Yet nould she hearke, ne let him once respyre,
Till he to her delivered had his shield,
And to her mercie him submitted in plaine field.
XVII
So was he overcome, not overcome, 145
But to her yeelded of his owne accord;
Yet was he justly damned by the doome
Of his owne mouth, that spake so warelesse word,
To be her thrall, and service her afford.
For though that he first victorie obtayned 150
Yet after, by abandoning his sword,
He wilfull lost that he before attayned.
No fayrer conquest then that with goodwill is gayned.
XVIII
Tho with her sword on him she flatling strooke,
In signe of true subjection to her powre, 155
And as her vassall him to thraldome tooke.
But Terpine, borne to’ a more unhappy howre,
As he on whom the lucklesse starres did lowre,
She causd to be attacht, and forthwith led
Unto the crooke, t’ abide the balefull stowre 160
From which he lately had through reskew fled:
Where he full shamefully was hanged by the hed.
XIX
But when they thought on Talus hands to lay,
He with his yron flaile amongst them thondred,
That they were fayne to let him scape away, 165
Glad from his companie to be so sondred;
Whose presence all their troups so much encombred,
That th’ heapes of those which he did wound and slay,
Besides the rest dismayd, might not be nombred:
Yet all that while he would not once assay 170
To reskew his owne lord, but thought it just t’ obay.
XX
Then tooke the Amazon this noble knight,
Left to her will by his owne wilfull blame,
And caused him to be disarmed quight
Of all the ornaments of knightly name, 175
With which whylome he gotten had great fame:
In stead whereof she made him to be dight
In womans weedes, that is to manhood shame,
And put before his lap a napron white,
In stead of curiets and bases fit for fight. 180
XXI
So being clad, she brought him from the field,
In which he had bene trayned many a day,
Into along large chamber, which was sield
With moniments of many knights decay,
By her subdewed in victorious fray: 185
Amongst the which she causd his warlike armes
Be hang’d on high, that mote his shame bewray;
And broke his sword, for feare of further harmes,
With which he wont to stirre up battailous alarmes.
XXII
There entred in, he round about him saw 190
Many brave knights, whose names right well he knew,
There bound t’ obay that Amazons proud law,
Spinning and carding all in comely rew,
That his bigge hart loth’d so uncomely vew.
But they were forst, through penurie and pyne, 195
To doe those workes to them appointed dew:
For nought was given them to sup or dyne,
But what their hands could earne by twisting linnen twyne.
XXIII
Amongst them all she placed him most low,
And in his hand a distaffe to him gave, 200
That he thereon should spin both flax and tow;
A sordid office for a mind so brave:
So hard it is to be a womans slave.
Yet he it tooke in his owne selfes despight,
And thereto did himselfe right well behave, 205
Her to obay, sith he his faith had plight,
Her vassall to become, if she him wonne in fight.
XXIV
Who had him seene, imagine mote thereby
That whylome hath of Hercules bene told,
How for Iolas sake he did apply 210
His mightie hands the distaffe vile to hold,
For his huge club, which had subdew’d of old
So many monsters which the world annoyed;
His lyons skin chaungd to a pall of gold,
In which, forgetting warres, he onely joyed 215
In combats of sweet love, and with his mistresse toyed.
XXV
Such is the crueltie of women kynd,
When they have shaken off the shamefast band,
With which wise Nature did them strongly bynd,
T’ obay the heasts of mans well ruling hand, 220
That then all rule and reason they withstand,
To purchase a licentious libertie.
But vertuous women wisely understand,
That they were borne to base humilitie,
Unlesse the heavens them lift to lawfull soveraintie. 225
XXVI
Thus there long while continu’d Artegall,
Serving proud Radigund with true subjection;
How ever it his noble heart did gall
T’ obay a womans tyrannous direction,
That might have had of life or death election: 230
But having chosen, now he might not chaunge.
During which time, the warlike Amazon,
Whose wandring fancie after lust did raunge,
Gan cast a secret liking to this captive straunge.
XXVII
Which long concealing in her covert brest, 235
She chaw’d the cud of lovers carefull plight;
Yet could it not so thoroughly digest,
Being fast fixed in her wounded spright,
But it tormented her both day and night:
Yet would she not thereto yeeld free accord, 240
To serve the lowly vassall of her might,
And of her servant make her soverayne lord:
So great her pride, that she such basenesse much abhord.
XXVIII
So much the greater still her anguish grew,
Through stubborne handling of her love-sicke hart; 245
And still the more she strove it to subdew,
The more she still augmented her owne smart,
And wyder made the wound of th’ hidden dart.
At last, when long she struggled had in vaine,
She gan to stoupe, and her proud mind convert 250
To meeke obeysance of Loves mightie raine,
And him entreat for grace, that had procur’d her paine.
XXIX
Unto her selfe in secret she did call
Her nearest handmayd, whom she most did trust,
And to her said: ‘Clarinda, whom of all 255
I trust a live, sith I thee fostred first;
Now is the time that I untimely must
Thereof make tryall, in my greatest need:
It is so hapned that the heavens unjust,
Spighting my happie freedome, have agreed 260
To thrall my looser life, or my last bale to breed.’
XXX
With that she turn’d her head, as halfe abashed,
To hide the blush which in her visage rose,
And through her eyes like sudden lightning flashed,
Decking her cheeke with a vermilion rose: 265
But soone she did her countenance compose,
And to her turning, thus began againe:
‘This griefes deepe wound I would to thee disclose,
Thereto compelled through hart-murdring paine,
But dread of shame my doubtfull lips doth still restraine.’ 270
XXXI
‘Ah! my deare dread,’ said then the faithfull mayd,
‘Can dread of ought your dreadlesse hart withhold,
That many hath with dread of death dismayd,
And dare even deathes most dreadfull face behold?
Say on, my soverayne ladie, and be bold
: 275
Doth not your handmayds life at your foot lie?’
Therewith much comforted, she gan unfold
The cause of her conceived maladie,
As one that would confesse, yet faine would it denie.
XXXII
‘Clarin,’ sayd she, ‘thou seest yond Fayry knight, 280
Whom not my valour, but his owne brave mind
Subjected hath to my unequall might:
What right is it, that he should thraldome find,
For lending life to me, a wretch unkind,
That for such good him recompence with ill? 285
Therefore I cast how I may him unbind,
And by his freedome get his free goodwill;
Yet so, as bound to me he may continue still:
XXXIII
‘Bound unto me, but not with such hard bands
Of strong compulsion and streight violence, 290
As now in miserable state he stands;
But with sweet love and sure benevolence,
Voide of malitious mind or foule offence.
To which if thou canst win him any way,
Without discoverie of my thoughts pretence, 295
Both goodly meede of him it purchase may,
And eke with gratefull service me right well apay.
XXXIV
‘Which that thou mayst the better bring to pas,
Loe here this ring, which shall thy warrant bee,
And token true to old Eumenias, 300
From time to time, when thou it best shalt see,
That in and out thou mayst have passage free.
Goe now, Clarinda; well thy wits advise,
And all thy forces gather unto thee,
Armies of lovely lookes, and speeches wise, 305
With which thou canst even Jove himselfe to love entise.’
XXXV
The trustie mayd, conceiving her intent,
Did with sure promise of her good indevour
Give her great comfort and some harts content.
So from her parting, she thenceforth did labour 310
By all the meanes she might, to curry favour
With th’ Elfin knight, her ladies best beloved:
With daily shew of courteous kind behaviour,
Even at the markewhite of his hart she roved,
And with wide glauncing words, one day she thus him proved: 315
XXXVI
‘Unhappie knight, upon whose hopelesse state
Fortune, envying good, hath felly frowned,
And cruell heavens have heapt an heavy fate;
I rew that thus thy better dayes are drowned
In sad despaire, and all thy senses swowned 320
In stupid sorow, sith thy juster merit
Might else have with felicitie bene crowned:
Looke up at last, and wake thy dulled spirit,
To thinke how this long death thou mightest disinherit.’
XXXVII
Much did he marvell at her uncouth speach, 325
Whose hidden drift he could not well perceive;
And gan to doubt, least she him sought t’ appeach
Of treason, or some guilefull traine did weave,
Through which she might his wretched life bereave.
Both which to barre, he with this answere met her: 330
‘Faire damzell, that with ruth (as I perceave)
Of my mishaps, art mov’d to wish me better,
For such your kind regard I can but rest your detter.
XXXVIII
‘Yet weet ye well, that to a courage great
It is no lesse beseeming well, to beare 335
The storme of Fortunes frowne, or Heavens threat,
Then in the sunshine of her countenance cleare
Timely to joy and carrie comely cheare.
For though this cloud have now me overcast,
Yet doe I not of better times despeyre; 340
And, though unlike, they should for ever last,
Yet in my truthes assurance I rest fixed fast.’
XXXIX
‘But what so stonie mind,’ she then replyde,
‘But, if in his owne powre occasion lay,
Would to his hope a windowe open wyde, 345
And to his fortunes helpe make readie way?’
‘Unworthy sure,’ quoth he, ‘of better day,
That will not take the offer of good hope,
And eke pursew, if he attaine it may.’
Which speaches she applying to the scope 350
Of her intent, this further purpose to him shope:
XL
‘Then why doest not, thou ill advized man,
Make meanes to win thy libertie forlorne,
And try if thou by faire entreatie can
Move Radigund? who, though she still have worne 355
Her dayes in warre, yet (weet thou) was not borne
Of beares and tygres, nor so salvage mynded,
As that, albe all love of men she scorne,
She yet forgets that she of men was kynded:
And sooth oft seene, that proudest harts base love hath blynded.’ 360
XLI
‘Certes, Clarinda, not of cancred will,’
Sayd he, ‘nor obstinate disdainefull mind,
I have forbore this duetie to fulfill:
For well I may this weene, by that I fynd,
That she, a queene, and come of princely kynd, 365
Both worthie is for to be sewd unto,
Chiefely by him whose life her law doth bynd,
And eke of powre her owne doome to undo,
And als’ of princely grace to be inclyn’d thereto.
XLII
‘But want of meanes hath bene mine onely let 370
From seeking favour, where it doth abound;
Which if I might by your good office get,
I to your selfe should rest for ever bound,
And readie to deserve what grace I found.’
She feeling him thus bite upon the bayt, 375
Yet doubting least his hold was but unsound,
And not well fastened, would not strike him strayt,
But drew him on with hope, fit leasure to awayt.
XLIII
But foolish mayd! whyles, heedlesse of the hooke,
She thus oft times was beating off and on, 380
Through slipperie footing fell into the brooke,
And there was caught to her confusion.
For seeking thus to salve the Amazon,
She wounded was with her deceipts owne dart,
And gan thenceforth to cast affection, 385
Conceived close in her beguiled hart,
To Artegall, through pittie of his causelesse smart.
XLIV
Yet durst she not disclose her fancies wound,
Ne to himselfe, for doubt of being sdayned,
Ne yet to any other wight on ground, 390
For feare her mistresse shold have knowledge gayned,
But to her selfe it secretly retayned,
Within the closet of her covert brest:
The more thereby her tender hart was payned.
Yet to awayt fit time she weened best, 395
And fairely did dissemble her sad thoughts unrest.
XLV
One day her ladie, calling her apart,
Gan to demaund of her some tydings good,
Touching her loves successe, her lingring smart.
Therewith she gan at first to change her mood, 400
As one adaw’d, and halfe confused stood;
But quickly she it overpast, so soone
As she her face had wypt, to fresh her blood:
Tho gan she tell her all that she had donne,
And all the wayes she sought, his love for to have wonne: 405
XLVI
But sayd, that he was obstinate and sterne,
Scorning her offers and conditions vaine;
Ne would be taught with any t
ermes to lerne
So fond a lesson as to love againe.
Die rather would he in penurious paine, 410
And his abridged dayes in dolour wast,
Then his foes love or liking entertaine:
His resolution was, both first and last,
His bodie was her thrall, his hart was freely plast.
XLVII
Which when the cruell Amazon perceived, 415
She gan to storme, and rage, and rend her gall,
For very fell despight, which she conceived,
To be so scorned of a base borne thrall,
Whose life did lie in her least eye-lids fall;
Of which she vow’d with many a cursed threat, 420
That she therefore would him ere long forstall.
Nathlesse, when calmed was her furious heat,
She chang’d that threatfull mood, and mildly gan entreat:
XLVIII
‘What now is left, Clarinda? what remaines,
That we may compasse this our enterprize? 425
Great shame to lose so long employed paines,
And greater shame t’ abide so great misprize,
With which he dares our offers thus despize.
Yet that his guilt the greater may appeare,
And more my gratious mercie by this wize, 430
I will a while with his first folly beare,
Till thou have tride againe, and tempted him more neare.
XLIX
‘Say and do all that may thereto prevaile;
Leave nought unpromist that may him perswade,
Life, freedome, grace, and gifts of great availe, 435
With which the gods themselves are mylder made:
Thereto adde art, even womens witty trade,
The art of mightie words, that men can charme;
With which in case thou canst him not invade,
Let him feele hardnesse of thy heavie arme: 440
Who will not stoupe with good shall be made stoupe with harme.
L
‘Some of his diet doe from him withdraw;
For I him find to be too proudly fed:
Give him more labour, and with streighter law,
That he with worke may be forwearied: 445
Let him lodge hard, and lie in strawen bed,
That may pull downe the courage of his pride;
And lay upon him, for his greater dread,
Cold yron chaines, with which let him be tide;
And let what ever he desires be him denide. 450
LI
‘When thou hast all this doen, then bring me newes
Of his demeane: thenceforth not like a lover,
But like a rebell stout I will him use.
For I resolve this siege not to give over,
Till I the conquest of my will recover.’ 455
So she departed, full of griefe and sdaine,
Which inly did to great impatience move her.
But the false mayden shortly turn’d againe
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 95
