Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  ‘The author then,’ said he, ‘of all my smarts,

  Is one Duessa, a false sorceresse, 305

  That many errant knights hath broght to wretchednesse.

  XXXV

  ‘In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hott

  The fire of love and joy of chevalree

  First kindled in my brest, it was my lott

  To love this gentle lady, whome ye see 310

  Now not a lady, but a seeming tree;

  With whome as once I rode accompanyde,

  Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee,

  That had a like faire lady by his syde;

  Lyke a faire lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde. 315

  XXXVI

  ‘Whose forged beauty he did take in hand

  All other dames to have exceded farre;

  I in defence of mine did likewise stand,

  Mine, that did then shine as the morning starre:

  So both to batteill fierce arraunged arre; 320

  In which his harder fortune was to fall

  Under my speare: such is the dye of warre:

  His lady, left as a prise martiall,

  Did yield her comely person, to be at my call.

  XXXVII

  ‘So doubly lov’d of ladies unlike faire, 325

  Th’ one seeming such, the other such indeede,

  One day in doubt I cast for to compare,

  Whether in beauties glorie did exceede;

  A rosy girlond was the victors meede.

  Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to bee, 330

  So hard the discord was to be agreede:

  Frælissa was as faire as faire mote bee,

  And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee.

  XXXVIII

  ‘The wicked witch, now seeing all this while

  The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway, 335

  What not by right, she cast to win by guile;

  And by her hellish science raisd streight way

  A foggy mist, that overcast the day,

  And a dull blast, that, breathing on her face,

  Dimmed her former beauties shining ray, 340

  And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace:

  Then was she fayre alone, when none was faire in place.

  XXXIX

  ‘Then cride she out, “Fye, fye! deformed wight,

  Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine

  To have before bewitched all mens sight; 345

  O leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine.”

  Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,

  Eftsoones I thought her such as she me told,

  And would have kild her; but with faigned paine

  The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold: 350

  So left her, where she now is turnd to treen mould.

  XL

  ‘Thensforth I tooke Duessa for my dame,

  And in the witch unweeting joyd long time,

  Ne ever wist but that she was the same:

  Till on a day (that day is everie prime, 355

  When witches wont do penance for their crime)

  I chaunst to see her in her proper hew,

  Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme:

  A filthy foule old woman I did vew,

  That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew. 360

  XLI

  ‘Her neather partes misshapen, monstruous,

  Were hidd in water, that I could not see,

  But they did seeme more foule and hideous,

  Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.

  Thensforth from her most beastly companie 365

  I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away,

  Soone as appeard safe opportunitie:

  For danger great, if not assurd decay,

  I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray.

  XLII

  ‘The divelish hag, by chaunges of my cheare, 370

  Perceiv’d my thought; and drownd in sleepie night,

  With wicked herbes and oyntments did besmeare

  My body all, through charmes and magicke might,

  That all my senses were bereaved quight:

  Then brought she me into this desert waste, 375

  And by my wretched lovers side me pight,

  Where now enclosed in wooden wals full faste,

  Banisht from living wights, our wearie daies we waste.’

  XLIII

  ‘But how long time,’ said then the Elfin knight,

  ‘Are you in this misformed hous to dwell?’ 380

  ‘We may not chaunge,’ quoth he, ‘this evill plight

  Till we be bathed in a living well;

  That is the terme prescribed by the spell.’

  ‘O how,’ sayd he, ‘mote I that well out find,

  That may restore you to your wonted well?’ 385

  ‘Time and suffised fates to former kynd

  Shall us restore; none else from hence may us unbynd.’

  XLIV

  The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,

  Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,

  And knew well all was true. But the good knight 390

  Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment,

  When all this speech the living tree had spent,

  The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,

  That from the blood he might be innocent,

  And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound: 395

  Then turning to his lady, dead with feare her fownd.

  XLV

  Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned feare,

  As all unweeting of that well she knew,

  And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare

  Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eylids blew, 400

  And dimmed sight, with pale and deadly hew,

  At last she up gan lift: with trembling cheare

  Her up he tooke, too simple and too trew,

  And oft her kist. At length, all passed feare,

  He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare. 405

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto III

  Forsaken Truth long seekes her love,

  And makes the lyon mylde,

  Marres Blind Devotions mart, and fals

  In hand of leachour vylde.

  I

  NOUGHT is there under heav’ns wide hollownesse,

  That moves more deare compassion of mind,

  Then beautie brought t’unworthie wretchednesse

  Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind:

  I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd, 5

  Or through alleageance and fast fealty,

  Which I do owe unto all womankynd,

  Feele my hart perst with so great agony,

  When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy.

  II

  And now it is empassioned so deepe, 10

  For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing,

  That my frayle eies these lines with teares do steepe,

  To thinke how she through guyleful handeling,

  Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,

  Though faire as ever living wight was fayre, 15

  Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting,

  Is from her knight divorced in despayre,

  And her dew loves deryv’d to that vile witches shayre.

  III

  Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while

  Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd, 20

  Far from all peoples preace, as in exile,

  In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd,

  To seeke her knight; who, subtily betrayd

  Through that late vision which th’ enchaunter wrought,

  Had her abandond. She, of nought affrayd, 25

  Through woods and wastnes wide him daily sought;

  Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her brought.

>   IV

  One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,

  From her unhastie beast she did alight,

  And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay 30

  In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight:

  From her fayre head her fillet she undight,

  And layd her stole aside. Her angels face

  As the great eye of heaven shyned bright,

  And made a sunshine in the shady place; 35

  Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.

  V

  It fortuned, out of the thickest wood

  A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly,

  Hunting full greedy after salvage blood:

  Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, 40

  With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,

  To have attonce devourd her tender corse;

  But to the pray when as he drew more ny,

  His bloody rage aswaged with remorse,

  And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 45

  VI

  In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,

  And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong,

  As he her wronged innocence did weet.

  O how can beautie maister the most strong,

  And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! 50

  Whose yielded pryde and proud submission,

  Still dreading death, when she had marked long,

  Her hart gan melt in great compassion,

  And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.

  VII

  ‘The lyon, lord of everie beast in field,’ 55

  Quoth she, ‘his princely puissance doth abate,

  And mightie proud to humble weake does yield,

  Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late

  Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate:

  But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, 60

  How does he find in cruell hart to hate

  Her that him lov’d, and ever most adord

  As the god of my life? why hath he me abhord?’

  VIII

  Redounding teares did choke th’ end of her plaint,

  Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; 65

  And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint,

  The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;

  With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.

  At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,

  Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, 70

  And to her snowy palfrey got agayne,

  To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne.

  IX

  The lyon would not leave her desolate,

  But with her went along, as a strong gard

  Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate 75

  Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:

  Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,

  And when she wakt, he wayted diligent,

  With humble service to her will prepard:

  From her fayre eyes he tooke commandement, 80

  And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

  X

  Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde,

  By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas,

  Yet never shew of living wight espyde;

  Till that at length she found the troden gras, 85

  In which the tract of peoples footing was,

  Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore:

  The same she followes, till at last she has

  A damzell spyde slow footing her before,

  That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore. 90

  XI

  To whom approaching, she to her gan call,

  To weet if dwelling place were nigh at hand;

  But the rude wench her answerd nought at all;

  She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand;

  Till, seeing by her side the lyon stand, 95

  With suddeine feare her pitcher downe she threw,

  And fled away: for never in that land

  Face of fayre lady she before did vew,

  And that dredd lyons looke her cast in deadly hew.

  XII

  Full fast she fled, ne ever lookt behynd, 100

  As if her life upon the wager lay,

  And home she came, whereas her mother blynd

  Sate in eternall night: nought could she say,

  But, suddeine catching hold, did her dismay

  With quaking hands, and other signes of feare: 105

  Who, full of ghastly fright and cold affray,

  Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there

  Dame Una, weary dame, and entrance did requere.

  XIII

  Which when none yielded, her unruly page

  With his rude clawes the wicket open rent, 110

  And let her in; where, of his cruell rage

  Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,

  Shee found them both in darkesome corner pent;

  Where that old woman day and night did pray

  Upon her beads, devoutly penitent: 115

  Nine hundred Pater nosters every day,

  And thrise nine hundred Aves, she was wont to say.

  XIV

  And to augment her painefull penaunce more,

  Thrise every weeke in ashes shee did sitt,

  And next her wrinkled skin rough sackecloth wore, 120

  And thrise three times did fast from any bitt:

  But now for feare her beads she did forgett.

  Whose needelesse dread for to remove away,

  Faire Una framed words and count’naunce fitt:

  Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray 125

  That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.

  XV

  The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,

  When every creature shrowded is in sleepe:

  Sad Una downe her laies in weary plight,

  And at her feete the lyon watch doth keepe: 130

  In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe

  For the late losse of her deare loved knight,

  And sighes, and grones, and evermore does steepe

  Her tender brest in bitter teares all night;

  All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light. 135

  XVI

  Now when Aldeboran was mounted hye

  Above the shinie Cassiopeias chaire,

  And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lye,

  One knocked at the dore, and in would fare;

  He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware, 140

  That ready entraunce was not at his call:

  For on his backe a heavy load he bare

  Of nightly stelths and pillage severall,

  Which he had got abroad by purchas criminall.

  XVII

  He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe, 145

  Wont to robbe churches of their ornaments,

  And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe,

  Which given was to them for good intents;

  The holy saints of their rich vestiments

  He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, 150

  And spoild the priests of their habiliments;

  Whiles none the holy things in safety kept,

  Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept.

  XVIII

  And all that he by right or wrong could find

  Unto this house he brought, and did bestow 155

  Upon the daughter of this woman blind,

  Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow,

  With whom he whoredome usd, that few did know,

  And fed her fatt with feast of offerings,

  And plenty, which in all the land did grow; 160

  Ne spared he to give her gold and rings:

  And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

  XIX

  Thus, long the dore with rage and threats he bett,

  Ye
t of those fearfull women none durst rize,

  (The lyon frayed them,) him in to lett: 165

  He would no lenger stay him to advize,

  But open breakes the dore in furious wize,

  And entring is; when that disdainfull beast,

  Encountring fierce, him suddein doth surprize,

  And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest, 170

  Under his lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

  XX

  Him booteth not resist, nor succour call,

  His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand;

  Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small,

  And quite dismembred hath: the thirsty land 175

  Dronke up his life; his corse left on the strand.

  His fearefull freends weare out the wofull night,

  Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand

  The heavie hap which on them is alight;

  Affraid, least to themselves the like mishappen might. 180

  XXI

  Now when broad day the world discovered has,

  Up Una rose, up rose the lyon eke,

  And on their former journey forward pas,

  In waies unknowne, her wandring knight to seeke,

  With paines far passing that long wandring Greeke, 185

  That for his love refused deitye;

  Such were the labours of this lady meeke,

  Still seeking him, that from her still did flye;

  Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nye.

  XXII

  Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull twayne, 190

  That blind old woman and her daughter dear,

  Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slayne,

  For anguish great they gan to rend their heare,

  And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare.

  And when they both had wept and wayld their fill, 195

  Then forth they ran like two amazed deare,

  Halfe mad through malice and revenging will,

  To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.

  XXIII

  Whome overtaking, they gan loudly bray,

  With hollow houling and lamenting cry, 200

  Shamefully at her rayling all the way,

  And her accusing of dishonesty,

  That was the flowre of faith and chastity;

  And still, amidst her rayling, she did pray

  That plagues, and mischiefes, and long misery 205

  Might fall on her, and follow all the way,

  And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.

  XXIV

  But when she saw her prayers nought prevaile,

  Shee backe retourned with some labour lost;

  And in the way, as shee did weepe and waile, 210

  A knight her mett in mighty armes embost,

  Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost,

  But subtill Archimag, that Una sought

  By traynes into new troubles to have toste: