To doe to so divine a beauties excellence.
XXII
And he himselfe long gazing thereupon, 190
At last fell humbly downe upon his knee,
And of his wonder made religion,
Weening some heavenly goddesse he did see,
Or else unweeting what it else might bee;
And pardon her besought his errour frayle, 195
That had done outrage in so high degree:
Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,
And made ech member quake, and manly hart to quayle.
XXIII
Nathelesse she, full of wrath for that late stroke,
All that long while upheld her wrathfull hand, 200
With fell intent on him to bene ywroke:
And looking sterne, still over him did stand,
Threatning to strike, unlesse he would withstand:
And bad him rise, or surely he should die.
But, die or live, for nought he would upstand, 205
But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,
Or wreake on him her will for so great injurie.
XXIV
Which when as Scudamour, who now abrayd,
Beheld, where as he stood not farre aside,
He was therewith right wondrously dismayd, 210
And drawing nigh, when as he plaine descride
That peerelesse paterne of Dame Natures pride,
And heavenly image of perfection,
He blest himselfe, as one sore terrifide,
And turning feare to faint devotion, 215
Did worship her as some celestiall vision.
XXV
But Glauce, seeing all that chaunced there,
Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,
Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,
And her salewd with seemly belaccoyle, 220
Joyous to see her safe after long toyle:
Then her besought, as she to her was deare,
To graunt unto those warriours truce a whyle;
Which yeelded, they their bevers up did reare,
And shew’d themselves to her, such as indeed they were. 225
XXVI
When Britomart with sharpe avizefull eye
Beheld the lovely face of Artegall,
Tempred with sternesse and stout majestie,
She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call,
To be the same which in her fathers hall 230
Long since in that enchaunted glasse she saw.
Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,
And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw,
That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft withdraw.
XXVII
Yet she it forst to have againe upheld, 235
As fayning choler, which was turn’d to cold:
But ever when his visage she beheld,
Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:
But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd, 240
She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold;
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,
But brought forth speeches myld, when she would have missayd.
XXVIII
But Scudamour now woxen inly glad,
That all his gealous feare he false had found, 245
And how that hag his love abused had
With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound,
The which long time his grieved hart did wound,
Him thus bespake: ‘Certes, Sir Artegall,
I joy to see you lout so low on ground, 250
And now become to live a ladies thrall,
That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all.’
XXIX
Soone as she heard the name of Artegall,
Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings tremble,
For sudden joy, and secret feare withall, 255
And all her vitall powres, with motion nimble,
To succour it, themselves gan there assemble,
That by the swift recourse of flushing blood
Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble,
And fayned still her former angry mood, 260
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.
XXX
When Glauce thus gan wisely all upknit:
‘Ye gentle knights, whom fortune here hath brought,
To be spectators of this uncouth fit,
Which secret fate hath in this ladie wrought, 265
Against the course of kind, ne mervaile nought,
Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hether-too
Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought,
Fearing least she your loves away should woo,
Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants theretoo. 270
XXXI
‘And you, Sir Artegall, the Salvage Knight,
Henceforth may not disdaine that womans hand
Hath conquered you anew in second fight:
For whylome they have conquerd sea and land,
And heaven it selfe, that nought may them withstand: 275
Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love,
That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band
Of noble minds derived from above,
Which being knit with vertue, never will remove.
XXXII
‘And you, faire ladie knight, my dearest dame, 280
Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will,
Whose fire were better turn’d to other flame;
And wiping out remembrance of all ill,
Graunt him your grace, but so that he fulfill
The penance which ye shall to him empart: 285
For lovers heaven must passe by sorrowes hell.’
Thereat full inly blushed Britomart;
But Artegall, close smyling, joy’d in secret hart.
XXXIII
Yet durst he not make love so suddenly,
Ne thinke th’ affection of her hart to draw 290
From one to other so quite contrary:
Besides her modest countenance he saw
So goodly grave, and full of princely aw,
That it his ranging fancie did refraine,
And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw; 295
Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine,
Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would restraine.
XXXIV
But Scudamour, whose hart twixt doubtfull feare
And feeble hope hung all this while suspence,
Desiring of his Amoret to heare 300
Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence,
Her thus bespake: ‘But, sir, without offence
Mote I request you tydings of my love,
My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence,
Where she, captived long, great woes did prove; 305
That where ye left, I may her seeke, as doth behove.’
XXXV
To whom thus Britomart: ‘Certes, sir knight,
What is of her become, or whether reft,
I can not unto you aread a right.
For from that time I from enchaunters theft 310
Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left,
I her preserv’d from perill and from feare,
And evermore from villenie her kept:
Ne ever was there wight to me more deare
Then she, ne unto whom I more true love did beare. 315
XXXVI
‘Till on a day, as through a desert wyld
We travelled, both wearie of the way,
We did alight, and sate in shadow myld;
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay.
But when as I did out of sleepe abray, 320
I found her not where I her left whyleare,
But thought she wandred was, or gone astray.
I ca
l’d her loud, I sought her farre and neare;
But no where could her find, nor tydings of her heare.’
XXXVII
When Scudamour those heavie tydings heard, 325
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare;
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard,
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare
That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare;
Till Glauce thus: ‘Faire sir, be nought dismayd 330
With needelesse dread, till certaintie ye heare:
For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd;
Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd.’
XXXVIII
Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight 335
Shew’d change of better cheare, so sore a breach
That sudden newes had made into his spright;
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight:
‘Great cause of sorrow certes, sir, ye have:
But comfort take: for by this heavens light 340
I vow, you dead or living not to leave,
Till I her find, and wreake on him that did her reave.’
XXXIX
Therewith he rested, and well pleased was.
So peace being confirm’d amongst them all,
They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas 345
Unto some resting place, which mote befall,
All being guided by Sir Artegall:
Where goodly solace was unto them made,
And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,
Untill that they their wounds well healed had, 350
And wearie limmes recur’d after late usage bad.
XL
In all which time, Sir Artegall made way
Unto the love of noble Britomart,
And with meeke service and much suit did lay
Continuall siege unto her gentle hart: 355
Which being whylome launcht with lovely dart,
More eath was new impression to receive,
How ever she her paynd with womanish art
To hide her wound, that none might it perceive:
Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceive. 360
XLI
So well he woo’d her, and so well he wrought her,
With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,
So as she to his speeches was content
To lend an eare, and softly to relent. 365
At last, through many vowes which forth he pour’d,
And many othes, she yeelded her consent
To be his love, and take him for her lord,
Till they with mariage meet might finish that accord.
XLII
Tho, when they had long time there taken rest, 370
Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,
Fit time for him thence to depart it found,
To follow that which he did long propound;
And unto her his congee came to take. 375
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,
And loth to leave her late betrothed make,
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to forsake.
XLIII
Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged,
And wonne her will to suffer him depart; 380
For which his faith with her he fast engaged,
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart,
That all so soone as he by wit or art
Could that atchieve, whereto he did aspire,
He unto her would speedily revert: 385
No longer space thereto he did desire,
But till the horned moone three courses did expire.
XLIV
With which she for the present was appeased,
And yeelded leave, how ever malcontent
She inly were, and in her mind displeased. 390
So, early in the morrow next, he went
Forth on his way, to which he was ybent;
Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
As whylome was the custome ancient
Mongst knights, when on adventures they did ride, 395
Save that she algates him a while accompanide.
XLV
And by the way she sundry purpose found
Of this or that, the time for to delay,
And of the perils whereto he was bound,
The feare whereof seem’d much her to affray: 400
But all she did was but to weare out day.
Full oftentimes she leave of him did take;
And eft againe deviz’d some what to say,
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make:
So loth she was his companie for to forsake. 405
XLVI
At last, when all her speeches she had spent,
And new occasion fayld her more to find,
She left him to his fortunes government,
And backe returned with right heavie mind
To Scudamour, who she had left behind: 410
With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret,
Her second care, though in another kind:
For vertues onely sake, which doth beget
True love and faithfull friendship, she by her did set.
XLVII
Backe to that desert forrest they retyred, 415
Where sorie Britomart had lost her late;
There they her sought, and every where inquired,
Where they might tydings get of her estate;
Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate
Or hard misfortune she was thence convayd, 420
And stolne away from her beloved mate,
Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay
Untill another tyde, that I it finish may.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto VII
Amoret rapt by greedie Lust
Belphebe saves from dread:
The squire her loves, and being blam’d,
His dayes in dole doth lead.
I
GREAT God of Love, that with thy cruell darts
Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground,
And setst thy kingdome in the captive harts
Of kings and keasars, to thy service bound,
What glorie or what guerdon hast thou found 5
In feeble ladies tyranning so sore,
And adding anguish to the bitter wound,
With which their lives thou lanchedst long afore,
By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more?
II
So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell; 10
And so and so to noble Britomart:
So doest thou now to her of whom I tell,
The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart
Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
In salvage forrests and in deserts wide, 15
With beares and tygers taking heavie part,
Withouten comfort, and withouten guide,
That pittie is to heare the perils which she tride.
III
So soone as she with that brave Britonesse
Had left that turneyment for beauties prise, 20
They travel’d long; that now for wearinesse,
Both of the way and warlike exercise,
Both through a forest ryding did devise
T’ alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile.
There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise 25
Of Britomart, after long tedious toyle,
That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.
IV
The whiles faire Amoret, of nought affeard,
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or for need;
When suddenly behind her backe she heard 30
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,
That ere she backe could turne to taken heed,
Had unawares her snatched up from ground.
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed,
That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound, 35
There where through weary travel she lay sleeping sound.
V
It was to weet a wilde and salvage man,
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,
And eke in stature higher by a span,
All overgrowne with haire, that could awhape 40
An hardy hart, and his wide mouth did gape
With huge great teeth, like to a tusked bore:
For he liv’d all on ravin and on rape
Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,
The signe whereof yet stain’d his bloudy lips afore. 45
VI
His neather lip was not like man nor beast,
But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low,
In which he wont the relickes of his feast
And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow:
And over it his huge great nose did grow, 50
Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;
And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow,
And raught downe to his waste, when up he stood,
More great then th’ eares of elephants by Indus flood.
VII
His wast was with a wreath of yvie greene 55
Engirt about, ne other garment wore:
For all his haire was like a garment seene;
And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,
Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,
And beath’d in fire for steele to be in sted. 60
But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red:
But certes was with milke of wolves and tygres fed.
VIII
This ugly creature in his armes her snatcht,
And through the forrest bore her quite away, 65
With briers and bushes all to-rent and scratcht;
Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray,
Which many a knight had sought so many a day.
He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing
Ran, till he came to th’ end of all his way, 70
Unto his cave, farre from all peoples hearing,
And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought fearing.
IX
For she, deare ladie, all the way was dead,
Whilest he in armes her bore; but when she felt
Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread 75
Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt,
And eft gan into tender teares to melt.
Then when she lookt about, and nothing found
But darknesse and dread horrour, where she dwelt,
She almost fell againe into a swound, 80
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 80
