Such cruell game my scarmoges disarmes:
Another warre, and other weapons, I
Doe love, where Love does give his sweet alarmes,
Without bloodshed, and where the enimy 305
Does yield unto his foe a pleasaunt victory.
XXXV
‘Debatefull strife, and cruell enmity,
The famous name of knighthood fowly shend;
But lovely peace, and gentle amity,
And in amours the passing howres to spend, 310
The mightie martiall handes doe most commend;
Of love they ever greater glory bore,
Then of their armes: Mars is Cupidoes frend,
And is for Venus loves renowmed more,
Then all his wars and spoiles, the which he did of yore.’ 315
XXXVI
Therewith she sweetly smyld. They, though full bent
To prove extremities of bloody fight,
Yet at her speach their rages gan relent,
And calme the sea of their tempestuous spight:
Such powre have pleasing wordes; such is the might 320
Of courteous clemency in gentle hart.
Now after all was ceast, the Faery knight
Besought that damzell suffer him depart,
And yield him ready passage to that other part.
XXXVII
She no lesse glad, then he desirous, was 325
Of his departure thence; for of her joy
And vaine delight she saw he light did pas,
A foe of folly and immodest toy,
Still solemne sad, or still disdainfull coy,
Delighting all in armes and cruell warre, 330
That her sweet peace and pleasures did annoy,
Troubled with terrour and unquiet jarre,
That she well pleased was thence to amove him farre.
XXXVIII
Tho him she brought abord, and her swift bote
Forthwith directed to that further strand; 335
The which on the dull waves did lightly flote,
And soone arrived on the shallow sand,
Where gladsome Guyon salied forth to land,
And to that damsell thankes gave for reward.
Upon that shore he spyed Atin stand, 340
There by his maister left when late he far’d
In Phædrias flitt barck over that perlous shard.
XXXIX
Well could he him remember, sith of late
He with Pyrochles sharp debatement made:
Streight gan he him revyle, and bitter rate, 345
As shepheardes curre, that in darke eveninges shade
Hath tracted forth some salvage beastes trade:
‘Vile miscreaunt!’ said he, ‘whether dost thou flye
The shame and death, which will thee soone invade?
What coward hand shall doe thee next to dye, 350
That art thus fowly fledd from famous enimy?’
XL
With that he stifly shooke his steelhead dart:
But sober Guyon hearin him so rayle,
Though somewhat moved in his mightie hart,
Yet with strong reason maistred passion fraile, 355
And passed fayrely forth. He, turning taile,
Backe to the strond retyrd, and there still stayd,
A waiting passage, which him late did faile;
The whiles Cymochles with that wanton mayd
The hasty heat of his avowd revenge delayd. 360
XLI
Whylest there the varlet stood, he saw from farre
An armed knight, that towardes him fast ran;
He ran on foot, as if in lucklesse warre
His forlorne steed from him the victour wan;
He seemed breathlesse, hartlesse, faint, and wan, 365
And all his armour sprinckled was with blood,
And soyld with durtie gore, that no man can
Discerne the hew thereof. He never stood,
But bent his hastie course towardes the ydle flood.
XLII
The varlett saw, when to the flood he came, 370
How without stop or stay he fiersly lept,
And deepe him selfe beducked in the same,
That in the lake his loftie crest was stept,
Ne of his safetie seemed care he kept,
But with his raging armes he rudely flasht 375
The waves about, and all his armour swept,
That all the blood and filth away was washt,
Yet still he bet the water, and the billowes dasht.
XLIII
Atin drew nigh, to weet what it mote bee;
For much he wondred at that uncouth sight: 380
Whom should he, but his own deare lord, there see,
His owne deare lord Pyrochles in sad plight,
Ready to drowne him selfe for fell despight.
‘Harrow now out, and well away!’ he cryde,
‘What dismall day hath lent this cursed light, 385
To see my lord so deadly damnifyde?
Pyrochles, O Pyrochles, what is thee betyde?’
XLIV
‘I burne, I burne, I burne!’ then lowd he cryde,
‘O how I burne with implacable fyre!
Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming syde, 390
Nor sea of licour cold, nor lake of myre,
Nothing but death can doe me to respyre.’
‘Ah! be it,’ said he, ‘from Pyrochles farre,
After pursewing Death once to requyre,
Or think, that ought those puissant hands may marre: 395
Death is for wretches borne under unhappy starre.’
XLV
‘Perdye, then is it fitt for me,’ said he,
‘That am, I weene, most wretched man alive,
Burning in flames, yet no flames can I see,
And dying dayly, dayly yet revive. 400
O Atin, helpe to me last death to give.’
The varlet at his plaint was grieved so sore,
That his deepe wounded hart in two did rive,
And his owne health remembring now no more,
Did follow that ensample which he blam’d afore. 405
XLVI
Into the lake he lept, his lord to ayd,
(So love the dread of daunger doth despise)
And of him catching hold, him strongly stayd
From drowning. But more happy he then wise,
Of that seas nature did him not avise. 410
The waves thereof so slow and sluggish were,
Engrost with mud, which did them fowle agrise,
That every weighty thing they did upbeare,
Ne ought mote ever sinck downe to the bottom there.
XLVII
Whiles thus they strugled in that ydle wave, 415
And strove in vaine, the one him selfe to drowne,
The other both from drowning for to save,
Lo! to that shore one in an auncient gowne,
Whose hoary locks great gravitie did crowne,
Holding in hand a goodly arming sword, 420
By fortune came, ledd with the troublous sowne:
Where drenched deepe he fownd in that dull ford
The carefull servaunt, stryving with his raging lord.
XLVIII
Him Atin spying, knew right well of yore,
And lowdly cald: ‘Help, helpe! O Archimage, 425
To save my lord, in wretched plight forlore;
Helpe with thy hand, or with thy counsell sage:
Weake handes, but counsell is most strong in age.’
Him when the old man saw, he woundred sore,
To see Pyrochles there so rudely rage: 430
Yet sithens helpe, he saw, he needed more
Then pitty, he in hast approched to the shore;
XLIX
And cald, ‘Pyrochles! what is this I see?
What hellish fury hath at earst thee hent?
Furious ever I thee knew to
bee, 435
Yet never in this straunge astonishment.’
‘These flames, these flames,’ he cryde, ‘do me torment!’
‘What flames,’ quoth he, ‘when I thee present see
In daunger rather to be drent then brent?’
‘Harrow! the flames which me consume,’ said hee, 440
‘Ne can be quencht, within my secret bowelles bee.
L
‘That cursed man, that cruel feend of hell,
Furor, oh! Furor hath me thus bedight:
His deadly woundes within my liver swell,
And his whott fyre burnes in mine entralles bright, 445
Kindled through his infernall brond of spight,
Sith late with him I batteill vaine would boste;
That now I weene Joves dreaded thunder light
Does scorch not halfe so sore, nor damned ghoste
In flaming Phlegeton does not so felly roste.’ 450
LI
Which when as Archimago heard, his griefe
He knew right well, and him attonce disarmd:
Then searcht his secret woundes, and made a priefe
Of every place, that was with bruzing harmd,
Or with the hidden fire too inly warmd. 455
Which doen, he balmes and herbes thereto applyde,
And evermore with mightie spels them charmd,
That in short space he has them qualifyde,
And him restor’d to helth, that would have algates dyde.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto VII
Guyon findes Mamon in a delve,
Sunning his threasure hore:
Is by him tempted, and led downe,
To see his secrete store.
I
AS pilot well expert in perilous wave,
That to a stedfast starre his course hath bent,
When foggy mistes or cloudy tempests have
The faith full light of that faire lampe yblent,
And cover’d heaven with hideous dreriment, 5
Upon his card and compas firmes his eye,
The maysters of his long experiment,
And to them does the steddy helme apply,
Bidding his winged vessell fairely forward fly:
II
So Guyon, having lost his trustie guyde, 10
Late left beyond that Ydle Lake, proceedes
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde;
And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes
Of his owne vertues and praise-worthie deedes.
So long he yode, yet no adventure found, 15
Which Fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes:
For still he traveild through wide wastfull ground,
That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all around.
III
At last he came unto a gloomy glade,
Cover’d with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, 20
Whereas he sitting found in secret shade
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight,
Of griesly hew and fowle ill favour’d sight;
His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard,
His head and beard with sout were ill bedight, 25
His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben seard
In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard.
IV
His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust,
Was underneath enveloped with gold,
Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy dust, 30
Well yet appeared to have beene of old
A worke of rich entayle and curious mould,
Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery:
And in his lap a masse of coyne he told,
And turned upside downe, to feede his eye 35
And covetous desire with his huge threasury.
V
And round about him lay on every side
Great heapes of gold, that never could be spent:
Of which some were rude owre, not purifide
Of Mulcibers devouring element; 40
Some others were new driven, and distent
Into great ingowes, and to wedges square;
Some in round plates withouten moniment:
But most were stampt, and in their metal bare
The antique shapes of kings and kesars straung and rare. 45
VI
Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright
And haste he rose, for to remove aside
Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight,
And downe them poured through an hole full wide
Into the hollow earth, them there to hide. 50
But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd
His hand, that trembled as one terrifyde;
And though him selfe were at the sight dismayd,
Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd:
VII
‘What art thou, man, (if man at all thou art) 55
That here in desert hast thine habitaunce,
And these rich heapes of welth doest hide apart
From the worldes eye, and from her right usaunce?’
Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce,
In great disdaine, he answerd: ‘Hardy Elfe, 60
That darest vew my direfull countenaunce,
I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe,
To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe.
VIII
‘God of the world and worldlings I me call,
Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye, 65
That of my plenty poure out unto all,
And unto none my graces do envye:
Riches, renowme, and principality,
Honour, estate, and all this worldes good,
For which men swinck and sweat incessantly, 70
Fro me do flow into an ample flood,
And in the hollow earth have their eternall brood.
IX
‘Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew,
At thy commaund, lo! all these mountaines bee;
Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew, 75
All these may not suffise, there shall to thee
Ten times so much be nombred francke and free.’
‘Mammon,’ said he, ‘thy godheads vaunt is vaine,
And idle offers of thy golden fee;
To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine 80
Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunts entertaine.
X
‘Me ill besits, that in derdoing armes
And honours suit my vowed daies do spend,
Unto thy bounteous baytes and pleasing charmes,
With which weake men thou witchest, to attend: 85
Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend
And low abase the high heroicke spright,
That joyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend;
Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes be my delight:
Those be the riches fit for an advent’rous knight.’ 90
XI
‘Vaine glorious Elfe,’ saide he, ‘doest not thou weet,
That money can thy wantes at will supply?
Sheilds, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee meet
It can purvay in twinckling of an eye;
And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply. 95
Doe not I kings create, and throw the crowne
Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly?
And him that raignd into his rowme thrust downe,
And whom I lust do heape with glory and renowne?’
XII
‘All otherwise, saide he, ‘I riches read, 100
And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse;
First got with guile, and then preserv’d with dread,
And after spent with pride and lavishnesse,
Leaving behind them gri
efe and heavinesse.
Infinite mischiefes of them doe arize, 105
Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitternesse,
Outrageous wrong and hellish covetize,
That noble heart, as great dishonour, doth despize.
XIII
‘Ne thine be kingdomes, ne the scepters thine;
But realmes and rulers thou doest both confound, 110
And loyall truth to treason doest incline:
Witnesse the guiltlesse blood pourd oft on ground,
The crowned often slaine, the slayer cround,
The sacred diademe in peeces rent,
And purple robe gored with many a wound; 115
Castles surprizd, great citties sackt and brent:
So mak’st thou kings, and gaynest wrongfull government.
XIV
‘Long were to tell the troublous stormes, that thosse
The private state, and make the life unsweet:
Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse, 120
And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet,
Doth not, I weene, so many evils meet.’
Then Mammon, wexing wroth, ‘And why then,’ sayd,
‘Are mortall men so fond and undiscreet,
So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd, 125
And having not, complaine, and having it, upbrayd?’
XV
‘Indeede,’ quoth he, ‘through fowle intemperaunce,
Frayle men are oft captiv’d to covetise:
But would they thinke, with how small allowaunce
Untroubled nature doth her selfe suffise, 130
Such superfluities they would despise,
Which with sad cares empeach our native joyes:
At the well head the purest streames arise:
But mucky filth his braunching armes annoyes,
And with uncomely weedes the gentle wave accloyes. 135
XVI
‘The antique world, in his first flowring youth,
Fownd no defect in his Creators grace,
But with glad thankes, and unreproved truth,
The guifts of soveraine bounty did embrace:
Like angels life was then mens happy cace: 140
But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed,
Abusd her plenty and fat swolne encreace
To all licentious lust, and gan exceed
The measure of her meane, and naturall first need.
XVII
‘Then gan a cursed hand the quiet wombe 145
Of his great grandmother with steele to wound,
And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe
With sacriledge to dig. Therein he fownd
Fountaines of gold and silver to abownd,
Of which the matter of his huge desire 150
And pompous pride eftsoones he did compownd;
Then avarice gan through his veines inspire
His greedy flames, and kindled life-devouring fire.’
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 41
