At least eternall meede shall you abide.’ 95
To whom the Prince: ‘Dwarfe, comfort to thee take;
For till thou tidings learne, what her betide,
I here avow thee never to forsake.
Ill weares he armes, that nill them use for ladies sake.’
XII
So with the dwarfe he backe retourn’d againe, 100
To seeke his lady, where he mote her finde;
But by the way he greatly gan complaine
The want of his good squire, late left behinde,
For whom he wondrous pensive grew in minde,
For doubt of daunger, which mote him betide; 105
For him he loved above all mankinde,
Having him trew and faithfull ever tride,
And bold, as ever squyre that waited by knights side.
XIII
Who all this while full hardly was assayd
Of deadly daunger, which to him betidd; 110
For whiles his lord pursewd that noble mayd,
After that foster fowle he fiercely ridd,
To bene avenged of the shame he did
To that faire damzell. Him he chaced long
Through the thicke woods, wherein he would have hid 115
His shamefull head from his avengement strong,
And oft him threatned death for his outrageous wrong.
XIV
Nathlesse the villein sped himselfe so well,
Whether through swiftnesse of his speedie beast,
Or knowledge of those woods, where he did dwell, 120
That shortly he from daunger was releast,
And out of sight escaped at the least;
Yet not escaped from the dew reward
Of his bad deedes, which daily he increast,
Ne ceased not, till him oppressed hard 125
The heavie plague that for such leachours is prepard.
XV
For soone as he was vanisht out of sight,
His coward courage gan emboldned bee,
And cast t’ avenge him of that fowle despight,
Which he had borne of his bold enimee. 130
Tho to his brethren came; for they were three
Ungratious children of one gracelesse syre;
And unto them complayned how that he
Had used beene of that foolehardie squyre:
So them with bitter words he stird to bloodie yre. 135
XVI
Forthwith themselves with their sad instruments
Of spoyle and murder they gan arme bylive,
And with him foorth into the forrest went,
To wreake the wrath, which he did earst revive
In their sterne brests, on him which late did drive 140
Their brother to reproch and shamefull flight:
For they had vow’d, that never he alive
Out of that forest should escape their might;
Vile rancour their rude harts had fild with such despight.
XVII
Within that wood there was a covert glade, 145
Foreby a narrow foord, to them well knowne,
Through which it was uneath for wight to wade,
And now by fortune it was overflowne:
By that same way they knew that squyre unknowne
Mote algates passe; forthy themselves they set 150
There in await, with thicke woods over growne,
And all the while their malice they did whet
With cruell threats, his passage through the ford to let.
XVIII
It fortuned, as they devized had,
The gentle squyre came ryding that same way, 155
Unweeting of their wile and treason bad,
And through the ford to passen did assay;
But that fierce foster, which late fled away,
Stoutly foorth stepping on the further shore,
Him boldly bad his passage there to stay, 160
Till he had made amends, and full restore
For all the damage which he had him doen afore.
XIX
With that, at him a quiv’ring dart he threw,
With so fell force and villeinous despite,
That through his haberjeon the forkehead flew, 165
And through the linked mayles empierced quite,
But had no powre in his soft flesh to bite:
That stroke the hardy squire did sore displease,
But more that him he could not come to smite;
For by no meanes the high banke he could sease, 170
But labour’d long in that deepe ford with vaine disease.
XX
And still the foster with his long borespeare
Him kept from landing at his wished will.
Anone one sent out of the thicket neare
A cruell shaft, headed with deadly ill, 175
And fethered with an unlucky quill:
The wicked steele stayd not, till it did light
In his left thigh, and deepely did it thrill:
Exceeding griefe that wound in him empight,
But more that with his foes he could not come to fight. 180
XXI
At last, through wrath and vengeaunce making way,
He on the bancke arryvd with mickle payne,
Where the third brother him did sore assay,
And drove at him with all his might and mayne
A forest bill, which both his hands did strayne; 185
But warily he did avoide the blow,
And with his speare requited him agayne,
That both his sides were thrilled with the throw,
And a large streame of blood out of the wound did flow.
XXII
He, tombling downe, with gnashing teeth did bite 190
The bitter earth, and bad to lett him in
Into the balefull house of endlesse night,
Where wicked ghosts doe waile their former sin.
Tho gan the battaile freshly to begin;
For nathemore for that spectacle bad 195
Did th’ other two their cruell vengeaunce blin,
But both attonce on both sides him bestad,
And load upon him layd, his life for to have had.
XXIII
Tho when that villayn he aviz’d, which late
Affrighted had the fairest Florimell, 200
Full of fiers fury and indignant hate,
To him he turned, and with rigor fell
Smote him so rudely on the pannikell,
That to the chin he clefte his head in twaine:
Downe on the ground his carkas groveling fell; 205
His sinfull sowle, with desperate disdaine,
Out of her fleshly ferme fled to the place of paine.
XXIV
That seeing now the only last of three,
Who with that wicked shafte him wounded had,
Trembling with horror, as that did foresee 210
The fearefull end of his avengement sad,
Through which he follow should his brethren bad,
His bootelesse bow in feeble hand upcaught,
And therewith shott an arrow at the lad;
Which, fayntly fluttring, scarce his helmet raught, 215
And glauncing fel to ground, but him annoyed naught.
XXV
With that he would have fled into the wood;
But Timias him lightly overhent,
Right as he entring was into the flood,
And strooke at him with force so violent, 220
That headlesse him into the foord he sent;
The carcas with the streame was carried downe,
But th’ head fell backeward on the continent.
So mischief fel upon the meaners crowne;
They three be dead with shame, the squire lives with renowne. 225
XXVI
He lives, but takes small joy of his renowne;
For of that cruell wound he bled so sore,
That from
his steed he fell in deadly swowne;
Yet still the blood forth gusht in so great store,
That he lay wallowd all in his owne gore. 230
Now God thee keepe, thou gentlest squire alive,
Els shall thy loving lord thee see no more,
But both of comfort him thou shalt deprive,
And eke thy selfe of honor, which thou didst atchive.
XXVII
Providence hevenly passeth living thought, 235
And doth for wretched mens reliefe make way;
For loe! great grace or fortune thether brought
Comfort to him that comfortlesse now lay.
In those same woods, ye well remember may
How that a noble hunteresse did wonne, 240
Shee that base Braggadochio did affray,
And made him fast out of the forest ronne;
Belphœbe was her name, as faire as Phæbus sunne.
XXVIII
She on a day, as shee pursewd the chace
Of some wilde beast, which with her arrowes keene 245
She wounded had, the same along did trace
By tract of blood, which she had freshly seene
To have besprinckled all the grassy greene;
By the great persue, which she there perceav’d,
Well hoped shee the beast engor’d had beene, 250
And made more haste, the life to have bereav’d:
But ah! her expectation greatly was deceav’d.
XXIX
Shortly she came whereas that woefull squire,
With blood deformed, lay in deadly swownd:
In whose faire eyes, like lamps of quenched fire, 255
The christall humor stood congealed rownd;
His locks, like faded leaves fallen to grownd,
Knotted with blood in bounches rudely ran;
And his sweete lips, on which before that stownd
The bud of youth to blossome faire began, 260
Spoild of their rosy red, were woxen pale and wan.
XXX
Saw never living eie more heavy sight,
That could have made a rocke of stone to rew,
Or rive in twaine: which when that lady bright,
Besides all hope, with melting eies did vew, 265
All suddeinly abasht shee chaunged hew,
And with sterne horror backward gan to start:
But when shee better him beheld, shee grew
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart:
The point of pitty perced through her tender hart. 270
XXXI
Meekely shee bowed downe, to weete if life
Yett in his frosen members did remaine;
And feeling by his pulses beating rife
That the weake sowle her seat did yett retaine,
She cast to comfort him with busy paine: 275
His double folded necke she reard upright,
And rubd his temples and each trembling vaine;
His mayled haberjeon she did undight,
And from his head his heavy burganet did light.
XXXII
Into the woods thenceforth in haste shee went, 280
To seeke for hearbes that mote him remedy;
For shee of herbes had great intendiment,
Taught of the nymphe, which from her infancy
Her nourced had in trew nobility:
There, whether yt divine tobacco were, 285
Or panachæa, or polygony,
Shee fownd, and brought it to her patient deare,
Who al this while lay bleding out his hart-blood neare.
XXXIII
The soveraine weede betwixt two marbles plaine
Shee pownded small, and did in peeces bruze, 290
And then atweene her lilly handes twaine
Into his wound the juice thereof did scruze,
And round about, as she could well it uze,
The flesh therewith shee suppled and did steepe,
T’ abate all spasme and soke the swelling bruze, 295
And after having searcht the intuse deepe,
She with her scarf did bind the wound from cold to keepe.
XXXIV
By this he had sweet life recur’d agayne,
And, groning inly deepe, at last his eies,
His watry eies, drizling like deawy rayne, 300
He up gan lifte toward the azure skies,
From whence descend all hopelesse remedies:
Therewith he sigh’d, and turning him aside,
The goodly maide ful of divinities
And gifts of heavenly grace he by him spide, 305
Her bow and gilden quiver lying him beside.
XXXV
‘Mercy! deare Lord,’ said he, ‘what grace is this,
That thou hast shewed to me, sinfull wight,
To send thine angell from her bowre of blis,
To comfort me in my distressed plight? 310
Angell, or goddesse doe I call thee right?
What service may I doe unto thee meete,
That hast from darkenes me returnd to light,
And with thy hevenly salves and med’cines sweete
Hast drest my sinfull wounds? I kisse thy blessed feete. 315
XXXVI
Thereat she blushing said: ‘Ah! gentle squire,
Nor goddesse I, nor angell, but the mayd
And daughter of a woody nymphe, desire
No service but thy safety and ayd;
Which if thou gaine, I shalbe well apayd. 320
Wee mortall wights, whose lives and fortunes bee
To commun accidents stil open layd,
Are bownd with commun bond of frailtee,
To succor wretched wights, whom we captived see.’
XXXVII
By this her damzells, which the former chace 325
Had undertaken after her, arryv’d,
As did Belphœbe, in the bloody place,
And thereby deemd the beast had bene depriv’d
Of life, whom late their ladies arrow ryv’d:
Forthy the bloody tract they followd fast, 330
And every one to ronne the swiftest stryv’d;
But two of them the rest far overpast,
And where their lady was arrived at the last.
XXXVIII
Where when they saw that goodly boy, with blood
Defowled, and their lady dresse his wownd, 335
They wondred much, and shortly understood
How him in deadly case theyr lady fownd,
And reskewed out of the heavy stownd.
Eftsoones his warlike courser, which was strayd
Farre in the woodes, whiles that he lay in swownd, 340
She made those damzels search, which being stayd,
They did him set theron, and forth with them convayd.
XXXIX
Into that forest farre they thence him led,
Where was their dwelling, in a pleasant glade
With mountaines rownd about environed, 345
And mightie woodes, which did the valley shade,
And like a stately theatre it made,
Spreading it selfe into a spatious plaine;
And in the midst a little river plaide
Emongst the pumy stones, which seemd to plaine 350
With gentle murmure that his cours they did restraine.
XL
Beside the same a dainty place there lay,
Planted with mirtle trees and laurells greene,
In which the birds song many a lovely lay
Of Gods high praise, and of their loves sweet teene, 355
As it an earthly paradize had beene:
In whose enclosed shadow there was pight
A faire pavilion, scarcely to be seene,
The which was al within most richly dight,
That greatest princes living it mote well delight. 360
XLI
Thether they brought that wounded squyre, and layd
In e
asie couch his feeble limbes to rest.
He rested him a while, and then the mayd
His readie wound with better salves new drest:
Daily she dressed him, and did the best, 365
His grievous hurt to guarish, that she might,
That shortly she his dolour hath redrest,
And his foule sore reduced to faire plight:
It she reduced, but himselfe destroyed quight.
XLII
O foolish physick, and unfruitfull paine, 370
That heales up one and makes another wound!
She his hurt thigh to him recurd againe,
But hurt his hart, the which before was sound,
Through an unwary dart, which did rebownd
From her faire eyes and gratious countenaunce. 375
What bootes it him from death to be unbownd,
To be captived in endlesse duraunce
Of sorrow and despeyre without aleggeaunce?
XLIII
Still as his wound did gather, and grow hole,
So still his hart woxe sore, and health decayd: 380
Madnesse to save a part, and lose the whole!
Still whenas he beheld the heavenly mayd,
Whiles dayly playsters to his wownd she layd,
So still his malady the more increast,
The whiles her matchlesse beautie him dismayd. 385
Ah God! what other could he doe at least,
But love so fayre a lady, that his life releast?
XLIV
Long while he strove in his corageous brest,
With reason dew the passion to subdew,
And love for to dislodge out of his nest: 390
Still when her excellencies he did vew,
Her soveraine bountie and celestiall hew,
The same to love he strongly was constraynd:
But when his meane estate he did revew,
He from such hardy boldnesse was restraynd, 395
And of his lucklesse lott and cruell love thus playnd.
XLV
‘Unthankfull wretch,’ said he, ‘is this the meed,
With which her soverain mercy thou doest quight?
Thy life she saved by her gratious deed,
But thou doest weene with villeinous despight 400
To blott her honour and her heavenly light.
Dye rather, dye, then so disloyally
Deeme of her high desert, or seeme so light:
Fayre death it is, to shonne more shame, to dy:
Dye rather, dy, then ever love disloyally. 405
XLVI
‘But if to love disloyalty it bee,
Shall I then hate her, that from deathes dore
Me brought? ah! farre be such reproch fro mee!
What can I lesse doe, then her love therefore,
Sith I her dew reward cannot restore? 410
Dye rather, dye, and dying doe her serve,
Dying her serve, and living her adore;
Thy life she gave, thy life she doth deserve:
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 60
