Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  And cryde, ‘Mercie, sir knight! and mercie, lord, 280

  For mine offence and heedelesse hardiment,

  That had almost committed crime abhord,

  And with reprochfull shame mine honour shent,

  Whiles cursed steele against that badge I bent,

  The sacred badge of my Redeemers death, 285

  Which on your shield is set for ornament.’

  But his fierce foe his steed could stay uneath,

  Who, prickt with courage kene, did cruell battell breath.

  XXVIII

  But when he heard him speake, streight way he knew

  His errour, and himselfe inclyning sayd: 290

  ‘Ah! deare Sir Guyon, well becommeth you,

  But me behoveth rather to upbrayd,

  Whose hastie hand so far from reason strayd,

  That almost it did haynous violence

  On that fayre ymage of that heavenly mayd, 295

  That decks and armes your shield with faire defence:

  Your court’sie takes on you anothers dew offence.’

  XXIX

  So beene they both at one, and doen upreare

  Their bevers bright, each other for to greet;

  Goodly comportaunce each to other beare, 300

  And entertaine themselves with court’sies meet.

  Then saide the Redcrosse Knight: ‘Now mote I weet,

  Sir Guyon, why with so fierce saliaunce,

  And fell intent, ye did at earst me meet;

  For sith I know your goodly governaunce, 305

  Great cause, I weene, you guided, or some uncouth chaunce.’

  XXX

  ‘Certes,’ said he, ‘well mote I shame to tell

  The fond encheason that me hether led.

  A false infamous faitour late befell

  Me for to meet, that seemed ill bested, 310

  And playnd of grievous outrage, which he red

  A knight had wrought against a ladie gent;

  Which to avenge, he to this place me led,

  Where you he made the marke of his intent,

  And now is fled: foule shame him follow, wher he went!’ 315

  XXXI

  So can he turne his earnest unto game,

  Through goodly handling and wise temperaunce.

  By this his aged guide in presence came,

  Who, soone as on that knight his eye did glaunce,

  Eftsoones of him had perfect cognizaunce, 320

  Sith him in Faery court he late avizd;

  And sayd: ‘Fayre sonne, God give you happy chaunce,

  And that deare Crosse uppon your shield devizd,

  Wherewith above all knights ye goodly seeme aguizd.

  XXXII

  ‘Joy may you have, and everlasting fame, 325

  Of late most hard atchiev’ment by you donne,

  For which enrolled is your glorious name

  In heavenly regesters above the sunne,

  Where you a saint with saints your seat have wonne:

  But wretched we, where ye have left your marke, 330

  Must now anew begin like race to ronne.

  God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy warke,

  And to the wished haven bring thy weary barke.’

  XXXIII

  ‘Palmer,’ him answered the Redcrosse Knight,

  ‘His be the praise, that this atchiev’ment wrought, 335

  Who made my hand the organ of His might:

  More then goodwill to me attribute nought;

  For all I did, I did but as I ought.

  But you, faire sir, whose pageant next ensewes,

  Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your thought, 340

  That home ye may report thrise happy newes;

  For well ye worthy bene for worth and gentle thewes.’

  XXXIV

  So courteous conge both did give and take,

  With right hands plighted, pledges of good will.

  Then Guyon forward gan his voyage make 345

  With his blacke palmer, that him guided still.

  Still he him guided over dale and hill,

  And with his steedy staffe did point his way:

  His race with reason, and with words his will,

  From fowle intemperaunce he ofte did stay, 350

  And suffred not in wrath his hasty steps to stray.

  XXXV

  In this faire wize they traveild long yfere,

  Through many hard assayes, which did betide,

  Of which he honour still away did beare,

  And spred his glory through all countryes wide. 355

  At last, as chaunst them by a forest side

  To passe, for succour from the scorching ray,

  They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnly cride,

  With percing shriekes, and many a dolefull lay;

  Which to attend, a while their forward steps they stay. 360

  XXXVI

  ‘But if that carelesse hevens,’ quoth she, ‘despise

  The doome of just revenge, and take delight

  To see sad pageaunts of mens miseries,

  As bownd by them to live in lives despight,

  Yet can they not warne Death from wretched wight. 365

  Come then, come soone, come, sweetest Death, to me,

  And take away this long lent loathed light:

  Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweete the medicines be,

  That long captived soules from weary thraldome free.

  XXXVII

  ‘But thou, sweete babe, whom frowning froward fate 370

  Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall,

  Sith heven thee deignes to hold in living state,

  Long maist thou live, and better thrive withall,

  Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall:

  Live thou, and to thy mother dead attest, 375

  That cleare she dide from blemish criminall:

  Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest,

  Loe! I for pledges leave. So give me leave to rest.’

  XXXVIII

  With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw,

  That through the wood reechoed againe, 380

  And after gave a grone so deepe and low,

  That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine,

  Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine:

  As gentle hynd, whose sides with cruell steele

  Through launched, forth her bleeding life does raine, 385

  Whiles the sad pang approching shee does feele,

  Braies out her latest breath, and up her eies doth seele.

  XXXIX

  Which when that warriour heard, dismounting straict

  From his tall steed, he rusht into the thick,

  And soone arrived where that sad pourtraict 390

  Of death and dolour lay, halfe dead, halfe quick;

  In whose white alabaster brest did stick

  A cruell knife, that made a griesly wownd,

  From which forth gusht a stream of goreblood thick,

  That all her goodly garments staind arownd, 395

  And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassy grownd.

  XL

  Pitifull spectacle of deadly smart,

  Beside a bubling fountaine low she lay,

  Which shee increased with her bleeding hart,

  And the cleane waves with purple gore did ray; 400

  Als in her lap a lovely babe did play

  His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew;

  For in her streaming blood he did embay

  His litle hands, and tender joints embrew;

  Pitifull spectacle, as ever eie did vew. 405

  XLI

  Besides them both, upon the soiled gras

  Thedead corse of an armed knight was spred,

  Whose armour all with blood besprincled was;

  His ruddy lips did smyle, and rosy red

  Did paint his chearefull cheekes, yett being ded; 410

  Seemd to have beene a goodly
personage,

  Now in his freshest flowre of lustyhed,

  Fitt to inflame faire lady with loves rage,

  But that fiers fate did crop the blossome of his age.

  XLII

  Whom when the good Sir Guyon did behold, 415

  His hart gan wexe as starke as marble stone,

  And his fresh blood did frieze with fearefull cold,

  That all his sences seemd berefte attone.

  At last his mighty ghost gan deepe to grone,

  As lion, grudging in his great disdaine, 420

  Mournes inwardly, and makes to him selfe mone,

  Til ruth and fraile affection did constraine

  His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his inward paine.

  XLIII

  Out of her gored wound the cruell steel

  He lightly snatcht, and did the floodgate stop 425

  With his faire garment: then gan softly feel

  Her feeble pulse, to prove if any drop

  Of living blood yet in her veynes did hop;

  Which when he felt to move, he hoped faire

  To call backe life to her forsaken shop: 430

  So well he did her deadly wounds repaire,

  That at the last shee gan to breath out living aire.

  XLIV

  Which he perceiving, greatly gan rejoice,

  And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart

  Is meetest med’cine, tempred with sweete voice: 435

  ‘Ay me! deare lady, which the ymage art

  Of ruefull pitty, and impatient smart,

  What direfull chaunce, armd with avenging fate,

  Or cursed hand, hath plaid this cruell part,

  Thus fowle to hasten your untimely date? 440

  Speake, O dear lady, speake: help never comes too late.’

  XLV

  Therewith her dim eie-lids she up gan reare,

  On which the drery death did sitt, as sad

  As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare:

  But when as him, all in bright armour clad, 445

  Before her standing she espied had,

  As one out of a deadly dreame affright,

  She weakely started, yet she nothing drad:

  Streight downe againe her selfe in great despight

  She groveling threw to ground, as hating life and light. 450

  XLVI

  The gentle knight her soone with carefull paine

  Uplifted light, and softly did uphold:

  Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunck againe,

  Till he his armes about her sides gan fold,

  And to her said: ‘Yet if the stony cold 455

  Have not all seized on your frozen hart,

  Let one word fall that may your griefe unfold,

  And tell the secrete of your mortall smart:

  He oft finds present helpe, who does his griefe impart.’

  XLVII

  Then, casting up a deadly looke, full low 460

  Shee sight from bottome of her wounded brest,

  And after, many bitter throbs did throw:

  With lips full pale and foltring tong opprest,

  These words she breathed forth from riven chest:

  ‘Leave, ah! leave of, what ever wight thou bee, 465

  To lett a weary wretch from her dew rest,

  And trouble dying soules tranquilitee.

  Take not away now got, which none would give to me.’

  XLVIII

  ‘Ah! far be it,’ said he, ‘deare dame, fro mee,

  To hinder soule from her desired rest, 470

  Or hold sad life in long captivitee:

  For all I seeke is but to have redrest

  The bitter pangs that doth your heart infest.

  Tell then, O lady, tell what fatall priefe

  Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest: 475

  That I may cast to compas your reliefe,

  Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your griefe.’

  XLIX

  With feeble hands then stretched forth on hye,

  As heven accusing guilty of her death,

  And with dry drops congealed in her eye, 480

  In these sad wordes she spent her utmost breath:

  ‘Heare then, O man, the sorrowes that uneath

  My tong can tell, so far all sence they pas:

  Loe! this dead corpse, that lies here underneath,

  The gentlest knight, that ever on greene gras 485

  Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good Sir Mortdant was.

  L

  ‘Was (ay the while, that he is not so now!)

  My lord, my love, my deare lord, my deare love,

  So long as hevens just with equall brow

  Vouchsafed to behold us from above. 490

  One day, when him high corage did emmove,

  As wont ye knightes to seeke adventures wilde,

  He pricked forth, his puissant force to prove.

  Me then he left enwombed of this childe,

  This luckles childe, whom thus ye see with blood defild. 495

  LI

  ‘Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may ghesse)

  To come where vile Acrasia does wonne,

  Acrasia, a false enchaunteresse,

  That many errant knightes hath fowle fordonne:

  Within a wandring island, that doth ronne 500

  And stray in perilous gulfe, her dwelling is:

  Fayre sir, if ever there ye travell, shonne

  The cursed land where many wend amis,

  And know it by the name; it hight the Bowre of Blis.

  LII

  ‘Her blis is all in pleasure and delight, 505

  Wherewith she makes her lovers dronken mad,

  And then with words and weedes of wondrous might,

  On them she workes her will to uses bad:

  My liefest lord she thus beguiled had;

  For he was flesh (all flesh doth frayltie breed): 510

  Whom when I heard to beene so ill bestad,

  Weake wretch, I wrapt myselfe in palmers weed,

  And cast to seek him forth through danger and great dreed.

  LIII

  ‘Now had fayre Cynthia by even tournes

  Full measured three quarters of her yeare, 515

  And thrise three tymes had fild her crooked hornes,

  Whenas my wombe her burdein would forbeare,

  And bad me call Lucina to me neare.

  Lucina came: a manchild forth I brought:

  The woods, the nymphes, my bowres, my midwives, weare: 520

  Hard helpe at need! So deare thee, babe, I bought;

  Yet nought to dear I deemd, while so my deare I sought.

  LIV

  ‘Him so I sought, and so at last I fownd,

  Where him that witch had thralled to her will,

  In chaines of lust and lewde desyres ybownd, 525

  And so transformed from his former skill,

  That me he knew not, nether his owne ill;

  Till through wise handling and faire governaunce,

  I him recured to a better will,

  Purged from drugs of fowle intemperaunce: 530

  Then meanes I gan devise for his deliverance.

  LV

  ‘Which when the vile enchaunteresse perceiv’d,

  How that my lord from her I would reprive,

  With cup thus charmd, him parting she deceivd:

  Sad verse, give death to him that death does give, 535

  And losse of love to her that loves to live,

  So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe does lincke.

  So parted we, and on our journey drive,

  Till, comming to this well, he stoupt to drincke:

  The charme fulfild, dead suddeinly he downe did sincke. 540

  LVI

  ‘Which when I, wretch’ — Not one word more she sayd,

  But breaking of the end for want of breath,

  And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd,

  And
ended all her woe in quiet death.

  That seeing good Sir Guyon, could uneath 545

  From teares abstayne, for griefe his hart did grate,

  And from so heavie sight his head did wreath,

  Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate,

  Which plonged had faire lady in so wretched state.

  LVII

  Then, turning to his palmer, said: ‘Old syre, 550

  Behold the ymage of mortalitie,

  And feeble nature cloth’d with fleshly tyre.

  When raging passion with fierce tyranny

  Robs reason of her dew regalitie,

  And makes it servaunt to her basest part, 555

  The strong it weakens with infirmitie,

  And with bold furie armes the weakest hart:

  The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through smart.’

  LVIII

  ‘But Temperaunce,’ said he, ‘with golden squire

  Betwixt them both can measure out a meane, 560

  Nether to melt in pleasures whott desyre,

  Nor frye in hartlesse griefe and dolefull tene.

  Thrise happy man, who fares them both atweene!

  But sith this wretched woman overcome

  Of anguish, rather then of crime, hath bene, 565

  Reserve her cause to her eternall doome,

  And, in the meane, vouchsafe her honorable toombe.’

  LIX

  ‘Palmer,’ quoth he, ‘death is an equall doome

  To good and bad, the commen in of rest;

  But after death the tryall is to come, 570

  When best shall bee to them that lived best:

  But both alike, when death hath both supprest,

  Religious reverence doth buriall teene,

  Which who so wants, wants so much of his rest:

  For all so great shame after death I weene, 575

  As selfe to dyen bad, unburied bad to beene.’

  LX

  So both agree their bodies to engrave:

  The great earthes wombe they open to the sky,

  And with sad cypresse seemely it embrave;

  Then, covering with a clod their closed eye, 580

  They lay therein those corses tenderly,

  And bid them sleepe in everlasting peace.

  But ere they did their utmost obsequy,

  Sir Guyon, more affection to increace,

  Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should ay releace. 585

  LXI

  The dead knights sword out of his sheath he drew,

  With which he cutt a lock of all their heare,

  Which medling with their blood and earth, he threw

  Into the grave, and gan devoutly sweare:

  ‘Such and such evil God on Guyon reare, 590

  And worse and worse, young orphane, be thy payne,

  If I or thou dew vengeance doe forbeare,

  Till guiltie blood her guerdon doe obtayne.’

  So shedding many teares, they closd the earth agayne.