Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  And to salute him, if he were in plight, 120

  And eke that lady, his faire lovely lasse.

  There he him found much better then he was,

  And moved speach to him of things of course,

  The anguish of his paine to overpasse:

  Mongst which he namely did to him discourse 125

  Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse.

  XV

  Of which occasion Aldine taking hold,

  Gan breake to him the fortunes of his love,

  And all his disadventures to unfold;

  That Calidore it dearly deepe did move. 130

  In th’ end, his kyndly courtesie to prove,

  He him by all the bands of love besought,

  And as it mote a faithfull friend behove,

  To safeconduct his love, and not for ought

  To leave, till to her fathers house he had her brought. 135

  XVI

  Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight,

  It to performe: so after little stay,

  That she her selfe had to the journey dight,

  He passed forth with her in faire array,

  Fearelesse, who ought did thinke or ought did say, 140

  Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite.

  So as they past together on their way,

  He can devize this counter-cast of slight,

  To give faire colour to that ladies cause in sight.

  XVII

  Streight to the carkasse of that knight he went, 145

  The cause of all this evill, who was slaine

  The day before by just avengement

  Of noble Tristram, where it did remaine:

  There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,

  And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame. 150

  So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,

  Till to that ladies fathers house he came,

  Most pensive man, through feare, what of his childe became.

  XVIII

  There he arriving boldly, did present

  The fearefull lady to her father deare, 155

  Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent

  Of blame, as he did on his knighthood sweare,

  Since first he saw her, and did free from feare

  Of a discourteous knight, who her had reft,

  And by outragious force away did beare: 160

  Witnesse thereof he shew’d his head there left,

  And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft.

  XIX

  Most joyfull man her sire was, her to see,

  And heare th’ adventure of her late mischaunce;

  And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee 165

  Of his large paines in her deliveraunce

  Did yeeld; ne lesse the lady did advaunce.

  Thus having her restored trustily,

  As he had vow’d, some small continuaunce

  He there did make, and then most carefully 170

  Unto his first exploite he did him selfe apply.

  XX

  So as he was pursuing of his quest,

  He chaunst to come whereas a jolly knight

  In covert shade him selfe did safely rest,

  To solace with his lady in delight: 175

  His warlike armes he had from him undight;

  For that him selfe he thought from daunger free,

  And far from envious eyes that mote him spight.

  And eke the lady was full faire to see,

  And courteous withall, becomming her degree. 180

  XXI

  To whom Sir Calidore approaching nye,

  Ere they were well aware of living wight,

  Them much abasht, but more him selfe thereby,

  That he so rudely did uppon them light,

  And troubled had their quiet loves delight. 185

  Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,

  Him selfe thereof he labour’d to acquite,

  And pardon crav’d for his so rash default,

  That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default.

  XXII

  With which his gentle words and goodly wit 190

  He soone allayd that knights conceiv’d displeasure,

  That he besought him downe by him to sit,

  That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure;

  And of adventures, which had in his measure

  Of so long waies to him befallen late. 195

  So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure

  His long adventures gan to him relate,

  Which he endured had through daungerous debate.

  XXIII

  Of which whilest they discoursed both together,

  The faire Serena (so his lady hight) 200

  Allur’d with myldnesse of the gentle wether,

  And pleasaunce of the place, the which was dight

  With divers flowres distinct with rare delight,

  Wandred about the fields, as liking led

  Her wavering lust after her wandring sight, 205

  To make a garland to adorne her hed,

  Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred.

  XXIV

  All sodainely out of the forrest nere

  The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware,

  Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there, 210

  And in his wide great mouth away her bare,

  Crying aloud in vaine, to shew her sad misfare

  Unto the knights, and calling oft for ayde,

  Who with the horrour of her haplesse care

  Hastily starting up, like men dismayde, 215

  Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

  XXV

  The Beast, with their pursuit incited more,

  Into the wood was bearing her apace

  For to have spoyled her, when Calidore,

  Who was more light of foote and swift in chace, 220

  Him overtooke in middest of his race:

  And fiercely charging him with all his might,

  Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,

  And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight;

  For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight. 225

  XXVI

  Who nathelesse, when he the lady saw

  There left on ground, though in full evill plight,

  Yet knowing that her knight now neare did draw,

  Staide not to succour her in that affright,

  But follow’d fast the monster in his flight: 230

  Through woods and hils he follow’d him so fast,

  That he nould let him breath nor gather spright,

  But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast,

  As if his lungs and lites were nigh a sunder brast.

  XXVII

  And now by this, Sir Calepine (so hight) 235

  Came to the place, where he his lady found

  In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,

  All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,

  Having both sides through grypt with griesly wound.

  His weapons soone from him he threw away, 240

  And stouping downe to her in drery swound,

  Uprear’d her from the ground, whereon she lay,

  And in his tender armes her forced up to stay.

  XXVIII

  So well he did his busie paines apply,

  That the faint sprite he did revoke againe 245

  To her fraile mansion of mortality.

  Then up he tooke her twixt his armes twaine,

  And setting on his steede, her did sustaine

  With carefull hands, soft footing her beside,

  Till to some place of rest they mote attaine, 250

  Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,

  Till she recured were of those her woundes wide.

  XXIX

  Now when as Phœbus with his fiery waine

  Unto his inne began to draw apace,

&nbs
p; Tho, wexing weary of that toylesome paine, 255

  In travelling on foote so long a space,

  Not wont on foote with heavy armes to trace,

  Downe in a dale forby a rivers syde,

  He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,

  To which he meant his weary steps to guyde, 260

  In hope there for his love some succour to provyde.

  XXX

  But comming to the rivers side he found

  That hardly passable on foote it was:

  Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,

  Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas. 265

  Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,

  Devising what to doe, he nigh espyde

  An armed knight approaching to the place,

  With a faire lady lincked by his syde,

  The which themselves prepard thorough the foord to ride. 270

  XXXI

  Whom Calepine saluting (as became)

  Besought of courtesie, in that his neede,

  For safe conducting of his sickely dame

  Through that same perillous foord with better heede,

  To take him up behinde upon his steed: 275

  To whom that other did this taunt returne:

  ‘Perdy, thou peasant knight, mightst rightly reed

  Me then to be full base and evill borne,

  If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

  XXXII

  ‘But as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame, 280

  So fare on foote till thou another gayne,

  And let thy lady likewise doe the same,

  Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,

  And prove thy manhood on the billowes vayne.’

  With which rude speach his lady much displeased, 285

  Did him reprove, yet could him not restrayne,

  And would on her owne palfrey him have eased,

  For pitty of his dame, whom she saw so diseased.

  XXXIII

  Sir Calepine her thanckt, yet, inly wroth

  Against her knight, her gentlenesse refused, 290

  And carelesly into the river goth,

  As in despight to be so fowle abused

  Of a rude churle, whom often he accused

  Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for knight;

  And strongly wading through the waves unused, 295

  With speare in th’ one hand, stayd him selfe upright,

  With th’ other staide his lady up with steddy might.

  XXXIV

  And all the while, that same discourteous knight

  Stood on the further bancke beholding him,

  At whose calamity, for more despight, 300

  He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.

  But when as Calepine came to the brim,

  And saw his carriage past that perill well,

  Looking at that same carle with count’nance grim,

  His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell, 305

  And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell:

  XXXV

  ‘Unknightly knight, the blemish of that name,

  And blot of all that armes uppon them take,

  Which is the badge of honour and of fame,

  Loe! I defie thee, and here challenge make, 310

  That thou for ever doe those armes forsake,

  And be for ever held a recreant knight,

  Unlesse thou dare for thy deare ladies sake,

  And for thine owne defence, on foote alight,

  To justifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.’ 315

  XXXVI

  The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde,

  Seem’d not to weigh his threatfull words at all,

  But laught them out, as if his greater pryde

  Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall:

  Or had no courage, or else had no gall. 320

  So much the more was Calepine offended,

  That him to no revenge he forth could call,

  But both his challenge and him selfe contemned,

  Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

  XXXVII

  But he, nought weighing what he sayd or did, 325

  Turned his steede about another way,

  And with his lady to the castle rid,

  Where was his won; ne did the other stay,

  But after went directly as he may,

  For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke; 330

  Where he arriving with the fall of day,

  Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke,

  And myld entreaty, lodging did for her beseeke.

  XXXVIII

  But the rude porter, that no manners had,

  Did shut the gate against him in his face, 335

  And entraunce boldly unto him forbad.

  Nathelesse the knight, now in so needy case,

  Gan him entreat even with submission base,

  And humbly praid to let them in that night:

  Who to him aunswer’d, that there was no place 340

  Of lodging fit for any errant knight,

  Unlesse that with his lord he formerly did fight.

  XXXIX

  ‘Full loth am I,’ quoth he, ‘as now at earst,

  When day is spent, and rest us needeth most,

  And that this lady, both whose sides are pearst 345

  With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost:

  Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,

  That should to me such curtesie afford,

  Unlesse that I were thereunto enforst.

  But yet aread to me, how hight thy lord, 350

  That doth thus strongly ward the castle of the ford.’

  XL

  ‘His name,’ quoth he, ‘if that thou list to learne,

  Is hight Sir Turpine, one of mickle might

  And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne

  In all assaies to every errant knight, 355

  Because of one that wrought him fowle despight.’

  ‘Ill seemes,’ sayd he, ‘if he so valiaunt be,

  That he should be so sterne to stranger wight:

  For seldome yet did living creature see

  That curtesie and manhood ever disagree. 360

  XLI

  ‘But go thy waies to him, and fro me say,

  That here is at his gate an errant knight,

  That house-rome craves, yet would be loth t’ assay.

  The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night,

  Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite: 365

  Yet if he needes will fight, crave leave till morne,

  And tell with all the lamentable plight

  In which this lady languisheth forlorne,

  That pitty craves, as he of woman was yborne.’

  XLII

  The groome went streight way in, and to his lord 370

  Declar’d the message, which that knight did move;

  Who sitting with his lady then at bord,

  Not onely did not his demaund approve,

  But both himselfe revil’d, and eke his love;

  Albe his lady, that Blandina hight, 375

  Him of ungentle usage did reprove,

  And earnestly entreated that they might

  Finde favour to be lodged there for that same night.

  XLIII

  Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,

  Ne from his currish will a whit reclame. 380

  Which answer when the groome returning brought

  To Calepine, his heart did inly flame

  With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,

  That he could not thereof avenged bee:

  But most for pitty of his dearest dame, 385

  Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;

  Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee.

  XLIV

  But all in vaine; forwhy no remedy

  He saw, the present mischiefe to redre
sse,

  But th’ utmost end perforce for to aby, 390

  Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.

  So downe he tooke his lady in distresse,

  And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe,

  Cover’d with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse,

  Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe, 395

  And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

  XLV

  The morrow next, so soone as joyous day

  Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,

  Serena full of dolorous dismay,

  Twixt darkenesse dread and hope of living light, 400

  Uprear’d her head to see that chearefull sight.

  Then Calepine, how ever inly wroth,

  And greedy to avenge that vile despight,

  Yet for the feeble ladies sake, full loth

  To make there lenger stay, forth on his journey goth. 405

  XLVI

  He goth on foote all armed by her side,

  Upstaying still her selfe uppon her steede,

  Being unhable else alone to ride;

  So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:

  Till that at length, in his extreamest neede, 410

  He chaunst far off an armed knight to spy,

  Pursuing him apace with greedy speede,

  Whom well he wist to be some enemy,

  That meant to make advantage of his misery.

  XLVII

  Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew, 415

  To weet what issue would thereof betyde:

  Tho, whenas he approched nigh in vew,

  By certaine signes he plainely him descryde

  To be the man that with such scornefull pryde

  Had him abusde and shamed yesterday; 420

  Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde

  His former malice to some new assay,

  He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.

  XLVIII

  By this the other came in place likewise,

  And couching close his speare and all his powre, 425

  As bent to some malicious enterprise,

  He bad him stand, t’ abide the bitter stoure

  Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make avoure

  Of the lewd words and deedes which he had done:

  With that ran at him, as he would devoure 430

  His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun

  The perill of his pride, or else be overrun.

  XLIX

  Yet he him still pursew’d from place to place,

  With full intent him cruelly to kill,

  And like a wilde goate round about did chace, 435

  Flying the fury of his bloudy will.

  But his best succour and refuge was still

  Behinde his ladies backe, who to him cryde,

  And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,

  As ever he to lady was affyde, 440

  To spare her knight, and rest with reason pacifyde.