Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Unto the prison, where her hart did thrall remaine.

  LII

  There all her subtill nets she did unfold, 460

  And all the engins of her wit display;

  In which she meant him warelesse to enfold,

  And of his innocence to make her pray.

  So cunningly she wrought her crafts assay,

  That both her ladie, and her selfe withall, 465

  And eke the knight attonce she did betray:

  But most the knight, whom she with guilefull call

  Did cast for to allure, into her trap to fall.

  LIII

  As a bad nurse, which, fayning to receive

  In her owne mouth the food ment for her chyld, 470

  Withholdes it to her selfe, and doeth deceive

  The infant, so for want of nourture spoyld:

  Even so Clarinda her owne dame beguyld,

  And turn’d the trust which was in her affyde

  To feeding of her private fire, which boyld 475

  Her inward brest, and in her entrayles fryde,

  The more that she it sought to cover and to hyde.

  LIV

  For comming to this knight, she purpose fayned,

  How earnest suit she earst for him had made

  Unto her queene, his freedome to have gayned; 480

  But by no meanes could her thereto perswade:

  But that, in stead thereof, she sternely bade

  His miserie to be augmented more,

  And many yron bands on him to lade;

  All which nathlesse she for his love forbore: 485

  So praying him t’ accept her service evermore.

  LV

  And more then that, she promist that she would,

  In case she might finde favour in his eye,

  Devize how to enlarge him out of hould.

  The Fayrie, glad to gaine his libertie, 490

  Can yeeld great thankes for such her curtesie;

  And with faire words, fit for the time and place,

  To feede the humour of her maladie,

  Promist, if she would free him from that case,

  He wold, by all good means he might, deserve such grace. 495

  LVI

  So daily he faire semblant did her shew,

  Yet never meant he in his noble mind,

  To his owne absent love to be untrew:

  Ne ever did deceiptfull Clarin find

  In her false hart, his bondage to unbind; 500

  But rather how she mote him faster tye.

  Therefore unto her mistresse most unkind

  She daily told, her love he did defye,

  And him she told, her dame his freedome did denye.

  LVII

  Yet thus much friendship she to him did show, 505

  That his scarse diet somewhat was amended,

  And his worke lessened, that his love mote grow:

  Yet to her dame him still she discommended,

  That she with him mote be the more offended.

  Thus he long while in thraldome there remayned, 510

  Of both beloved well, but litle frended;

  Untill his owne true love his freedome gayned,

  Which in an other canto will be best contayned.

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto VI

  Talus brings newes to Britomart

  Of Artegals mishap:

  She goes to seeke him, Dolon meetes,

  Who seekes her to entrap.

  I

  SOME men, I wote, will deeme in Artegall

  Great weaknesse, and report of him much ill,

  For yeelding so himselfe a wretched thrall

  To th’ insolent commaund of womens will;

  That all his former praise doth fowly spill. 5

  But he the man, that say or doe so dare,

  Be well adviz’d that he stand stedfast still:

  For never yet was wight so well aware,

  But he at first or last was trapt in womens snare.

  II

  Yet in the streightnesse of that captive state, 10

  This gentle knight himselfe so well behaved,

  That notwithstanding all the subtill bait,

  With which those Amazons his love still craved,

  To his owne love his loialtie he saved:

  Whose character in th’ adamantine mould 15

  Of his true hart so firmely was engraved,

  That no new loves impression ever could

  Bereave it thence: such blot his honour blemish should.

  III

  Yet his owne love, the noble Britomart,

  Scarse so conceived in her jealous thought, 20

  What time sad tydings of his balefull smart

  In womans bondage Talus to her brought

  Brought in untimely houre, ere it was sought.

  For after that the utmost date, assynde

  For his returne, she waited had for nought, 25

  She gan to cast in her misdoubtfull mynde

  A thousand feares, that love-sicke fancies faine to fynde.

  IV

  Sometime she feared, least some hard mishap

  Had him misfalne in his adventurous quest;

  Sometime least his false foe did him entrap 30

  In traytrous traine, or had unwares opprest:

  But most she did her troubled mynd molest,

  And secretly afflict with jealous feare,

  Least some new love had him from her possest;

  Yet loth she was, since she no ill did heare, 35

  To thinke of him so ill: yet could she not forbeare.

  V

  One while she blam’d her selfe; another whyle

  She him condemn’d, as trustlesse and untrew:

  And then, her griefe with errour to beguyle,

  She fayn’d to count the time againe anew, 40

  As if before she had not counted trew.

  For houres but dayes; for weekes, that passed were,

  She told but moneths, to make them seeme more few:

  Yet when she reckned them, still drawing neare,

  Each hour did seeme a moneth, and every moneth a yeare. 45

  VI

  But when as yet she saw him not returne,

  She thought to send some one to seeke him out;

  But none she found so fit to serve that turne,

  As her owne selfe, to ease her selfe of dout.

  Now she deviz’d, amongst the warlike rout 50

  Of errant knights, to seeke her errant knight;

  And then againe resolv’d to hunt him out

  Amongst loose ladies, lapped in delight:

  And then both knights envide, and ladies eke did spight.

  VII

  One day, when as she long had sought for ease 55

  In every place, and every place thought best,

  Yet found no place that could her liking please,

  She to a window came, that opened west,

  Towards which coast her love his way addrest.

  There looking forth, shee in her heart did find 60

  Many vaine fancies, working her unrest;

  And sent her winged thoughts, more swift then wind,

  To beare unto her love the message of her mind.

  VIII

  There as she looked long, at last she spide

  One comming towards her with hasty speede: 65

  Well weend she then, ere him she plaine descride,

  That it was one sent from her love indeede.

  Who when he nigh approcht, shee mote arede

  That it was Talus, Artegall his groome;

  Whereat her heart was fild with hope and drede; 70

  Ne would she stay till he in place could come,

  But ran to meete him forth, to know his tidings somme.

  IX

  Even in the dore him meeting, she begun:

  ‘And where is he thy lord, and how far hen
ce?

  Declare at once; and hath he lost or wun?’ 75

  The yron man, albe he wanted sence

  And sorrowes feelings, yet with conscience

  Of his ill newes, did inly chill and quake,

  And stood still mute, as one in great suspence,

  As if that by his silence he would make 80

  Her rather reade his meaning, then him selfe it spake.

  X

  Till she againe thus sayd: ‘Talus, be bold,

  And tell what ever it be, good or bad,

  That from thy tongue thy hearts intent doth hold.’

  To whom he thus at length: ‘The tidings sad, 85

  That I would hide, will needs, I see, be rad.

  My lord, your love, by hard mishap doth lie

  In wretched bondage, wofully bestad.’

  ‘Ay me,’ quoth she, ‘what wicked destinie!

  And is he vanquisht by his tyrant enemy?’ 90

  XI

  ‘Not by that tyrant, his intended foe;

  But by a tyrannesse,’ he then replide,

  ‘That him captived hath in haplesse woe.’

  ‘Cease, thou bad newes-man; badly doest thou hide

  Thy maisters shame, in harlots bondage tide. 95

  The rest my selfe too readily can spell.’

  With that in rage she turn’d from him aside,

  Forcing in vaine the rest to her to tell,

  And to her chamber went like solitary cell.

  XII

  There she began to make her monefull plaint 100

  Against her knight, for being so untrew;

  And him to touch with falshoods fowle at-taint,

  That all his other honour overthrew.

  Oft did she blame her selfe, and often rew,

  For yeelding to a straungers love so light, 105

  Whose life and manners straunge she never knew;

  And evermore she did him sharpely twight

  For breach of faith to her, which he had firmely plight.

  XIII

  And then she in her wrathfull will did cast,

  How to revenge that blot of honour blent; 110

  To fight with him, and goodly die her last:

  And then againe she did her selfe torment,

  Inflicting on her selfe his punishment.

  A while she walkt, and chauft; a while she threw

  Her selfe uppon her bed, and did lament: 115

  Yet did she not lament with loude alew,

  As women wont, but with deepe sighes, and singulfs few.

  XIV

  Like as a wayward childe, whose sounder sleepe

  Is broken with some fearefull dreames affright,

  With froward will doth set him selfe to weepe; 120

  Ne can be stild for all his nurses might,

  But kicks, and squals, and shriekes for fell despight;

  Now scratching her, and her loose locks misusing;

  Now seeking darkenesse, and now seeking light;

  Then craving sucke, and then the sucke refusing: 125

  Such was this ladies, fit, in her loves fond accusing.

  XV

  But when she had with such unquiet fits

  Her selfe there close afflicted long in vaine,

  Yet found no easement in her troubled wits,

  She unto Talus forth return’d againe, 130

  By change of place seeking to ease her paine;

  And gan enquire of him, with mylder, mood,

  The certaine cause of Artegals detaine;

  And what he did, and in what state he stood,

  And whether he did woo, or whether he were woo’d. 135

  XVI

  ‘Ah wellaway!’ sayd then the yron man,

  ‘That he is not the while in state to woo;

  But lies in wretched thraldome, weake and wan,

  Not by strong hand compelled thereunto,

  But his owne doome, that none can now undoo.’ 140

  ‘Sayd I not then,’ quoth shee, ‘erwhile aright,

  That this is thinge compacte betwixt you two,

  Me to deceive of faith unto me plight,

  Since that he was not forst, nor overcome in fight?’

  XVII

  With that he gan at large to her dilate 145

  The whole discourse of his captivance sad,

  In sort as ye have heard the same of late.

  All which when she with hard enduraunce had

  Heard to the end, she was right sore bestad,

  With sodaine stounds of wrath and griefe attone: 150

  Ne would abide, till she had aunswere made,

  But streight her selfe did dight, and armor don;

  And mounting to her steede, bad Talus guide her on.

  XVIII

  So forth she rode uppon her ready way,

  To seeke her knight, as Talus her did guide: 155

  Sadly she rode, and never word did say,

  Nor good nor bad, ne ever lookt aside,

  But still right downe, and in her thought did hide

  The felnesse of her heart, right fully bent

  To fierce avengement of that womans pride, 160

  Which had her lord in her base prison pent,

  And so great honour with so fowle reproch had blent.

  XIX

  So as she thus melancholicke did ride,

  Chawing the cud of griefe and inward paine,

  She chaunst to meete toward the even-tide 165

  A knight, that softly paced on the plaine,

  As if him selfe to solace he were faine.

  Well shot in yeares he seem’d, and rather bent

  To peace, then needlesse trouble to constraine;

  As well by view of that his vestiment, 170

  As by his modest semblant, that no evill ment.

  XX

  He, comming neare, gan gently her salute

  With curteous words, in the most comely wize;

  Who though desirous rather to rest mute,

  Then termes to entertaine of common guize, 175

  Yet rather then she kindnesse would despize,

  She would her selfe displease, so him requite.

  Then gan the other further to devize

  Of things abrode, as next to hand did light,

  And many things demaund, to which she answer’d light. 180

  XXI

  For little lust had she to talke of ought,

  Or ought to heare, that mote delightfull bee;

  Her minde was whole possessed of one thought,

  That gave none other place. Which when as hee

  By outward signes (as well he might) did see, 185

  He list no lenger to use lothfull speach,

  But her besought to take it well in gree,

  Sith shady dampe had dimd the heavens reach,

  To lodge with him that night, unles good cause empeach.

  XXII

  The championesse, now seeing night at dore, 190

  Was glad to yeeld unto his good request:

  And with him went without gaine-saying more.

  Not farre away, but little wide by west,

  His dwelling was, to which he him addrest;

  Where soone arriving, they received were 195

  In seemely wise, as them beseemed best:

  For he their host them goodly well did cheare,

  And talk’t of pleasant things, the night away to weare.

  XXIII

  Thus passing th’ evening well, till time of rest,

  Then Britomart unto a bowre was brought; 200

  Where groomes awayted her to have undrest.

  But she ne would undressed be for ought,

  Ne doffe her armes, though he her much besought.

  For she had vow’d, she sayd, not to forgo

  Those warlike weedes, till she revenge had wrought 205

  Of a late wrong uppon a mortall foe;

  Which she would sure performe, betide her wele or wo.

  XXIV

&nbs
p; Which when their host perceiv’d, right discontent

  In minde he grew, for feare least by that art

  He should his purpose misse, which close he ment: 210

  Yet taking leave of her, he did depart.

  There all that night remained Britomart,

  Restlesse, recomfortlesse, with heart deepe grieved,

  Not suffering the least twinckling sleepe to start

  Into her eye, which th’ heart mote have relieved, 215

  But if the least appear’d, her eyes she streight reprieved.

  XXV

  ‘Ye guilty eyes,’ sayd she, ‘the which with guyle

  My heart at first betrayd, will ye betray

  My life now to, for which a little whyle

  Ye will not watch? False watches, well-away! 220

  I wote when ye did watch both night and day

  Unto your losse: and now needes will ye sleepe?

  Now ye have made my heart to wake alway,

  Now will ye sleepe? ah! wake, and rather weepe,

  To thinke of your nights want, that should yee waking keepe.’ 225

  XXVI

  Thus did she watch, and weare the weary night

  In waylfull plaints, that none was to appease;

  Now walking soft, now sitting still upright,

  As sundry chaunge her seemed best to ease.

  Ne lesse did Talus suffer sleepe to seaze 230

  His eye-lids sad, but watcht continually,

  Lying without her dore in great disease;

  Like to a spaniell wayting carefully,

  Least any should betray his lady treacherously.

  XXVII

  What time the native belman of the night, 235

  The bird that warned Peter of his fall,

  First rings his silver bell t’ each sleepy wight,

  That should their mindes up to devotion call,

  She heard a wondrous noise below the hall.

  All sodainely the bed, where she should lie, 240

  By a false trap was let adowne to fall

  Into a lower roome, and by and by

  The loft was raysd againe, that no man could it spie.

  XXVIII

  With sight whereof she was dismayd right sore,

  Perceiving well the treason which was ment: 245

  Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more,

  But kept her place with courage confident,

  Wayting what would ensue of that event.

  It was not long before she heard the sound

  Of armed men, comming with close intent 250

  Towards her chamber; at which dreadfull stound

  She quickly caught her sword, and shield about her bound.

  XXIX

  With that there came unto her chamber dore

  Two knights, all armed ready for to fight,

  And after them full many other more, 255

  A raskall rout, with weapons rudely dight.

  Whom soone as Talus spide by glims of night,