked tongue, for now were all transform’d

  Alike, to Serpents all as accessories

  To his bold Riot: dreadful was the din

  Of hissing through the Hall, thick swarming now

  With complicated monsters head and taile,

  Scorpion and Asp, and Amphibæna dire,

  Cerastes hornd, Hydrus, and Ellops drear,

  And Dipsas (not so thick swarm’d once the Soil

  Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the Isle

  Ophiusa) but still greatest hee the midst,2

  Now Dragon grown, larger then whom the Sun

  Ingenderd in the Pythian Vale on slime,

  Huge Python, and his Power no less he seem’d

  Above the rest still to retain;3 they all

  Him follow’d issuing forth to th’ open Field,

  Where all yet left of that revolted Rout

  Heav’n-fall’n, in station stood or just array,

  Sublime with expectation when to see

  In Triumph issuing forth thir glorious Chief;

  They saw, but other sight instead, a crowd

  Of ugly Serpents; horror on them fell,

  And horrid sympathie; for what they saw,

  They felt themselves now changing; down thir arms,

  Down fell both Spear and Shield, down they as fast,

  And the dire hiss renew’d, and the dire form

  Catcht by Contagion, like in punishment,

  As in thir crime. Thus was th’ applause they meant,

  Turnd to exploding hiss, triumph to shame

  Cast on themselves from thir own mouths . . .

  GODS AND MONSTERS

  Dragons of the East

  The civilizations of premodern Asia nurtured rich literary traditions about the nature of dragons far removed from the cultures of Greco-Roman antiquity and Christian Europe. Eastern dragons boasted many similarities to their western counterparts: they were sinuous, reptilian monsters often endowed with the power of flight; they featured in legends as the adversaries of great heroes; and their appearance was usually a portent that something calamitous was about to take place. Despite these parallels, the dragons of the east also had attributes that set them apart from their western cousins. They were able to change shape and often appeared in the form of a comely man or woman; they had the power of speech; and they sometimes asked human beings to help them against even more monstrous enemies. Moreover, unlike European dragons, they were known to give away treasures rather than hoarding them, and their bones had specific medicinal values, so eastern dragons featured prominently in works of Asian medical lore.