Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

Home > Fantasy > Complete Works of Edmund Spenser > Page 17
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 17

by Edmund Spenser


  So slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease.

  LV

  Long after lay he musing at her mood,

  Much griev’d to thinke that gentle dame so light,

  For whose defence he was to shed his blood. 525

  At last dull wearines of former fight

  Having yrockt a sleepe his irkesome spright,

  That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine

  With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare delight:

  But when he saw his labour all was vaine, 530

  With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto II

  The guilefull great enchaunter parts

  The Redcrosse Knight from Truth:

  Into whose stead faire Falshood steps,

  And Workes him woefull ruth.

  I

  BY this the northerne wagoner had set

  His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre,

  That was in ocean waves yet never wet,

  But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre

  To al that in the wide deepe wandring arre: 5

  And chearefull Chaunticlere with his note shrill

  Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre

  In hast was climbing up the easterne hill,

  Full envious that night so long his roome did fill:

  II

  When those accursed messengers of hell, 10

  That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged spright,

  Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel

  Their booteless paines, and ill succeeding night:

  Who, all in rage to see his skilfull might

  Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine 15

  And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright.

  But when he saw his threatning was but vaine,

  He cast about, and searcht his baleful bokes againe.

  III

  Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire,

  And that false other spright, on whom he spred 20

  A seeming body of the subtile aire,

  Like a young squire, in loves and lustyhed

  His wanton daies that ever loosely led,

  Without regard of armes and dreaded fight:

  Those twoo he tooke, and in a secrete bed, 25

  Covered with darkenes and misdeeming night,

  Them both together laid, to joy in vaine delight.

  IV

  Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast

  Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights

  And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast; 30

  Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful frights,

  As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,

  And to him cals: ‘Rise, rise, unhappy swaine,

  That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights

  Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine; 35

  Come see, where your false lady doth her honor staine.’

  V

  All in amaze he suddenly up start

  With sword in hand, and with the old man went;

  Who soone him brought into a secret part,

  Where that false couple were full closely ment 40

  In wanton lust and leud enbracement:

  Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire,

  The eie of reason was with rage yblent,

  And would have slaine them in his furious ire,

  But hardly was restreined of that aged sire. 45

  VI

  Retourning to his bed in torment great,

  And bitter anguish of his guilty sight,

  He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat,

  And wast his inward gall with deepe despight,

  Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night. 50

  At last faire Hesperus in highest skie

  Had spent his lampe, and brought forth dawning light;

  Then up he rose, and clad him hastily;

  The dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away do fly.

  VII

  Now when the rosy fingred Morning faire, 55

  Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,

  Had spred her purple robe through deawy aire,

  And the high hils Titan discovered,

  The royall virgin shooke of drousyhed,

  And rising forth out of her baser bowre, 60

  Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled,

  And for her dwarfe, that wont to wait each howre:

  Then gan she wail and weepe, to see that woeful stowre.

  VIII

  And after him she rode with so much speede,

  As her slowe beast could make; but all in vaine: 65

  For him so far had borne his light-foot steede,

  Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce dis-daine,

  That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine;

  Yet she her weary limbes would never rest,

  But every hil and dale, each wood and plaine, 70

  Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest,

  He so ungently left her, whome she loved best.

  IX

  But subtill Archimago, when his guests

  He saw divided into double parts,

  And Una wandring in woods and forrests, 75

  Th’ end of his drift, he praisd his divelish arts,

  That had such might over true meaning harts:

  Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make,

  How he may worke unto her further smarts:

  For her he hated as the hissing snake, 80

  And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

  X

  He then devisde himselfe how to disguise;

  For by his mighty science he could take

  As many formes and shapes in seeming wise,

  As ever Proteus to himselfe could make: 85

  Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake,

  Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell,

  That of himselfe he ofte for feare would quake,

  And oft would flie away. O who can tell

  The hidden powre of herbes, and might of magick spel? 90

  XI

  But now seemde best, the person to put on

  Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:

  In mighty armes he was yclad anon,

  And silver shield; upon his coward brest

  A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest 95

  A bounch of heares discolourd diversly:

  Full jolly knight he seemde, and wel addrest,

  And when he sate uppon his courser free,

  Saint George himselfe ye would have deemed him to be.

  XII

  But he, the knight whose semblaunt he did beare, 100

  The true Saint George, was wandred far away,

  Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare;

  Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray.

  At last him chaunst to meete upon the way

  A faithlesse Sarazin, all armde to point, 105

  In whose great shield was writ with letters gay

  Sans foy: full large of limbe and every joint

  He was, and cared not for God or man a point.

  XIII

  Hee had a faire companion of his way,

  A goodly lady clad in scarlot red, 110

  Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay;

  And like a Persian mitre on her hed

  Shee wore, with crowns and owches garnished,

  The which her lavish lovers to her gave:

  Her wanton palfrey all was overspred 115

  With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,

  Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.

  XIV

  With faire disport and courting dalliaunce

  She intertainde her lover all the way:

  But when she saw the knigh
t his speare advaunce, 120

  Shee soone left of her mirth and wanton play,

  And bad her knight addresse him to the fray:

  His foe was nigh at hand. He, prickte with pride

  And hope to winne his ladies hearte that day,

  Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers side 125

  The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did ride.

  XV

  The Knight of the Redcrosse, when him he spide

  Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous,

  Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride:

  Soone meete they both, both fell and furious, 130

  That, daunted with theyr forces hideous,

  Their steeds doe stagger, and amazed stand,

  And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,

  Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand,

  Doe backe rebutte, and ech to other yealdeth land. 135

  XVI

  As when two rams, stird with ambitious pride,

  Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke,

  Their horned fronts so fierce on either side

  Doe meete, that, with the terror of the shocke

  Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a blocke, 140

  Forgetfull of the hanging victory:

  So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke,

  Both staring fierce, and holding idely

  The broken reliques of their former cruelty.

  XVII

  The Sarazin, sore daunted with the buffe, 145

  Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;

  Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff:

  Each others equall puissaunce envies,

  And through their iron sides with cruell spies

  Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields 150

  No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies,

  As from a forge, out of their burning shields,

  And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields.

  XVIII

  ‘Curse on that Crosse,’ quoth then the Sarazin,

  ‘That keepes thy body from the bitter fitt! 155

  Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin,

  Had not that charme from thee forwarned itt:

  But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,

  And hide thy head.’ Therewith upon his crest

  With rigor so outrageous he smitt, 160

  That a large share it hewd out of the rest,

  And glauncing downe his shield, from blame him fairely blest.

  XIX

  Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark

  Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive,

  And at his haughty helmet making mark, 165

  So hugely stroke, that it the steele did rive,

  And cleft his head. He, tumbling downe alive,

  With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis,

  Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive

  With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is, 170

  Whether the soules doe fly of men that live amis.

  XX

  The lady, when she saw her champion fall,

  Like the old ruines of a broken towre,

  Staid not to waile his woefull funerall,

  But from him fled away with all her powre; 175

  Who after her as hastily gan scowre,

  Bidding the dwarfe with him to bring away

  The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure.

  Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay,

  For present cause was none of dread her to dismay. 180

  XXI

  Shee, turning backe with ruefull countenaunce,

  Cride, ‘Mercy, mercy, sir, vouchsafe to showe

  On silly dame, subject to hard mischaunce,

  And to your mighty wil!’ Her humblesse low,

  In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show, 185

  Did much emmove his stout heroïcke heart,

  And said, ‘Deare dame, your suddein over-throw

  Much rueth me; but now put feare apart,

  And tel, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part.’

  XXII

  Melting in teares, then gan shee thus lament: 190

  ‘The wreched woman, whom unhappy howre

  Hath now made thrall to your commandement,

  Before that angry heavens list to lowre,

  And Fortune false betraide me to your powre,

  Was, (O what now availeth that I was?) 195

  Borne the sole daughter of an emperour,

  He that the wide west under his rule has,

  And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth pas.

  XXIII

  ‘He, in the first flowre of my freshest age,

  Betrothed me unto the onely haire 200

  Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;

  Was never prince so faithfull and so faire,

  Was never prince so meeke and debonaire;

  But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,

  My dearest lord fell from high honors staire, 205

  Into the hands of hys accursed fone,

  And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever mone.

  XXIV

  ‘His blessed body, spoild of lively breath,

  Was afterward, I know not how, convaid

  And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death 210

  When tidings came to mee, unhappy maid,

  O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid!

  Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,

  And many yeares throughout the world I straid,

  A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind 215

  With love, long time did languish as the striken hind.

  XXV

  ‘At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin

  To meete me wandring; who perforce me led

  With him away, but yet could never win

  The fort, that ladies hold in soveraigne dread. 220

  There lies he now with foule dishonor dead,

  Who, whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy:

  The eldest of three brethren, all three bred

  Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy,

  And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy. 225

  XXVI

  ‘In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,

  Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,

  Craving of you, in pitty of my state,

  To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well.’

  He in great passion al this while did dwell, 230

  More busying his quicke eies, her face to view,

  Then his dull eares, to heare what shee did tell;

  And said, ‘Faire lady, hart of flint would rew

  The undeserved woes and sorrowes which ye shew.

  XXVII

  ‘Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest, 235

  Having both found a new friend you to aid,

  And lost an old foe, that did you molest:

  Better new friend then an old foe is said.’

  With chaunge of chear the seeming simple maid

  Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth, 240

  And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said,

  So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,

  And shee coy lookes: so dainty, they say, maketh derth.

  XXVIII

  Long time they thus together traveiled,

  Til, weary of their way, they came at last 245

  Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred

  Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast,

  And their greene leaves, trembling with every blast,

  Made a calme shadowe far in compasse round:

  The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast, 250

  Under them never sat, ne wont there sound

  His mery oaten pipe, but shund th’ unlucky ground.

  XXIX

  But this good knight, soone as he them can spie,
>
  For the coole shade him thither hastly got:

  For golden Phoebus, now ymounted hie, 255

  From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot

  Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,

  That living creature mote it not abide;

  And his new lady it endured not.

  There they alight, in hope themselves to hide 260

  From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.

  XXX

  Faire seemely pleasaunce each to other makes,

  With goodly purposes, there as they sit:

  And in his falsed fancy he her takes

  To be the fairest wight that lived yit; 265

  Which to expresse, he bends his gentle wit,

  And thinking of those braunches greene to frame

  A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,

  He pluckt a bough; out of whose rifte there came

  Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the same. 270

  XXXI

  Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard,

  Crying, ‘O spare with guilty hands to teare

  My tender sides in this rough rynd embard;

  But fly, ah! fly far hence away, for feare

  Least to you hap that happened to me heare, 275

  And to this wretched lady, my deare love;

  O too deare love, love bought with death too deare!’

  Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove,

  And with that suddein horror could no member move.

  XXXII

  At last, whenas the dreadfull passion 280

  Was overpast, and manhood well awake,

  Yet musing at the straunge occasion,

  And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake:

  ‘What voice of damned ghost from Limbo lake,

  Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire, 285

  Both which fraile men doe oftentimes mistake,

  Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches rare,

  And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse blood to spare?’

  XXXIII

  Then groning deep: ‘Nor damned ghost,’ quoth he,

  ‘Nor guileful sprite to thee these words doth speake, 290

  But once a man, Fradubio, now a tree;

  Wretched man, wretched tree! whose nature weake

  A cruell witch, her cursed will to wreake,

  Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines,

  Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, 295

  And scorching sunne does dry my secret vaines:

  For though a tree I seme, yet cold and heat me paines.’

  XXXIV

  ‘Say on, Fradubio, then, or man or tree,’

  Quoth then the knight; ‘by whose mischievous arts

  Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see? 300

  He oft finds med’cine who his griefe imparts;

  But double griefs afflict concealing harts,

  As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.’

 

‹ Prev