Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Upon his crest the hardned yron fell;

  But his more hardned crest was armd so well,

  That deeper dint therein it would not make;

  Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell,

  That from thenceforth he shund the like to take, 215

  But, when he saw them come, he did them still forsake.

  XXV

  The knight was wroth to see his stroke beguyld,

  And smot againe with more outrageous might;

  But backe againe the sparcling steele recoyld,

  And left not any marke where it did light, 220

  As if in adamant rocke it had beene pight.

  The beast, impatient of his smarting wound,

  And of so fierce and forcible despight,

  Thought with his winges to stye above the ground;

  But his late wounded wing unserviceable found. 225

  XXVI

  Then, full of griefe and anguish vehement,

  He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard,

  And from his wide devouring oven sent

  A flake of fire, that, flashing in his beard,

  Him all amazd, and almost made afeard: 230

  The scorching flame sore swinged all his face,

  And through his armour all his body seard,

  That he could not endure so cruell cace,

  But thought his armes to leave, and helmet to unlace.

  XXVII

  Not that great champion of the antique world, 235

  Whom famous poetes verse so much doth vaunt,

  And hath for twelve huge labours high extold,

  So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt,

  When him the poysoned garment did enchaunt,

  With Centaures blood and bloody verses charmd, 240

  As did this knight twelve thousand dolours daunt,

  Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that erst him armd,

  That erst him goodly armd, now most of all him harmd.

  XXVIII

  Faynt, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent

  With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire, 245

  That never man such mischiefes did torment;

  Death better were, death did he oft desire,

  But death will never come, when needes require.

  Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld,

  He cast to suffer him no more respire, 250

  But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld,

  And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld.

  XXIX

  It fortuned (as fayre it then befell,)

  Behynd his backe, unweeting, where he stood,

  Of auncient time there was a springing well, 255

  From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,

  Full of great vertues, and for med’cine good.

  Whylome, before that cursed dragon got

  That happy land, and all with innocent blood

  Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot 260

  The Well of Life, ne yet his vertues had forgot.

  XXX

  For unto life the dead it could restore,

  And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away;

  Those that with sicknesse were infected sore

  It could recure, and aged long decay 265

  Renew, as one were borne that very day.

  Both Silo this, and Jordan, did excell,

  And th’ English Bath, and eke the German Spau,

  Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this well:

  Into the same the knight back overthrowen fell. 270

  XXXI

  Now gan the golden Phœbus for to steepe

  His fierie face in billowes of the west,

  And his faint steedes watred in ocean deepe,

  Whiles from their journall labours they did rest,

  When that infernall monster, having kest 275

  His wearie foe into that living well,

  Can high advaunce his broad discoloured brest

  Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell,

  And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell.

  XXXII

  Which when his pensive lady saw from farre, 280

  Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay,

  As weening that the sad end of the warre,

  And gan to highest God entirely pray,

  That feared chaunce from her to turne away:

  With folded hands, and knees full lowly bent, 285

  All night shee watcht, ne once adowne would lay

  Her dainty limbs in her sad dreriment,

  But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.

  XXXIII

  The morrow next gan earely to appeare,

  That Titan rose to runne his daily race; 290

  But earely, ere the morrow next gan reare

  Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face,

  Up rose the gentle virgin from her place,

  And looked all about, if she might spy

  Her loved knight to move his manly pace: 295

  For she had great doubt of his safety,

  Since late she saw him fall before his enimy.

  XXXIV

  At last she saw, where he upstarted brave

  Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay:

  As eagle fresh out of the ocean wave, 300

  Where he hath lefte his plumes all hory gray,

  And deckt himselfe with fethers youthly gay,

  Like eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies,

  His newly budded pineons to assay,

  And merveiles at him selfe, stil as he flies: 305

  So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise.

  XXXV

  Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy,

  No wonder if he wondred at the sight,

  And doubted, whether his late enimy

  It were, or other new supplied knight. 310

  He, now to prove his late renewed might,

  High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade,

  Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite,

  That to the scull a yawning wound it made:

  The deadly dint his dulled sences all dismaid. 315

  XXXVI

  I wote not whether the revenging steele

  Were hardned with that holy water dew,

  Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,

  Or his baptized hands now greater grew,

  Or other secret vertue did ensew; 320

  Els never could the force of fleshly arme,

  Ne molten mettall, in his blood embrew:

  For till that stownd could never wight him harme,

  By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme.

  XXXVII

  The cruell wound enraged him so sore, 325

  That loud he yelled for exceeding paine;

  As hundred ramping lions seemd to rore,

  Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine:

  Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine,

  And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore, 330

  That to his force to yielden it was faine;

  Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,

  That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore.

  XXXVIII

  The same advauncing high above his head,

  With sharpe intended sting so rude him smott, 335

  That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,

  Ne living wight would have him life behott:

  The mortall sting his angry needle shott

  Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd,

  Where fast it stucke, ne would thereout be gott: 340

  The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd,

  Ne might his rancling paine with patience be appeasd.

  XXXIX

  But yet more mindfull of his honour deare

  Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring,

  From loathed soile he can
him lightly reare, 345

  And strove to loose the far in fixed sting:

  Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling,

  Inflam’d with wrath, his raging blade he hefte,

  And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string

  Of his huge taile he quite a sonder clefte; 350

  Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him lefte.

  XL

  Hart cannot thinke, what outrage and what cries,

  With fowle enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,

  The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skies,

  That all was covered with darknesse dire: 355

  Then fraught with rancour, and engorged yre,

  He cast at once him to avenge for all,

  And gathering up himselfe out of the mire

  With his uneven wings, did fiercely fall

  Upon his sunne-bright shield, and grypt it fast withall. 360

  XLI

  Much was the man encombred with his hold,

  In feare to lose his weapon in his paw,

  Ne wist yett how his talaunts to unfold;

  For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw

  To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw 365

  To reave by strength the griped gage away:

  Thrise he assayd it from his foote to draw,

  And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay;

  It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray.

  XLII

  Tho, when he saw no power might prevaile, 370

  His trusty sword he cald to his last aid,

  Wherewith he fiersly did his foe assaile,

  And double blowes about him stoutly laid,

  That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid,

  As sparckles from the andvile use to fly, 375

  When heavy hammers on the wedg are swaid;

  Therewith at last he forst him to unty

  One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby.

  XLIII

  The other foote, fast fixed on his shield,

  Whenas no strength nor stroks mote him constraine 380

  To loose, ne yet the warlike pledg to yield,

  He smott thereat with all his might and maine,

  That nought so wondrous puissaunce might sustaine:

  Upon the joint the lucky steele did light,

  And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine: 385

  The paw yett missed not his minisht might,

  But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight.

  XLIV

  For griefe thereof, and divelish despight,

  From his infernall fournace forth he threw

  Huge flames, that dimmed all the hevens light, 390

  Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew;

  As burning Aetna from his boyling stew

  Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke,

  And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new,

  Enwrapt in coleblacke clowds and filthy smoke, 395

  That al the land with stench, and heven with horror choke.

  XLV

  The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence,

  So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire

  A litle backeward for his best defence,

  To save his body from the scorching fire, 400

  Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.

  It chaunst (Eternall God that chaunce did guide)

  As he recoiled backeward, in the mire

  His nigh foreweried feeble feet did slide,

  And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide. 405

  XLVI

  There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,

  Loaden with fruit and apples rosy redd,

  As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,

  Whereof great vertues over all were redd:

  For happy life to all which thereon fedd, 410

  And life eke everlasting did befall:

  Great God it planted in that blessed stedd

  With his Almighty hand, and did it call

  The Tree of Life, the crime of our first fathers fall.

  XLVII

  In all the world like was not to be fownd, 415

  Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,

  And freely sprong out of the fruitfull grownd,

  As incorrupted Nature did them sow,

  Till that dredd dragon all did overthrow.

  Another like faire tree eke grew thereby, 420

  Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did know

  Both good and ill: O mournfull memory!

  That tree through one mans fault hath doen us all to dy.

  XLVIII

  From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,

  A trickling streame of balme, most soveraine 425

  And dainty deare on the ground still fell,

  And overflowed all the fertile plaine,

  As it had deawed bene with timely raine:

  Life and long health that gracious ointment gave,

  And deadly wounds could heale, and reare againe 430

  The sencelesse corse appointed for the grave.

  Into that same he fell: which did from death him save.

  XLIX

  For nigh thereto the ever damned beast

  Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,

  And al that life preserved did detest: 435

  Yet he it oft adventur’d to invade.

  By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,

  And yield his rowme to sad succeeding night,

  Who with her sable mantle gan to shade

  The face of earth, and wayes of living wight, 440

  And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.

  L

  When gentle Una saw the second fall

  Of her deare knight, who, weary of long fight,

  And faint through losse of blood, moov’d not at all,

  But lay as in a dreame of deepe delight, 445

  Besmeard with pretious balme, whose vertuous might

  Did heale his woundes, and scorching heat alay,

  Againe she stricken was with sore affright,

  And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,

  And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day. 450

  LI

  The joyous day gan early to appeare,

  And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed

  Of aged Tithone gan her selfe to reare,

  With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;

  Her golden locks for hast were loosely shed 455

  About her eares, when Una her did marke

  Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,

  From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke;

  With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke.

  LII

  Then freshly up arose the doughty knight, 460

  All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,

  And did himselfe to battaile ready dight;

  Whose early foe awaiting him beside

  To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,

  When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare, 465

  As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,

  He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to feare;

  Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare.

  LIII

  And in his first encounter, gaping wyde,

  He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight, 470

  And rusht upon him with outragious pryde;

  Who him rencountring fierce, as hauke in flight,

  Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright,

  Taking advantage of his open jaw,

  Ran through his mouth with so importune might, 475

  That deepe emperst his darksom hollow maw,

  And, back retyrd, his life blood forth with all did draw.

  LIV

  So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,

  That vanisht into smoke and
cloudes swift;

  So downe he fell, that th’ earth him underneath 480

  Did grone, as feeble so great load to life;

  So downe he fell, as an huge rocky clift,

  Whose false foundacion waves have washt away,

  With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,

  And, rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay; 485

  So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.

  LV

  The knight him selfe even trembled at his fall,

  So huge and horrible a masse it seemd;

  And his deare lady, that beheld it all,

  Durst not approch for dread which she misdeemd; 490

  But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend

  She saw not stirre, of-shaking vaine affright,

  She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:

  Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight,

  That had atchievde so great a conquest by his might. 495

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto XII

  Fayre Una to the Redcrosse Knight

  Betrouthed is with joy:

  Though false Duessa, it to barre,

  Her false sleightes doe imploy.

  I

  BEHOLD! I see the haven nigh at hand,

  To which I meane my wearie course to bend;

  Vere the maine shete, and beare up with the land,

  The which afore is fayrly to be kend,

  And seemeth safe from storms that may offend: 5

  There this fayre virgin, wearie of her way,

  Must landed bee, now at her journeyes end;

  There eke my feeble barke a while may stay,

  Till mery wynd and weather call her thence away.

  II

  Scarsely had Phœbus in the glooming east 10

  Yett harnessed his fyrie-footed teeme,

  Ne reard above the earth his flaming creast,

  When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme,

  That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme

  Unto the watchman on the castle wall; 15

  Who thereby dead that balefull beast did deeme,

  And to his lord and lady lowd gan call,

  To tell, how he had seene the dragons fatall fall.

  III

  Uprose with hasty joy, and feeble speed,

  That aged syre, the lord of all that land, 20

  And looked forth, to weet if trew indeed

  Those tydinges were, as he did understand:

  Which whenas trew by tryall he out fond,

  He badd to open wyde his brasen gate,

  Which long time had beene shut, and out of hond 25

  Proclaymed joy and peace through all his state;

  For dead now was their foe, which them forrayed late.

  IV

  Then gan triumphant trompets sownd on hye,

  That sent to heven the ecchoed report