The Faerie Queene

by Edmund Spenser

  That dyde in sanguine red her skin all snowy cleene.

  21 At that wide orifice her trembling hart

  Was drawne forth, and in siluer basin layd,

  Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart,

  And in her bloud yet steeming fresh embayd:

  And those two villeins, which her steps vpstayd,

  When her weake feete could scarcely her sustaine,

  And fading vitall powers gan to fade,

  Her forward still with torture did constraine,

  And euermore encreased her consuming paine.

  22 Next after her the winged God himselfe

  Came riding on a Lion rauenous,

  Taught to obay the menage of that Elfe,

  That man and beast with powre imperious

  Subdeweth to his kingdome tyrannous:

  His blindfold eyes he bad a while vnbind,

  That his proud spoyle of that same dolorous

  Faire Dame he might behold in perfect kind;

  Which seene, he much reioyced in his cruell mind.

  23 Of which full proud, himselfe vp rearing hye,

  He looked round about with sterne disdaine;

  And did suruay his goodly company:

  And marshalling the euill ordered traine,

  With that the darts which his right hand did straine,

  Full dreadfully he shooke that all did quake,

  And dapt on hie his coulourd winges twaine,

  That all his many it affraide did make:

  Tho blinding him againe, his way he forth did take.

  24 Behinde him was Reproch, Repentance, Shame;

  Reproch the first, Shame next, Repent behind:

  Repentance feeble, sorrowfull, and lame:

  Reproch despightfull, carelesse, and vnkind;

  Shame most ill fauourd, bestiall, and blind:

  Shame lowrd, Repentance sigh’d, Reproch did scould;

  Reproch sharpe stings, Repentance whips entwind,

  Shame burning brond-yrons in her hand did hold:

  All three to each vnlike, yet all made in one mould.

  25 And after them a rude confused rout

  Of persons flockt, whose names is hard to read:

  Emongst them was sterne Strife, and Anger stout,

  Vnquiet Care, and fond Vnthrifiihead,

  Lewd Losse of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead,

  Inconstant Chaunge, and false Disloyaltie,

  Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread

  Of heauenly vengeance, faint Infirmitie,

  Vile Pouertie, and lastly Death with infamie.

  26 There were full many moe like maladies,

  Whose names and natures I note readen well;

  So many moe, as there be phantasies

  In wauering wemens wit, that none can tell,

  Or paines in loue, or punishments in hell;

  All which disguized marcht in masking wise,

  About the chamber with that Damozell,

  And then returned, hauing marched thrise,

  Into the inner roome, from whence they first did rise.

  27 So soone as they were in, the dore streight way

  Fast locked, driuen with that stormy blast,

  Which first it opened; and bore all away.

  Then the braue Maid, which all this while was plast,

  In secret shade, and saw both first and last,

  Issewed forth, and went vnto the dore,

  To enter in, but found it locked fast:

  It vaine she thought with rigorous vprore

  For to efforce, when charmes had closed it afore.

  28 Where force might not auaile, there sleights and art

  She cast to vse, both fit for hard emprize;

  For thy from that same roome not to depart

  Till morrow next, she did her selfe auize,

  When that same Maske againe should forth arize.

  The morrow next appeard with ioyous cheare,

  Calling men to their daily exercize,

  Then she, as morrow fresh, her selfe did reare

  Out of her secret stand, that day for to out weare.

  29 All that day she outwore in wandering,

  And gazing on that Chambers ornament,

  Till that againe the second euening

  Her couered with her sable vestiment,

  Wherewith the worlds faire beautie she hath blent:

  Then when the second watch was almost past,

  That brasen dore flew open, and in went

  Bold Britomart, as she had late forecast,

  Neither of idle shewes, nor of false charmes aghast.

  30 So soone as she was entred, round about

  She cast her eies, to see what was become

  Of all those persons, which she saw without:

  But lo, they streight were vanisht all and some,

  Ne liuing wight she saw in all that roome,

  Saue that same woefull Ladie, both whose hands

  Were bounden fast, that did her ill become,

  And her small wast girt round with yron bands,

  Vnto a brasen pillour, by the which she stands.

  31 And her before the vile Enchaunter sate,

  Figuring straunge characters of his art,

  With liuing bloud he those characters wrate,

  Dreadfully dropping from her dying hart,

  Seeming transfixed with a cruell dart,

  And all perforce to make her him to loue.

  Ah who can loue the worker of her smart?

  A thousand charmes he formerly did proue;

  Yet thousand charmes could not her stedfast heart remoue.

  32 Soone as that virgin knight he saw in place,

  His wicked bookes in hast he ouerthrew,

  Not caring his long labours to deface,

  And fiercely ronning to that Lady trew,

  A murdrous knife out of his pocket drew,

  The which he thought, for villeinous despight,

  In her tormented bodie to embrew:

  But the stout Damzell to him leaping light,

  His cursed hand withheld, and maistered his might.

  33 From her, to whom his fury first he ment,

  The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest,

  And turning to her selfe his fell intent,

  Vnwares it strooke into her snowie chest,

  That little drops empurpled her faire brest.

  Exceeding wroth therewith the virgin grew,

  Albe the wound were nothing deepe imprest,

  And fiercely forth her mortall blade she drew,

  To giue him the reward for such vile outrage dew.

  34 So mightily she smote him, that to ground

  He fell halfe dead; next stroke him should haue slaine..

  Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound,

  Dernely vnto her called to abstaine,

  From doing him to dy. For else her paine

  Should be remedilesse, sith none but hee,

  Which wrought it, could the same recure againe.

  Therewith she stayd her hand, loth stayd to bee;

  For life she him enuyde, and long’d reuenge to see.

  35 And to him said, Thou wicked man, whose meed

  For so huge mischiefe, and vile villany

  Is death, or if that ought do death exceed,

  Be sure, that nought may saue thee from to dy,

  But if that thou this Dame doe presently

  Restore vnto her health, and former state;

  This doe and liue, else die vndoubtedly.

  He glad of life, that lookt for death but late,

  Did yield himselfe right willing to prolong his date.

  36 And rising vp, gan streight to ouerlooke

  Those cursed leaues, his charmes backe to reuerse;

  Full dreadfull things out of that balefull booke

  He red, and measur’d many a sad verse,

  That horror gan the virgins hart to perse,

  And her faire lockes vp stare
d stiffe on end,

  Hearing him those same bloudy lines reherse;

  And all the while he red, she did extend

  Her sword high ouer him, if ought he did offend.

  37 Anon she gan perceiue the house to quake,

  And all the dores to rattle round about;

  Yet all that did not her dismaied make,

  Nor slacke her threatfull hand for daungers dout,

  But still with stedfast eye and courage stout

  Abode, to weet what end would come of all.

  At last that mightie chaine, which round about

  Her tender waste was wound, adowne gan fall,

  And that great brasen pillour broke in peeces small.

  38 The cruell Steele, which thrild her dying hart,

  Fell softly forth, as of his owne accord,

  And the wyde wound, which lately did dispart

  Her bleeding brest, and riuen bowels gor’d,

  Was closed vp, as it had not bene bor’d,

  And euery part to safety full sound,

  As she were neuer hurt, was soone restor’d:

  Tho when she felt her selfe to be vnbound,

  And perfect hole, prostrate she fell vnto the ground.

  39 Before faire Britomart, she fell prostrate,

  Saying, Ah noble knight, what worthy meed

  Can wretched Lady, quit from wofull state,

  Yield you in liew of this your gratious deed?

  Your vertue selfe her owne reward shall breed,

  Euen immortall praise, and glory wyde,

  Which I your vassall, by your prowesse freed,

  Shall through the world make to be notifyde,

  And goodly well aduance, that goodly well was tryde.

  40 But Britomart vprearing her from ground,

  Said, Gentle Dame, reward enough I weene

  For many labours more, then I haue found,

  This, that in safety now I haue you seene,

  And meane of your deliuerance haue beene:

  Henceforth faire Lady comfort to you take,

  And put away remembrance of late teene;

  In stead thereof know, that your louing Make,

  Hath no lesse griefe endured for your gentle sake.

  41 She much was cheard to heare him mentiond,

  Whom of all liuing wights she loued best.

  Then laid the noble Championesse strong hond

  Vpon th’enchaunter, which had her distrest

  So sore, and with foule outrages opprest:

  With that great chaine, wherewith not long ygo

  He bound that pitteous Lady prisoner, now relest,

  Himselfe she bound, more worthy to be so,

  And captiue with her led to wretchednesse and wo.

  42 Returning backe, those goodly roomes, which erst

  She saw so rich and royally arayd,

  Now vanisht vtterly, and cleane subuerst

  She found, and all their glory quite decayd,

  That sight of such a chaunge her much dismay!

  Thence forth descending to that perlous Porch,

  Those dreadfull flames she also found delayd,

  And quenched quite, like a consumed torch,

  That erst all entrers wont so cruelly to scorch.

  43 More easie issew now, then entrance late

  She found: for now that fained dreadfull flame,

  Which chokt the porch of that enchaunted gate,

  And passage bard to all, that thither came,

  Was vanisht quite, as it were not the same,

  And gaue her leaue at pleasure forth to passe.

  Th’Enchaunter selfe, which all that fraud did frame,

  To haue efforst the loue of that faire lasse,

  Seeing his worke now wasted deepe engrieued was.

  44 But when the victoresse arriued there,

  Where late she left the pensife Scudamore,

  With her owne trusty Squire, both full of feare,

  Neither of them she found where she them lore:

  Thereat her noble hart was stonisht sore;

  But most faire Amoret, whose gentle spright

  Now gan to feede on hope, which she before

  Concerned had, to see her owne deare knight,

  Being thereof beguyld was fild with new affright,

  45 But he sad man, when he had long in drede

  Awayted there for Britomarts returne,

  Yet saw her not nor signe of her good speed,

  His expectation to despaire did turne,

  Misdeeming sure that her those flames did burne;

  And therefore gan aduize with her old Squire,

  Who her deare nourslings losse no lesse did mourne,

  Thence to depart for further aide t’enquire:

  Where let them wend at will, whilest here I doe respire.

  [The 1590 edition concluded Book III with the following stanzas.

  Stanzas 43–5were substituted in 1596.]

  43a At last she came vnto the place, where late

  She left Sir Scudamour in great distresse,

  Twixt dolour and despight halfe desperate,

  Of his loues succour, of his owne redresse,

  And of the bardie Britomarts successe:

  There on the cold earth him now thrown she found,

  In wilfull anguish, and dead heauinesse,

  And to him cald; whose voices knowen sound

  Soone as he heard, himself he reared light from ground.

  44a There did he see, that most on earth him ioyd,

  His dearest loue, the comfort of his dayes,

  Whose too long absence him had sore annoyd,

  And wearied his life with dull delayes:

  Straight he vpstarted from the loathed layes,

  And to her ran with hasty egernesse,

  Like as a Deare, that greedily embayes

  In the coole soile, after long thirstinesse,

  Which he in chace endured hath, now nigh breathlesse.

  45a Lightly he clipt her twixt his armes twaine,

  And streightly did embrace her body bright,

  Her body, late the prison of sad paine,

  Now the sweet lodge of loue and deare delight:

  But she faire Lady ouercommen quight

  Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,

  And in sweete rauishment pourd out her spright;

  No word they spake, nor earthly thing they felt,

  But like two senceles stocks in long embracement dwelt.

  46a Had ye them seene, ye would haue surely thought,

  That they had beene that faire Hermaphrodite,

  Which that rich Romane of white marble wrought,

  And in his costly Bath causd to bee site:

  So seemd those two, as growne together quite,

  That Britomart halfe enuying their blesse,

  Was much empassiond in her gentle sprite,

  And to herselfe oft wisht like happinesse,

  In vaine she wisht, that fate n’ould let her yet possesse.

  47a Thus doe those louers with sweet counteruayle,

  Each other of loues bitter fruit despoile.

  But now my teme begins to faint and fayle,

  All woxen weary of their iournall toyle:

  Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle

  At this same furrowes end, till a new day:

  And ye faire Swayns, after your long turmoyle,

  Now cease your worke, and at your pleasure play;

  Now cease your worke; to morrow is an holy day.

  THE FORTH BOOKE

  OF THE

  FAERIE QVEENE

  CONTAYNING

  THE LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TELAMOND,

  OR

  OF FRIENDSHIP.

  1 The rugged forhead that with graue foresight

  Welds kingdomes causes, & affaires of state,

  My looser rimes (I wote) doth sharply wite,

  For praising loue, as I haue done of late,

  And magnifying l
ouers deare debate;

  By which fraile youth is oft to follie led,

  Through false allurement of that pleasing baite,

  That better were in vertues discipled,

  Then with vaine poemes weeds to haue their fancies fed.

  2 Such ones ill iudge of loue, that cannot loue,

  Ne in their frosen hearts feele kindly flame:

  For thy they ought not thing vnknowne reproue,

  Ne naturall affection faultlesse blame,

  For fault of few that haue abusd the same.

  For it of honor and all vertue is

  The roote, and brings forth glorious flowres of fame,

  That crowne true louers with immortall blis,

  The meed of them that loue, and do not liue amisse.

  3 Which who so list looke backe to former ages,

  And call to count the things that then were donne,

  Shall find, that all the workes of those wise sages,

  And braue exploits which great Heroes wonne,

  In loue were either ended or begunne:

  Witnesse the father of Philosophie,

  Which to his Critias, shaded oft from sunne,

  Of loue full manie lessons did apply,

  The which these Stoicke censours cannot well deny.

  4 To such therefore I do not sing at all,

  But to that sacred Saint my soueraigne Queene,

  In whose chast breast all bountie naturall,

  And treasures of true loue enlocked beene,

  Boue all her sexe that euer yet was seene;

  To her I sing of loue, that loueth best,

  And best is lou’d of all aliue I weene:

  To her this song most fitly is addrest,

  The Queene of loue, & Prince of peace from heauen blest

  5 Which that she may the better deigne to heare,

  Do thou dred infant, Venus dearling doue,

  From her high spirit chase imperious feare,

  And vse of awfull Maiestie remoue:

  In sted thereof with drops of melting loue,

  Deawd with ambrosiall kisses, by thee gotten

  From thy sweete smyling mother from aboue,

  Sprinckle her heart, and haughtie courage soften,

  That she may hearke to loue, and reade this lesson often.

  CANTO I

  Fayre Britomart saues Amoret,

  Duessa discord breedes

  Twixt Scudamour and Blandamour:

  Their fight and warlike deedes.

  1 Of louers sad calamities of old,

  Full many piteous stories doe remaine,

  But none more piteous euer was ytold,

  Then that of Amorets hart-binding chaine,

  And this of Florimels vnworthie paine:

  The deare compassion of whose bitter fit

  My softened heart so sorely doth constraine,