The Faerie Queene

by Edmund Spenser

  Who euer thinkes through confidence of might,

  Or through support of count’nance proud and hault

  To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault

  24 Then turning backe vnto that gentle boy,

  Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;

  Seeing his face so louely sterne and coy,

  And hearing th’answeres of his pregnant wit,

  He praysd it much, and much admyred it;

  That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,

  With whom those graces did so goodly fit:

  And when he long had him beholding stood,

  He burst into these words, as to him seemed good.

  25 Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,

  That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost wonne,

  Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,

  As they are wont vnto Latonaes sonne,

  After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne:

  Well may I certes such an one thee read,

  As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,

  Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead,

  That in thy face appeares and gratious goodly head.

  26 But should it not displease thee it to tell;

  (Vnlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale,

  For loue amongst the woodie Gods to dwell;)

  I would thy selfe require thee to reueale,

  For deare affection and vnfayned zeale,

  Which to thy noble personage I beare,

  And wish thee grow in worship and great weale.

  For since the day that armes I first did reare,

  I neuer saw in any greater hope appeare.

  27 To whom then thus the noble youth; may be

  Sir knight, that by discouering my estate,

  Harme may arise vnweeting vnto me;

  Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,

  To you I will not feare it to relate.

  Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne,

  Sonne of a King, how euer thorough fate

  Or fortune I my countrie haue forlorne,

  And lost the crowne, which should my head by right adorne.

  28 And Tristram is my name, the onely heire

  Of good king Meliogras which did rayne

  In Cornewale, till that he through liues despeire

  Vntimely dyde, before I did attaine

  Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine.

  After whose death, his brother seeing mee

  An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,

  Vpon him tooke the roiall high degree,

  And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.

  29 The widow Queene my mother, which then bight

  Faire Emiline, conceiuing then great feare

  Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might

  Of him, that did the kingly Scepter beare,

  Whose gealous dread induring not a peare,

  Is wont to cut off all, that doubt may breed,

  Thought best away me to remoue somewhere

  Into some forrein land, where as no need

  Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humor feed.

  30 So taking counsell of a wise man red,

  She was by him aduiz’d, to send me quight

  Out of the countrie, wherein I was bred,

  The which the fertile Lionesse is hight,

  Into the land of Faerie, where no wight

  Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong.

  To whose wise read she hearkning, sent me streight

  Into this land, where I haue wond thus long,

  Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to stature strong.

  31 All which my daies I haue not lewdly spent,

  Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares

  In ydlesse, but as was conuenient,

  Haue trayned bene with many noble feres

  In gentle thewes, and such like seemely leres.

  Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been,

  To hunt the saluage chace amongst my peres,

  Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene;

  Of which none is to me vnknowne, that eu’r was seene.

  32 Ne is there hauke, which mantleth her on pearch,

  Whether high towring, or accoasting low,

  But I the measure of her flight doe search,

  And all her pray, and all her diet know.

  Such be our ioyes, which in these forrests grow:

  Onely the vse of armes, which most I ioy,

  And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,

  I haue not tasted yet, yet past a boy,

  And being now high time these strong ioynts to imploy.

  33 Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion fit

  Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may,

  Let me this craue, vnworthy though of it,

  That ye will make me Squire without delay,

  That from henceforth in batteilous array

  I may beare armes, and learne to vse them right;

  The rather since that fortune hath this day

  Giuen to me the spoile of this dead knight,

  These goodly gilden armes, which I haue won in fight.

  34 All which when well Sir Calidore had heard,

  Him much more now, then earst he gan admire,

  For the rare hope which in his yeares appear’d,

  And thus replide; faire chyld, the high desire

  To loue of armes, which in you doth aspire,

  I may not certes without blame denie;

  But rather wish, that some more noble hire,

  (Though none more noble then is cheualrie,)

  I had, you to reward with greater dignitie.

  35 There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare

  Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,

  And neuer to be recreant, for feare

  Of perill, or of ought that might befall:

  So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.

  Full glad and ioyous then young Tristram grew,

  Like as a flowre, whose silken leaues small,

  Long shut vp in the bud from heauens vew,

  At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew.

  36 Thus when they long had treated to and fro,

  And Calidore betooke him to depart,

  Chyld Tristram prayd, that he with him might goe

  On his aduenture, vowing not to start,

  But wayt on him in euery place and part

  Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,

  And greatly ioy’d at his so noble hart,

  In hope he sure would proue a doughtie knight:

  Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.

  37 Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire,

  To haue thy presence in my present quest,

  That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,

  And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:

  But I am bound by vow, which I profest

  To my dread Soueraine, when I it assayd,

  That in atchieuement of her high behest,

  I should no creature ioyne vnto mine ayde,

  For thy I may not graunt, that ye so greatly prayde.

  38 But since this Ladie is all desolate,

  And needeth safegard now vpon her way,

  Ye may doe well in this her needfull state

  To succour her, from daunger of dismay;

  That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.

  The noble ympe of such new seruice fayne,

  It gladly did accept, as he did say.

  So taking courteous leaue, they parted twayne,

  And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.

  39 But Tristram then despoyling that dead knight

  Of all those goodly implements of prayse,

  Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight

  Of the bright mettall, shyning like Sunne rayes
;

  Handling and turning them a thousand wayes.

  And after hauing them vpon him dight,

  He tooke that Ladie, and her vp did rayse

  Vpon the steed of her owne late dead knight,

  So with her marched forth, as she did him behight

  40 There to their fortune leaue we them awhile,

  And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore;

  Who ere he thence had traueild many a mile,

  Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore

  This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore

  Another knight in his despiteous pryde;

  There he that knight found lying on the flore,

  With many wounds full perilous and wyde,

  That all his garments, and the grasse in venneill dyde.

  41 And there beside him sate vpon the ground

  His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning

  With loud laments that most vnluckie stound,

  And her sad selfe with carerull hand constrayning

  To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.

  Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew

  With heauie eyne, from teares vneath refrayning,

  His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,

  And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

  42 Then speaking to the Ladie, thus he sayd:

  Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach

  To tell, what cruell hand hath thus arayd

  This knight vnarm’d, with so vnknightly breach

  Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach,

  I may auenge him of so foule despight.

  The Ladie hearing his so courteous speach,

  Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,

  And from her sory hart few heauie words forth sight

  43 In which she shew’d, how that discourteous knight

  (Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found,

  Ioying together in vnblam’d delight,

  And him vnarm’d, as now he lay on ground,

  Charg’d with his speare and mortally did wound,

  Withouten cause, but onely her to reaue

  From him, to whom she was for euer bound:

  Yet when she fled into that couert greaue,

  He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leaue.

  44 When Calidore this ruefull storie had

  Well vnderstood, he gan of her demand,

  What manner wight he was, and how yclad,

  Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.

  She then, like as she best could vnderstand,

  Him thus describ’d, to be of stature large,

  Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band

  Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe

  A Ladie on rough waues, row’d in a sommer barge.

  45 Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streight way

  By many signes, which she described had,

  That this was he, whom Tristram earst did slay,

  And to her said; Dame be no longer sad:

  For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad,

  Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight;

  These eyes him saw vpon the cold earth sprad,

  The meede of his desert for that despight,

  Which to your selfe he wrought, & to your loued knight

  46 Therefore faire Lady lay aside this griefe,

  Which ye haue gathered to your gentle hart,

  For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe

  Were best deuise for this your louers smart,

  And how ye may him hence, and to what part

  Conuay to be recur’d. She thankt him deare,

  Both for that newes he did to her impart,

  And for the courteous care, which he did beare

  Both to her loue; and to her selfe in that sad dreare.

  47 Yet could she not deuise by any wit,

  How thence she might conuay him to some place.

  For him to trouble she it thought vnfit,

  That was a straunger to her wretched case;

  And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.

  Which when as he perceiu’d, he thus bespake;

  Faire Lady let it not you seeme disgrace,

  To beare this burden on your dainty backe;

  My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.

  48 So off he did his shield, and downeward layd

  Vpon the ground, like to an hollow beare;

  And powring balme, which he had long puruayd,

  Into his wounds, him vp thereon did reare,

  And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,

  Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.

  Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,

  In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:

  Where what ensu’d, shall in next Canto be begonne.

  CANTO III

  Calidore brings Priscilla home,

  Pursues the Blatant Beast:

  Saues Serena whitest Calepine

  By Turpine is opprest.

  1 True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd,

  The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.

  For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd,

  As by his manners, in which plaine is showne

  Of what degree and what race he is growne.

  For seldome seene, a trotting Stalion get

  An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne:

  So seldome seene, that one in basenesse set

  Doth noble courage shew, with curteous manners met.

  2 But euermore contrary hath bene tryde,

  That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;

  As well may be in Calidore descryde,

  By late ensample of that courteous deed,

  Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,

  Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought

  Vnto the Castle where they had decreed.

  There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,

  To make abode that night he greatly was besought.

  3 He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,

  That in his youth had beene of mickle might,

  And borne great sway in armes amongst bis peares:

  But now weake age had dimd his candle light.

  Yet was he courteous still to euery wight,

  And loued all that did to annes incline.

  And was the father of that wounded Knight,

  Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine,

  And Aldus was his name, and his sonnes Aladine.

  4 Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight,

  With bleeding wounds, brought home vpon a Beare,

  By a faire Lady, and a straunger Knight,

  Was inly touched with compassion deare,

  And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,

  That he these words burst forth; Ah sory boy,

  Is this the hope that to my hoary heare

  Thou brings? aie me, is this the timely ioy,

  Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

  5 Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope;

  So tickle is the state of earthly things,

  That ere they come vnto their aymed scope,

  They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,

  And bring vs bale and bitter sorrowings,

  In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:

  This is the state of Keasars and of Kings.

  Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,

  Too greatly grieue at any his vnlucky case.

  6 So well and wisely did that good old Knight

  Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,

  To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night,

  And make their welcome to them well appeare:

  That to Sir Calidore was easie geare;

  But that faire Lady would be cheard for nough
t,

  But sigh’d and sorrow’d for her louer deare,

  And inly did afflict her pensiue thought,

  With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.

  7 For she was daughter to a noble Lord,

  Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy

  To a great pere; but she did disaccord,

  Ne could her liking to his loue apply,

  But lou’d this fresh young Knight, who dwelt her ny,

  The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne,

  And of lesse liuelood and liability,

  Yet full of valour, the which did adorne

  His meanesse much, & make her th’others riches scorne.

  8 So hauing both found fit occasion,

  They met together in that luckelesse glade;

  Where that proud Knight in his presumption

  The gentle Aladine did earst inuade,

  Being vnarm’d, and set in secret shade.

  Whereof she now bethinking, gan t’aduize,

  How great a hazard she at earst had made

  Of her good feme, and further gan deuize,

  How she the blame might salue with coloured disguize.

  9 But Calidore with all good courtesie

  Fain’d her to frolicke, and to put away

  The pensiue fit of her melancholie;

  And that old Knight by all meanes did assay,

  To make them both as merry as he may.

  So they the euening past, till time of rest,

  When Calidore in seemly good array

  Vnto his bowre was brought, and there vndrest,

  Did sleepe all night through weary trauell of his quest.

  10 But faire Priscilla (so that Lady hight)

  Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,

  But by her wounded loue did watch all night,

  And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,

  And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe.

  So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him,

  That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe

  He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,

  And droue away the stound, which mortally attacht him.

  11 The morrow next, when day gan to vplooke,

  He also gan vplooke with drery eye,

  Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:

  Where when he saw his faire Prisdlla by,

  He deepely sigh’d, and groaned inwardly,

  To thinke of this ill state, in which she stood,

  To which she for his sake had weetingly

  Now brought her selfe, and blam’d her noble blood:

  For first, next after life, he tendered her good.

  12 Which she perceiuing, did with plenteous teares

  His care more then her owne compassionate,

  Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares:

  So both conspiring, gan to intimate