Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,
With braunches broad dispredd and body great, 475
Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see,
And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee.
LIV
Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright,
That goodly was their glory to behold;
On earth like never grew, ne living wight 480
Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold;
For those, which Hercules with conquest bold
Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began,
And, planted there, did bring forth fruit of gold;
And those with which th’ Eubœan young man wan 485
Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out ran.
LV
Here also sprong that goodly golden fruit,
With which Acontius got his lover trew,
Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse suit:
Here eke that famous golden apple grew, 490
The which emongst the gods false Ate threw;
For which th’ Idæan ladies disagreed,
Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,
And had of her fayre Helen for his meed,
That many noble Greekes and Trojans made to bleed. 495
LVI
The warlike Elfe much wondred at this tree,
So fayre and great, that shadowed all the ground,
And his broad braunches, laden with rich fee,
Did stretch themselves without the utmost bound
Of this great gardin, compast with a mound: 500
Which over-hanging, they themselves did steepe
In a blacke flood, which flow’d about it round;
That is the river of Cocytus deepe,
In which full many soules do endlesse wayle and weepe.
LVII
Which to behold, he clomb up to the bancke, 505
And, looking downe, saw many damned wightes,
In those sad waves, which direfull deadly stancke,
Plonged continually of cruell sprightes,
That with their piteous cryes, and yelling shrightes,
They made the further shore resounden wide. 510
Emongst the rest of those same ruefull sightes,
One cursed creature he by chaunce espide,
That drenched lay full deepe, under the garden side.
LVIII
Deepe was he drenched to the upmost chin,
Yet gaped still, as coveting to drinke 515
Of the cold liquour which he waded in,
And stretching forth his hand, did often thinke
To reach the fruit which grew upon the brincke:
But both the fruit from hand, and flood from mouth,
Did fly abacke, and made him vainely swincke: 520
The whiles he sterv’d with hunger and with drouth,
He daily dyde, yet never throughly dyen couth.
LIX
The knight, him seeing labour so in vaine,
Askt who he was, and what he ment thereby:
Who, groning deepe, thus answerd him againe: 525
‘Most cursed of all creatures under skye,
Lo! Tantalus, I here tormented lye:
Of whom high Jove wont whylome feasted bee,
Lo! here I now for want of food doe dye:
But if that thou be such as I thee see, 530
Of grace I pray thee, give to eat and drinke to mee.’
LX
‘Nay, nay, thou greedy Tantalus,’ quoth he,
‘Abide the fortune of thy present fate,
And unto all that live in high degree
Ensample be of mind intemperate, 535
To teach them how to use their present state.’
Then gan the cursed wretch alowd to cry,
Accusing highest Jove and gods ingrate,
And eke blaspheming heaven bitterly,
As authour of unjustice, there to let him dye. 540
LXI
He lookt a litle further, and espyde
Another wretch, whose carcas deepe was drent
Within the river, which the same did hyde:
But both his handes, most filthy feculent,
Above the water were on high extent, 545
And faynd to wash themselves incessantly;
Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent,
But rather fowler seemed to the eye;
So lost his labour vaine and ydle industry.
LXII
The knight, him calling, asked who he was; 550
Who, lifting up his head, him answerd thus:
‘I Pilate am, the falsest judge, alas!
And most unjust; that, by unrighteous
And wicked doome, to Jewes despiteous
Delivered up the Lord of Life to dye, 555
And did acquite a murdrer felonous:
The whiles my handes I washt in purity,
The whiles my soule was soyld with fowle iniquity.’
LXIII
Infinite moe, tormented in like paine,
He there beheld, too long here to be told: 560
Ne Mammon would there let him long remayne,
For terrour of the tortures manifold,
In which the damned soules he did behold,
But roughly him bespake: ‘Thou fearefull foole,
Why takest not of that same fruite of gold, 565
Ne sittest downe on that same silver stoole,
To rest thy weary person in the shadow coole?’
LXIV
All which he did, to do him deadly fall
In frayle intemperaunce through sinfull bayt;
To which if he inclyned had at all, 570
That dreadfull feend, which did behinde him wayt,
Would him have rent in thousand peeces strayt:
But he was wary wise in all his way,
And well perceived his deceiptfull sleight,
Ne suffred lust his safety to betray; 575
So goodly did beguile the guyler of his pray.
LXV
And now he has so long remained theare,
That vitall powres gan wexe both weake and wan,
For want of food and sleepe, which two upbeare,
Like mightie pillours, this frayle life of man, 580
That none without the same enduren can.
For now three dayes of men were full outwrought,
Since he this hardy enterprize began:
Forthy great Mammon fayrely he besought,
Into the world to guyde him backe, as he him brought. 585
LXVI
The god, though loth, yet was constraynd t’ obay,
For, lenger time then that, no living wight
Below the earth might suffred be to stay:
So backe againe him brought to living light.
But all so soone as his enfeebled spright 590
Gan sucke this vitall ayre into his brest,
As overcome with too exceeding might,
The life did flit away out of her nest,
And all his sences were with deadly fit opprest.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto VIII
Sir Guyon, layd in swowne, is by
Acrates sonnes despoyld;
Whom Arthure soone hath reskewed
And Paynim brethren foyld.
I
AND is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace,
That may compassion of their evilles move?
There is: else much more wretched were the cace
Of men then beasts. But O th’ exceeding grace 5
Of Highest God, that loves his creatures so,
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!
&nbs
p; II
How oft do they their silver bowers leave 10
To come to succour us, that succour want!
How oft do they with golden pineons cleave
The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant,
Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, 15
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward:
O why should hevenly God to men have such regard?
III
During the while that Guyon did abide
In Mamons house, the palmer, whom whyleare 20
That wanton mayd of passage had denide,
By further search had passage found elsewhere,
And, being on his way, approched neare
Where Guyon lay in traunce, when suddeinly
He heard a voyce, that called lowd and cleare, 25
‘Come hether! come hether! O come hastily!’
That all the fields resounded with the ruefull cry.
IV
The palmer lent his eare unto the noyce,
To weet who called so importunely:
Againe he heard a more efforced voyce, 30
That bad him come in haste. He by and by
His feeble feet directed to the cry;
Which to that shady delve him brought at last,
Where Mammon earst did sunne his threasury:
There the good Guyon he found slumbring fast 35
In senceles dreame; which sight at first him sore aghast.
V
Beside his head there satt a faire young man,
Of wondrous beauty and of freshest yeares,
Whose tender bud to blossome new began,
And florish faire above his equall peares: 40
His snowy front, curled with golden heares,
Like Phoebus face adornd with sunny rayes,
Divinely shone, and two sharpe winged sheares,
Decked with diverse plumes, like painted jayes,
Were fixed at his backe, to cut his ayery wayes. 45
VI
Like as Cupido on Idæan hill,
When having laid his cruell bow away,
And mortall arrowes, wherewith he doth fill
The world with murdrous spoiles and bloody pray,
With his faire mother he him dights to play, 50
And with his goodly sisters, Graces three;
The goddesse, pleased with his wanton play,
Suffers her selfe through sleepe beguild to bee,
The whiles the other ladies mind theyr mery glee.
VII
Whom when the palmer saw, abasht he was 55
Through fear and wonder, that he nought could say,
Till him the childe bespoke: ‘Long lackt, alas!
Hath bene thy faithfull aide in hard assay,
Whiles deadly fitt thy pupill doth dismay.
Behold this heavy sight, thou reverend sire: 60
But dread of death and dolor doe away;
For life ere long shall to her home retire,
And he, that breathlesse seems, shal corage bold respire.
VIII
‘The charge, which God doth unto me arrett,
Of his deare safety, I to thee commend; 65
Yet will I not forgoe, ne yet forgett,
The care thereof my selfe unto the end,
But evermore him succour, and defend
Against his foe and mine: watch thou, I pray;
For evill is at hand him to offend.’ 70
So having said, eftsoones he gan display
His painted nimble wings, and vanisht quite away.
IX
The palmer seeing his lefte empty place,
And his slow eies beguiled of their sight,
Woxe sore affraid, and standing still a space, 75
Gaz’d after him, as fowle escapt by flight:
At last him turning to his charge behight,
With trembling hand his troubled pulse gan try,
Where finding life not yet dislodged quight,
He much rejoyst, and courd it tenderly, 80
As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny.
X
At last he spide where towards him did pace
Two Paynim knights, al armd as bright as skie,
And them beside an aged sire did trace,
And far before a light-foote page did flie, 85
That breathed strife and troublous enmitie.
Those were the two sonnes of Acrates old,
Who, meeting earst with Archimago slie,
Foreby that idle strond, of him were told,
That he which earst them combatted was Guyon bold. 90
XI
Which to avenge on him they dearly vowd,
Where ever that on ground they mote him find:
False Archimage provokte their corage prowd,
And stryful Atin in their stubborne mind
Coles of contention and whot vengeaunce tind. 95
Now bene they come whereas the Palmer sate,
Keeping that slombred corse to him assind:
Well knew they both his person, sith of late
With him in bloody armes they rashly did debate.
XII
Whom when Pyrochles saw, inflam’d with rage 100
That sire he fowl bespake: ‘Thou dotard vile,
That with thy brutenesse shendst thy comely age,
Abandon soone, I read, the caytive spoile
Of that same outcast carcas, that ere while
Made it selfe famous through false trechery, 105
And crownd his coward crest with knightly stile:
Loe where he now inglorious doth lye,
To proove he lived il, that did thus fowly dye.’
XIII
To whom the palmer fearlesse answered:
‘Certes, sir knight, ye bene too much to blame, 110
Thus for to blott the honor of the dead,
And with fowle cowardize his carcas shame,
Whose living handes immortalizd his name.
Vile is the vengeaunce on the ashes cold,
And envy base, to barke at sleeping fame: 115
Was never wight that treason of him told:
Your self his prowesse prov’d, and found him fiers and bold.’
XIV
Then sayd Cymochles: ‘Palmer, thou doest dote,
Ne canst of prowesse ne of knighthood deeme,
Save as thou seest or hearst: but well I wote, 120
That of his puissaunce tryall made extreeme:
Yet gold is not, that doth golden seeme,
Ne all good knights, that shake well speare and shield:
The worth of all men by their end esteeme,
And then dew praise or dew reproch them yield: 125
Bad therefore I him deeme that thus lies dead on field.’
XV
‘Good or bad,’ gan his brother fiers reply,
‘What doe I recke, sith that he dide entire?
Or what doth his bad death now satisfy
The greedy hunger of revenging yre, 130
Sith wrathfull hand wrought not her owne desire?
Yet since no way is lefte to wreake my spight,
I will him reave of armes, the victors hire,
And of that shield, more worthy of good knight,
For why should a dead dog be deckt in armour bright?’ 135
XVI
‘Fayr sir,’ said then the palmer suppliaunt,
‘For knighthoods love, doe not so fowle a deed,
Ne blame your honor with so shamefull vaunt
Of vile revenge. To spoile the dead of weed
Is sacrilege, and doth all sinnes exceed; 140
But leave these relicks of his living might
To decke his herce, and trap his tomb-blacke steed.’
‘What herce or steed,’ said he, ‘should he have dight,
Bu
t be entombed in the raven or the kight?’
XVII
With that, rude hand upon his shield he laid, 145
And th’ other brother gan his helme unlace,
Both fiercely bent to have him disaraid;
Till that they spyde where towards them did pace
An armed knight, of bold and bounteous grace,
Whose squire bore after him an heben launce 150
And coverd shield. Well kend him so far space
Th’ enchaunter by his armes and amenaunce,
When under him he saw his Lybian steed to praunce;
XVIII
And to those brethren sayd: ‘Rise, rise bylive,
And unto batteil doe your selves addresse; 155
For yonder comes the prowest knight alive,
Prince Arthur, flowre of grace and nobilesse,
That hath to Paynim knights wrought gret distresse,
And thousand Sar’zins fowly donne to dye.’
That word so deepe did in their harts impresse, 160
That both eftsoones upstarted furiously,
And gan themselves prepare to batteill greedily.
XIX
But fiers Pyrochles, lacking his owne sword,
The want thereof now greatly gan to plaine,
And Archimage besought, him that afford, 165
Which he had brought for Braggadochio vaine.
‘So would I,’ said th’ enchaunter, ‘glad and faine
Beteeme to you this sword, you to defend,
Or ought that els your honor might maintaine,
But that this weapons powre I well have kend 170
To be contrary to the worke which ye intend.
XX
‘For that same knights owne sword this is, of yore
Which Merlin made by his almightie art
For that his noursling, when he knighthood swore,
Therewith to doen his foes eternall smart. 175
The metall first he mixt with medæwart,
That no enchauntment from his dint might save;
Then it in flames of Aetna wrought apart,
And seven times dipped in the bitter wave
Of hellish Styx, which hidden vertue to it gave. 180
XXI
‘The vertue is, that nether steele nor stone
The stroke thereof from entraunce may defend;
Ne ever may be used by his fone,
Ne forst his rightful owner to offend;
Ne ever will it breake, ne ever bend: 185
Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is hight.
In vaine therefore, Pyrochles, should I lend
The same to thee, against his lord to fight,
For sure yt would deceive thy labor and thy might.’
XXII
‘Foolish old man,’ said then the Pagan wroth, 190
‘That weenest words or charms may force withstond:
Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeve for troth,
That I can carve with this inchaunted brond
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 43
