His helme, to make unto his vengeance way.
Who, seeing in what daunger he was plast,
Cryde out: ‘Ah mercie, sir! doe me not slay,
But save my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.’
XL
With that his mortall hand a while he stayd, 415
And having somewhat calm’d his wrathfull heat
With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd:
‘And is the boast of that proud ladies threat,
That menaced me from the field to beat,
Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne, 420
Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,
But put away proud looke, and usage sterne,
The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne.
XLI
‘For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,
That court’sie doth as well as armes professe, 425
How ever strong and fortunate in fight,
Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.
In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,
Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:
All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse, 430
Subject to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;
What haps to day to me to morrow may to you.
XLII
‘Who will not mercie unto others shew,
How can he mercy ever hope to have?
To pay each with his owne is right and dew. 435
Yet since ye mercie now doe need to crave,
I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to save;
With these conditions, which I will propound:
First, that ye better shall your selfe behave
Unto all errant knights, whereso on ground; 440
Next, that ye ladies ayde in every stead and stound.’
XLIII
The wretched man, that all this while did dwell
In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,
And promist to performe his precept well,
And whatsoever else he would requere. 445
So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare
By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,
To take Briana for his loving fere,
Withouten dowre or composition;
But to release his former foule condition. 450
XLIV
All which accepting, and with faithfull oth
Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,
He up arose, how ever liefe or loth,
And swore to him true fealtie for aye.
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay 455
The sad Briana, which all this beheld:
Who comming forth yet full of late affray,
Sir Calidore upcheard, and to her teld
All this accord, to which he Crudor had compeld.
XLV
Whereof she now more glad then sory earst, 460
All overcome with infinite affect
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
Before his feet her selfe she did project,
And him adoring as her lives deare lord, 465
With all due thankes and dutifull respect,
Her selfe acknowledg’d bound for that accord,
By which he had to her both life and love restord.
XLVI
So all returning to the castle glad,
Most joyfully she them did entertaine, 470
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,
By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:
And after all, unto Sir Calidore
She freely gave that castle for his paine, 475
And her selfe bound to him for evermore;
So wondrously now chaung’d from that she was afore.
XLVII
But Calidore himselfe would not retaine
Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,
But gave them streight unto that squire againe, 480
Whom from her seneschall he lately freed,
And to his damzell, as their rightfull meed,
For recompence of all their former wrong:
There he remaind with them right well agreed,
Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong, 485
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto II
Calidore sees young Tristram slay
A proud, discourteous knight:
He makes him squire, and of him learnes
His state and present plight.
I
WHAT vertue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a ladie whom a knight should love,
As curtesie, to beare themselves aright
To all of each degree, as doth behove?
For whether they be placed high above, 5
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know
Their good, that none them rightly may reprove
Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.
II
Thereto great helpe Dame Nature selfe doth lend: 10
For some so goodly gratious are by kind,
That every action doth them much commend,
And in the eyes of men great liking find;
Which others, that have greater skill in mind,
Though they enforce themselves, cannot attaine. 15
For everie thing, to which one is inclin’d,
Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:
Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes, enforst with paine.
III
That well in courteous Calidore appeares,
Whose every deed and word that he did say 20
Was like enchantment, that through both the eares
And both the eyes did steale the hart away.
He now againe is on his former way,
To follow his first quest, when as he spyde
A tall young man from thence not farre away, 25
Fighting on foot, as well he him deseryde,
Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.
IV
And them beside, a ladie faire he saw,
Standing alone on foot, in foule array:
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw, 30
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may.
But ere he came in place, that youth had kild
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
Which when he saw, his hart was inly child 35
With great amazement, and his thought with wonder fild.
V
Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender slip, that searse did see
Yet seventeene yeares, but tall and faire of face, 40
That sure he deem’d him borne of noble race.
All in a woodmans jacket he was clad
Of Lincolne greene, belayd with silver lace;
And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had. 45
VI
Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part,
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart; 50
And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,
With which he wont to launch the salvage hart
Of many a lyon and of many a beare,
That first unto his hand in chase did happen neare.
VII
Whom Calid
ore a while well having vewed, 55
At length bespake: ‘What meanes this, gentle swaine?
Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,
By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?’
‘Certes,’ said he, ‘loth were I to have broken 60
The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,
Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.
VIII
‘For not I him, as this his ladie here
May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong, 65
Ne surely thus unarm’d I likely were;
But he me first, through pride and puissance strong
Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.’
‘Perdie, great blame,’ then said Sir Calidore,
‘For armed knight a wight unarm’d to wrong. 70
But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne uprore.’
IX
‘That shall I sooth,’ said he, ‘to you declare.
I whose unryper yeares are yet unfit
For thing of weight, or worke of greater care, 75
Doe spend my dayes and bend my carelesse wit
To salvage chace, where I thereon may hit
In all this forrest and wyld wooddie raine:
Where, as this day I was enraunging it,
I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine, 80
Together with this ladie, passing on the plaine.
X
‘The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,
And this his ladie, (that him ill became,)
On her faire feet by his horse side did pas
Through thicke and thin, unfit for any dame. 85
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,
He with his speare, that was to him great blame,
Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe. 90
XI
‘Which when I saw, as they me passed by,
Much was I moved in indignant mind,
And gan to blame him for such cruelty
Towards a ladie, whom with usage kind
He rather should have taken up behind. 95
Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,
Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find,
And me in lieu thereof revil’d againe,
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t’ a chyld pertaine.
XII
‘Which I no lesse disdayning, backe returned 100
His scornefull taunts unto his teeth againe,
That he streight way with haughtie choler burned,
And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine;
Which I enforst to beare, though to my paine,
Cast to requite, and with a slender dart, 105
Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,
Strooke him, as seemeth, underneath the hart,
That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.’
XIII
Much did Sir Calidore admyre his speach
Tempred so well, but more admyr’d the stroke 110
That through the mayles had made so strong a breach
Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke
His wrath on him that first occasion broke.
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
Of that same ladie, whether what he spoke 115
Were soothly so, and that th’ unrighteous ire
Of her owne knight had given him his owne due hire.
XIV
Of all which when as she could nought deny,
But cleard that stripling of th’ imputed blame,
Sayd then Sir Calidore: ‘Neither will I 120
Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:
For what he spake, for you he spake it, dame;
And what he did, he did him selfe to save:
Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.
For knights and all men this by nature have, 125
Towards all womenkind them kindly to behave.
XV
‘But sith that he is gone irrevocable,
Please it you, ladie, to us to aread,
What cause could make him so dishonourable,
To drive you so on foot, unfit to tread 130
And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead?’
‘Certes, sir knight,’ sayd she, ‘full loth I were
To rayse a lyving blame against the dead:
But since it me concernes, my selfe to clere,
I will the truth discover, as it chaunst whylere. 135
XVI
‘This day, as he and I together roade
Upon our way, to which we weren bent,
We chaunst to come foreby a covert glade
Within a wood, whereas a ladie gent
Sate with a knight in joyous jolliment 140
Of their franke loves, free from all gealous spyes:
Faire was the ladie sure, that mote content
An hart not carried with too curious eyes,
And unto him did shew all lovely courtesyes.
XVII
‘Whom when my knight did see so lovely faire, 145
He inly gan her lover to envy,
And wish that he part of his spoyle might share.
Whereto when as my presence he did spy
To be a let, he bad me by and by
For to alight: but when as I was loth 150
My loves owne part to leave so suddenly,
He with strong hand down from his steed me throw’th,
And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight go’th.
XVIII
‘Unarm’d all was the knight, as then more meete
For ladies service and for loves delight, 155
Then fearing any foeman there to meete:
Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight
Himselfe to yeeld his love, or else to fight.
Whereat the other starting up dismayd,
Yet boldly answer’d, as he rightly might, 160
To leave his love he should be ill apayd,
In which he had good right gaynst all that it gainesayd.
XIX
‘Yet since he was not presently in plight
Her to defend, or his to justifie,
He him requested, as he was a knight, 165
To lend him day his better right to trie,
Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,
Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot,
Ne time would give, nor any termes aby,
But at him flew, and with his speare him smot; 170
From which to thinke to save himselfe it booted not.
XX
‘Meane while his ladie, which this outrage saw,
Whilest they together for the quarrey strove,
Into the covert did her selfe withdraw,
And closely hid her selfe within the grove. 175
My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger drove
And left sore wounded: but when her he mist,
He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan rove
And range through all the wood, where so he wist
She hidden was, and sought her so long as him list. 180
XXI
‘But when as her he by no meanes could find,
After long search and chauff, he turned backe
Unto the place where me he left behind:
There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke
Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke 185
To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong.
Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe,
S
trove to appease him, and perswaded long:
But still his passion grew more violent and strong.
XXII
‘Then as it were t’ avenge his wrath on mee, 190
When forward we should fare, he flat refused
To take me up (as this young man did see)
Upon his steed, for no just cause accused,
But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,
Pounching me with the butt end of his speare, 195
In vaine complayning to be so abused;
For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,
But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare.
XXIII
‘So passed we, till this young man us met,
And being moov’d with pittie of my plight, 200
Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret:
Whereof befell what now is in your sight.’
‘Now sure,’ then said Sir Calidore, ‘and right
Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:
Who ever thinkes through confidence of might, 205
Or through support of count’nance proud and hault,
To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault.’
XXIV
Then turning backe unto that gentle boy,
Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;
Seeing his face so lovely sterne and coy, 210
And hearing th’ answeres of his pregnant wit,
He praysd it much, and much admyred it;
That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,
With whom those graces did so goodly fit:
And when he long had him beholding stood, 215
He burst into these words, as to him seemed good:
XXV
‘Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,
That in these woods amongst the nymphs dost wonne,
Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,
As they are wont unto Latonaes sonne, 220
After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne:
Well may I certes such an one thee read,
As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,
Or surely borne of some heroicke sead,
That in thy face appeares and gratious goodlyhead. 225
XXVI
‘But should it not displease thee it to tell,
(Unlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale
For love amongst the woodie gods to dwell,)
I would thy selfe require thee to reveale,
For deare affection and unfayned zeale, 230
Which to thy noble personage I beare,
And wish thee grow in worship and great weale.
For since the day that armes I first did reare,
I never saw in any greater hope appeare.’
XXVII
To whom then thus the noble youth: ‘May be, 235
Sir knight, that, by discovering my estate,
Harme may arise unweeting unto me;
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