Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  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,