Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,
To you I will not feare it to relate.
Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne, 240
Sonne of a king, how ever thorough fate
Or fortune I my countrie have forlorne,
And lost the crowne which should my head by right adorne.
XXVIII
‘And Tristram is my name, the onely heire
Of good King Meliogras, which did rayne 245
In Cornewale, till that he through lives despeire
Untimely dyde, before I did attaine
Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine.
After whose death, his brother seeing mee
An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine, 250
Upon him tooke the roiall high degree,
And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.
XXIX
‘The widow queene, my mother, which then hight
Faire Emiline, conceiving then great feare
Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might 255
Of him that did the kingly scepter beare,
Whose gealous dread induring not a peare
Is wont to cut off all that doubt may breed,
Thought best away me to remove somewhere
Into some forrein land, where as no need 260
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humor feed.
XXX
‘So taking counsell of a wise man red,
She was by him adviz’d to send me quight
Out of the countrie wherein I was bred,
The which the fertile Lionesse is hight, 265
Into the land of Faerie, where no wight
Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong.
To whose wise read she hearkning, sent me streight
Into this land, where I have wond thus long,
Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to stature strong. 270
XXXI
‘All which my daies I have not lewdly spent,
Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares
In ydlesse, but, as was convenient,
Have trayned bene with many noble feres
In gentle thewes, and such like seemely leres. 275
Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been,
To hunt the salvage chace amongst my peres,
Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene;
Of which none is to me unknowne, that ev’r was seene.
XXXII
‘Ne is there hauke which mantleth her on pearch, 280
Whether high towring, or accoasting low,
But I the measure of her flight doe search,
And all her pray, and all her diet know.
Such be our joyes, which in these forrests grow:
Onely the use of armes, which most I joy, 285
And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,
I have not tasted yet, yet past a boy,
And being now high time these strong joynts to imploy.
XXXIII
‘Therefore, good sir, sith now occasion fit
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may, 290
Let me this crave, unworthy though of it,
That ye will make me squire without delay,
That from henceforth in batteilous array
I may beare armes, and learne to use them right;
The rather since that fortune hath this day 295
Given to me the spoile of this dead knight,
These goodly gilden armes, which I have won in fight.’
XXXIV
All which when well Sir Calidore had heard,
Him much more now then earst he gan admire,
For the rare hope which in his yeares appear’d, 300
And thus replide: ‘Faire chyld, the high desire
To love of armes, which in you doth aspire,
I may not certes without blame denie;
But rather wish that some more noble hire
(Though none more noble then is chevalrie) 305
I had, you to reward with greater dignitie.’
XXXV
There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare
Faith to his knight, and truth to ladies all,
And never to be recreant, for feare
Of perill, or of ought that might befall: 310
So he him dubbed, and his squire did call.
Full glad and joyous then young Tristram grew,
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaves small,
Long shut up in the bud from heavens vew,
At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew. 315
XXXVI
Thus when they long had treated to and fro,
And Calidore betooke him to depart,
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him might goe
On his adventure, vowing not to start,
But wayt on him in every place and part. 320
Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,
And greatly joy’d at his so noble hart,
In hope he sure would prove a doughtie knight:
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight:
XXXVII
‘Glad would I surely be, thou courteous squire, 325
To have thy presence in my present quest,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:
But I am bound by vow, which I profest
To my dread Soveraine, when I it assayd, 330
That in atchievement of her high behest
I should no creature joyne unto mine ayde;
Forthy I may not graunt that ye so greatly prayde.
XXXVIII
‘But since this ladie is all desolate,
And needeth safegard now upon her way, 335
Ye may doe well in this her needfull state
To succour her from daunger of dismay;
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.’
The noble ympe, of such new service fayne,
It gladly did accept, as he did say. 340
So taking courteous leave, they parted twayne,
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.
XXXIX
But Tristram, then despoyling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight 345
Of the bright mettall, shyning like sunne rayes;
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes.
And after having them upon him dight,
He tooke that ladie, and her up did rayse
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight, 350
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.
XL
There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore;
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile,
Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore 355
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore
Another knight in his despiteous pryde;
There he that knight found lying on the flore,
With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill dyde. 360
XLI
And there beside him sate upon the ground
His wofull ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most unluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning. 365
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew
With heavie eyne, from teares uneath refrayning,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.
XLII
Then speaking to the ladie, thus he sayd: 370
‘Ye dolefull dame, let not your griefe empeach
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight unarm’d, with so unknightly breach
Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may avenge him of so foule despight.’ 375
The ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heavie words forth sight:
XLIII
In which she shew’d, how that discourteous knight
(Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found, 380
Joying together in unblam’d delight,
And him unarm’d, as now he lay on ground,
Charg’d with his speare and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
From him, to whom she was for ever bound: 385
Yet when she fled into that covert greave,
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leave.
XLIV
When Calidore this ruefull storie had
Well understood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yelad, 390
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
She then, like as she best could understand,
Him thus describ’d, to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe 395
A ladie on rough waves row’d in a sommer barge.
XLV
Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streight way,
By many signes which she described had,
That this was he whom Tristram earst did slay,
And to her said: ‘Dame, be no longer sad: 400
For he that hath your knight so ill bestad
Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight;
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to your selfe he wrought, and to your loved knight. 405
XLVI
‘Therefore, faire lady, lay aside this griefe,
Which ye have gathered to your gentle hart,
For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
Were best devise for this your lovers smart,
And how ye may him hence, and to what part, 410
Convay to be recur’d.’ She thankt him deare,
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did beare
Both to her love and to her selfe in that sad dreare.
XLVII
Yet could she not devise by any wit, 415
How thence she might convay him to some place.
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case;
And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.
Which when as he perceiv’d, he thus bespake: 420
‘Faire lady, let it not you seeme disgrace,
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.’
XLVIII
So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare; 425
And powring balme, which he had long purvayd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.
Thence they him carried to a castle neare, 430
In which a worthy auncient knight did wonne:
Where what ensu’d shall in next canto be begonne.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto III
Calidore brings Priscilla home;
Pursues the Blatant Beast;
Saves Serena, whilest Calepine
By Turpine is opprest.
I
TRUE is, that whilome that good poet sayd,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd
As by his manners, in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne. 5
For seldome seene, a trotting stalion get
An ambling colt, that is his proper owne:
So seldome seene, that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew, with curteous manners met.
II
But evermore contrary hath bene tryde, 10
That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;
As well may be in Calidore descryde,
By late ensample of that courteous deed
Done to that wounded knight in his great need,
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought 15
Unto the castle where they had decreed.
There of the knight, the which that castle ought,
To make abode that night he greatly was besought.
III
He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,
That in his youth had beene of mickle might, 20
And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares:
But now weake age had dimd his candle light.
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,
And loved all that did to armes incline;
And was the father of that wounded knight, 25
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine;
And Aldus was his name, and his sonnes Aladine.
IV
Who, when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beare
By a faire lady and a straunger knight, 30
Was inly touched with compassion deare,
And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,
That he these words burst forth: ‘Ah, sory boy!
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aie me! is this the timely joy, 35
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?
V
‘Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope;
So tickle is the state of earthly things,
That ere they come unto their aymed scope,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings, 40
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,
In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:
This is the state of keasars and of kings.
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case.’ 45
VI
So well and wisely did that good old knight
Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,
To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night,
And make their welcome to them well appeare:
That to Sir Calidore was easie geare; 50
But that faire lady would be cheard for nought,
But sigh’d and sorrow’d for her lover deare,
And inly did afflict her pensive thought,
With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.
VII
For she was daughter to a noble lord, 55
Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy
To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to his love apply,
But lov’d this fresh young knight, who dwelt her ny,
The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne 60
And of lesse livelood and hability,
Yet full of valour, the which did adorne
His meanesse much, and make her th’ others riches scorne.
VIII
So having both found fit occasion,
They met together in that luckelesse glade; 65
Where that proud knight in his presumption
The gentle Aladine did earst invade,
Being unarm’d and set in secret shade.
Whereof she now beth
inking, gan t’ advize,
How great a hazard she at earst had made 70
Of her good fame, and further gan devize,
How she the blame might salve with coloured disguize.
IX
But Calidore with all good courtesie
Fain’d her to frolicke, and to put away
The pensive fit of her melancholie; 75
And that old knight by all meanes did assay
To make them both as merry as he may.
So they the evening past, till time of rest,
When Calidore in seemly good array
Unto his bowre was brought, and, there undrest, 80
Did sleepe all night through weary travell of his quest.
X
But faire Priscilla (so that lady hight)
Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
But by her wounded love did watch all night,
And all the night for bitter anguish weepe, 85
And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe.
So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him,
That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe
He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,
And drove away the stound which mortally attacht him. 90
XI
The morrow next, when day gan to uplooke,
He also gan uplooke with drery eye,
Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:
Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by,
He deepely sigh’d, and groaned inwardly, 95
To thinke of this ill state in which she stood,
To which she for his sake had weetingly
Now brought her selfe, and blam’d her noble blood:
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.
XII
Which she perceiving, did with plenteous teares 100
His care more then her owne compassionate,
Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares:
So both conspiring, gan to intimate
Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast, 105
How to save hole her hazarded estate;
For which the onely helpe now left them last
Seem’d to be Calidore: all other helpes were past.
XIII
Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed,
A courteous knight, and full of faithfull trust: 110
Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed
Whole to commit, and to his dealing just.
Earely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust
Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay
All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust, 115
Calidore, rising up as fresh as day,
Gan freshly him addresse unto his former way.
XIV
But first him seemed fit, that wounded knight
To visite, after this nights perillous passe,
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 108
