He hath no poure to hurt, nor to defend;
As where th’ Almighties lightning brond does light,
It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the sences quight.
XXII
Whom when the Prince, to batteill new addrest 190
And threatning high his dreadfull stroke, did see,
His sparkling blade about his head he blest,
And smote off quite his right leg by the knee,
That downe he tombled; as an aged tree,
High growing on the top of rocky clift, 195
Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh hewen be;
The mightie trunck halfe rent, with ragged rift
Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift.
XXIII
Or as a castle, reared high and round,
By subtile engins and malitious slight 200
Is undermined from the lowest ground,
And her foundation forst, and feebled quight,
At last downe falles, and with her heaped hight
Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,
And yields it selfe unto the victours might; 205
Such was this gyaunts fall, that seemd to shake
The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake.
XXIV
The knight then, lightly leaping to the pray,
With mortall steele him smot againe so sore,
That headlesse his unweldy bodie lay, 210
All wallowd in his owne fowle bloody gore,
Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.
But soone as breath out of his brest did pas,
That huge great body, which the gyaunt bore,
Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas 215
Was nothing left, but like an emptie blader was.
XXV
Whose grievous fall when false Duessa spyde,
Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,
And crowned mitre rudely threw asyde;
Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound, 220
That she could not endure that dolefull stound,
But leaving all behind her, fled away:
The light-foot squyre her quickly turnd around,
And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,
So brought unto his lord, as his deserved pray. 225
XXVI
The roiall virgin, which beheld from farre,
In pensive plight and sad perlexitie,
The whole atchievement of this doubtfull warre,
Came running fast to greet his victorie,
With sober gladnesse and myld modestie, 230
And with sweet joyous cheare him thus bespake:
‘Fayre braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,
That with your worth the world amazed make,
How shall I quite the paynes, ye suffer for my sake?
XXVII
‘And you, fresh budd of vertue springing fast, 235
Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto deaths dore,
What hath poore virgin for such perill past
Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore
My simple selfe, and service evermore:
And He that high does sit, and all things see 240
With equall eye, their merites to restore,
Behold what ye this day have done for mee,
And what I cannot quite, requite with usuree.
XXVIII
‘But sith the heavens, and your faire handeling,
Have made you master of the field this day, 245
Your fortune maister eke with governing,
And well begonne end all so well, I pray.
Ne let that wicked woman scape away;
For she it is, that did my lord bethrall,
My dearest lord, and deepe in dongeon lay, 250
Where he his better dayes hath wasted all.
O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call.’
XXIX
Forthwith he gave in charge unto his squyre,
That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;
Whyles he himselfe with greedie great desyre 255
Into the castle entred forcibly;
Where living creature none he did espye.
Then gan he lowdly through the house to call:
But no man car’d to answere to his crye.
There raignd a solemne silence over all, 260
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall.
XXX
At last, with creeping crooked pace forth came
An old old man, with beard as white as snow,
That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,
And guyde his wearie gate both too and fro; 265
For his eye sight him fayled long ygo:
And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,
The which unused rust did overgrow:
Those were the keyes of every inner dore,
But he could not them use, but kept them still in store. 270
XXXI
But very uncouth sight was to behold,
How he did fashion his untoward pace,
For as he forward moovd his footing old,
So backward still was turnd his wrincled face,
Unlike to men, who ever as they trace, 275
Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.
This was the auncient keeper of that place,
And foster father of the gyaunt dead;
His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.
XXXII
His reverend heares and holy gravitee 280
The knight much honord, as beseemed well,
And gently askt, where all the people bee,
Which in that stately building wont to dwell:
Who answerd him full soft, He He could not tell.
Againe he askt, where that same knight was layd, 285
Whom great Orgoglio with his puissaunce fell
Had made his caytive thrall: againe he sayde,
He could not tell: ne ever other answere made.
XXXIII
Then asked he, which way he in might pas:
He could not tell, againe he answered. 290
Thereat the courteous knight displeased was,
And said: ‘Old syre, it seemes thou hast not red
How ill it fits with that same silver hed,
In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed 295
With natures pen, in ages grave degree,
Aread in graver wise what I demaund of thee.’
XXXIV
His answere likewise was, He could not tell.
Whose sencelesse speach and doted ignorance
When as the noble Prince had marked well, 300
He ghest his nature by his countenance,
And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.
Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach
Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance.
Each dore he opened without any breach; 305
There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach.
XXXV
There all within full rich arayd he found,
With royall arras and resplendent gold,
And did with store of every thing abound,
That greatest princes presence might behold. 310
But all the floore (too filthy to be told)
With blood of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew,
Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold,
Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew,
And sacred ashes over it was strowed new. 315
XXXVI
And there beside of marble stone was built
An altare, carv’d with cunning ymagery,
On which trew Christians blood was often spilt,
And holy martyres often doen to dye,
With cruell malice and strong tyranny: 320
Whose b
lessed sprites from underneath the stone
To God for vengeance cryde continually,
And with great griefe were often heard to grone,
That hardest heart would bleede to heare their piteous mone.
XXXVII
Through every rowme he sought, and everie bowr, 325
But no where could he find that wofull thrall:
At last he came unto an yron doore,
That fast was lockt, but key found not at all
Emongst that bounch to open it withall;
But in the same a little grate was pight, 330
Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call
With all his powre, to weet if living wight
Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen might.
XXXVIII
Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous plaintes and dolours did resound: 335
‘O who is that, which bringes me happy choyce
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darknesse bound?
For now three moones have changed thrice their hew,
And have beene thrice hid underneath the ground, 340
Since I the heavens chearefull face did vew.
O welcome, thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew!’
XXXIX
Which when that champion heard, with percing point
Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore,
And trembling horrour ran through every joynt, 345
For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore:
Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore,
With furious force and indignation fell;
Where entred in, his foot could find no flore,
But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell, 350
That breathed ever forth a filthie banefull smell.
XL
But nether darknesse fowle, nor filthy bands,
Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold,
(Entire affection hateth nicer hands)
But that with constant zele, and corage bold, 355
After long paines and labors manifold,
He found the meanes that prisoner up to reare;
Whose feeble thighes, unhable to uphold
His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare,
A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere. 360
XLI
His sad dull eies, deepe sunck in hollow pits,
Could not endure th’ unwonted sunne to view;
His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits,
And empty sides deceived of their dew,
Could make a stony hart his hap to rew; 365
His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs
Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets hew,
Were clene consum’d, and all his vitall powres
Decayd, and al his flesh shronk up like withered flowres.
XLII
Whome when his lady saw, to him she ran 370
With hasty joy: to see him made her glad,
And sad to view his visage pale and wan,
Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad.
Tho, when her well of teares she wasted had,
She said: ‘Ah, dearest lord! what evill starre 375
On you hath frownd, and pourd his influence bad,
That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre,
And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre?
XLIII
‘But welcome now, my lord, in wele or woe,
Whose presence I have lackt too long a day; 380
And fye on Fortune, mine avowed foe,
Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe now alay,
And for these wronges shall treble penaunce pay
Of treble good: good growes of evils priefe.’
The chearelesse man, whom sorow did dismay, 385
Had no delight to treaten of his griefe;
His long endured famine needed more reliefe.
XLIV
‘Faire lady,’ then said that victorious knight,
‘The things, that grievous were to doe, or beare,
Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight; 390
Best musicke breeds dislike in loathing eare:
But th’ only good, that growes of passed feare,
Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.
This daies ensample hath this lesson deare
Deepe written in my heart with yron pen, 395
That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men.
XLV
‘Henceforth, sir knight, take to you wonted strength,
And maister these mishaps with patient might:
Loe wher your foe lies stretcht in monstrous length,
And loe that wicked woman in your sight, 400
The roote of all your care and wretched plight,
Now in your powre, to let her live, or die.’
‘To doe her die,’ quoth Una, ‘were despight,
And shame t’ avenge so weake an enimy;
But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly.’ 405
XLVI
So, as she bad, that witch they disaraid,
And robd of roiall robes, and purple pall,
And ornaments that richly were displaid;
Ne spared they to strip her naked all.
Then, when they had despoyld her tire and call, 410
Such as she was, their eies might her behold,
That her misshaped parts did them appall,
A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old,
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told.
XLVII
Her crafty head was altogether bald, 415
And, as in hate of honorable eld,
Was overgrowne with scurfe and filthy scald;
Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were feld,
And her sowre breath abhominably smeld;
Her dried dugs, lyke bladders lacking wind, 420
Hong downe, and filthy matter from them weld;
Her wrizled skin, as rough as maple rind,
So scabby, was, that would have loathd all womankind.
XLVIII
Her neather parts, the shame of all her kind,
My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to write: 425
But at her rompe she growing had behind
A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight;
And eke her feete most monstrous were in sight;
For one of them was like an eagles claw,
With griping talaunts armd to greedy fight, 430
The other like a beares uneven paw:
More ugly shape yet never living creature saw.
XLIX
Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were,
And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.
‘Such then,’ said Una, ‘as she seemeth here, 435
Such is the face of Falshood, such the sight
Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light
Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne.’
Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight,
And all her filthy feature open showne, 440
They let her goe at will, and wander waies unknowne.
L
Shee, flying fast from heavens hated face,
And from the world that her discovered wide,
Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace,
From living eies her open shame to hide, 445
And lurkt in rocks and caves, long unespide.
But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire,
Did in that castle afterwards abide,
To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire;
Where store they fownd of al that dainty was and rare. 450
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto IX
His loves and lignage Art
hure tells:
The knights knitt friendly bands:
Sir Trevisan flies from Despeyre,
Whom Redcros Knight withstands.
I
O GOODLY golden chayne! wherewith yfere
The vertues linked are in lovely wize,
And noble mindes of yore allyed were,
In brave poursuitt of chevalrous emprize,
That none did others safety despize, 5
Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands,
But friendly each did others praise devize
How to advaunce with favourable hands,
As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse Knight from bands.
II
Who when their powres, empayrd through labor long, 10
With dew repast they had recured well,
And that weake captive wight now wexed strong,
Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,
But forward fare, as their adventures fell:
But ere they parted, Una faire besought 15
That straunger knight his name and nation tell;
Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,
Should die unknown, and buried be in thankles thought.
III
‘Faire virgin,’ said the Prince, ‘yee me require
A thing without the compas of my witt: 20
For both the lignage and the certein sire,
From which I sprong, from mee are hidden yitt.
For all so soone as life did me admitt
Into this world, and shewed hevens light,
From mothers pap I taken was unfitt, 25
And streight deliver’d to a Fary knight,
To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might.
IV
‘Unto old Timon he me brought bylive,
Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene
In warlike feates th’ expertest man alive, 30
And is the wisest now on earth I weene:
His dwelling is low in a valley greene,
Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,
From whence the river Dee, as silver cleene,
His tombling billowes rolls with gentle rore: 35
There all my daies he traind mee up in vertuous lore.
V
‘Thether the great magicien Merlin came,
As was his use, ofttimes to visitt mee;
For he had charge my discipline to frame,
And tutors nouriture to oversee. 40
Him oft and oft I askt in privity,
Of what loines and what lignage I did spring.
Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee,
That I was sonne and heire unto a king,
As time in her just term the truth to light should bring.’ 45
VI
‘Well worthy impe,’ said then the lady gent,
‘And pupill fitt for such a tutors hand!
But what adventure, or what high intent,
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