Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
Or else remained in most wretched state, 255
Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
Kept and delivered me from deadly dread.
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kynd,
Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd 260
So milde humanity and perfect gentle mynd.
XXX
‘Let me therefore this favour for him finde,
That ye will not your wrath upon him wreake,
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens speake: 265
Small praise to prove your powre on wight so weake.’
With such faire words she did their heate asswage,
And the strong course of their displeasure breake,
That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page. 270
XXXI
So having all things well about her dight,
She on her way cast forward to proceede,
And they her forth conducted, where they might
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede.
For now her wounds corruption gan to breed; 275
And eke this squire, who like wise wounded was
Of that same monster late, for lacke of heed,
Now gan to faint, and further could not pas
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has.
XXXII
So forth they rode together all in troupe, 280
To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease
To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe:
And all the way the Prince sought to appease
The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease,
By all the courteous meanes he could invent; 285
Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,
And otherwhile with good encouragement,
To make them to endure the pains did them torment.
XXXIII
Mongst which, Serena did to him relate
The foule discourt’sies and unknightly parts, 290
Which Turpine had unto her shewed late,
Without compassion of her cruell smarts,
Although Blandina did with all her arts
Him otherwise perswade, all that she might;
Yet he of malice, without her desarts, 295
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary knight.
XXXIV
Wherewith the Prince sore moved, there avoud
That, soone as he returned backe againe,
He would avenge th’ abuses of that proud 300
And shamefull knight, of whom she did complaine.
This wize did they each other entertaine,
To passe the tedious travell of the way;
Till towards night they came unto a plaine,
By which a little hermitage there lay, 305
Far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may.
XXXV
And nigh thereto a little chappell stoode,
Which being all with yvy overspred,
Deckt all the roofe and shadowing the roode,
Seem’d like a grove faire braunched over hed: 310
Therein the hermite, which his life here led
In streight observaunce of religious vow,
Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;
And therein he likewise was praying now,
Whenas these knights arriv’d, they wist not where nor how. 315
XXXVI
They stayd not there, but streight way in did pas.
Whom when the hermite present saw in place,
From his devotion streight he troubled was;
Which breaking of, he toward them did pace,
With stayed steps and grave beseeming grace: 320
For well it seem’d that whilome he had beene
Some goodly person, and of gentle race,
That could his good to all, and well did weene,
How each to entertaine with curt’sie well beseene.
XXXVII
And soothly it was sayd by common fame, 325
So long as age enabled him thereto,
That he had bene a man of mickle name,
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:
But being aged now and weary to
Of warres delight and worlds contentious toyle, 330
The name of knighthood he did disavow,
And hanging up his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.
XXXVIII
He thence them led into his hermitage,
Letting their steedes to graze upon the greene: 335
Small was his house, and like a little cage,
For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers gay beseene.
Therein he them full faire did entertaine,
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene 340
For courting fooles, that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.
XXXIX
Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
Did use his feeble body to sustaine;
The which full gladly they did take in gree, 345
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But being well suffiz’d, them rested faine.
But faire Serene all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle squire, for grievous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast 350
Had given them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.
XL
So all that night they past in great disease,
Till that the morning, bringing earely light
To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
And some asswagement of their painefull plight. 355
Then up they rose, and gan them selves to dight
Unto their journey; but that squire and dame
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might
Endure to travell, nor one foote to frame:
Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame. 360
XLI
Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in mynd
Would not permit to make there lenger stay,
Was forced there to leave them both behynd,
In that good hermits charge, whom he did pray
To tend them well. So forth he went his way, 365
And with him eke the salvage, that whyleare,
Seeing his royall usage and array,
Was greatly growne in love of that brave pere,
Would needes depart, as shall declared be elsewhere.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto VI
The hermite heales both squire and dame
Of their sore maladies;
He Turpine doth defeate, and shame
For his late villanies.
I
NO wound, which warlike hand of enemy
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light
As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:
For by no art, nor any leaches might, 5
It ever can recured be againe;
Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright
Of Podalyrius did in it retaine,
Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine.
II
Such were the wounds the which that Blatant Beast 10
Made in the bodies of that squire and dame;
And being such, were now much more increast,
For want of taking heede unto
the same,
That now corrupt and curelesse they became.
Howbe that carefull hermite did his best, 15
With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame
The poysnous humour, which did most infest
Their ranckling wounds, and every day them duely drest.
III
For he right well in leaches craft was seene,
And through the long experience of his dayes, 20
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene,
And past through many perillous assayes,
He knew the diverse went of mortall wayes,
And in the mindes of men had great insight;
Which with sage counsell, when they went astray, 25
He could enforme, and them reduce aright,
And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright.
IV
For whylome he had bene a doughty knight,
As any one that lived in his daies,
And proved oft in many perillous fight, 30
Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,
And in all battels bore away the baies.
But being now attacht with timely age,
And weary of this worlds unquiet waies,
He tooke him selfe unto this hermitage, 35
In which he liv’d alone, like carelesse bird in cage.
V
One day, as he was searching of their wounds,
He found that they had festred privily,
And ranckling inward with unruly stounds,
The inner parts now gan to putrify, 40
That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery,
And rather needed to be disciplinde
With holesome reede of sad sobriety,
To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:
Give salves to every sore, but counsell to the minde. 45
VI
So taking them apart into his cell,
He to that point fit speaches gan to frame,
As he the art of words knew wondrous well,
And eke could doe, as well as say, the same,
And thus he to them sayd: ‘Faire daughter dame, 50
And you, faire sonne, which here thus long now lie
In piteous languor, since ye hither came,
In vaine of me ye hope for remedie,
And I likewise in vaine doe salves to you applie.
VII
‘For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie, 55
To heale your selves, and must proceed alone
From your owne will to cure your maladie.
Who can him cure, that will be cur’d of none?
If therefore health ye seeke, observe this one.
First learne your outward sences to refraine 60
From things that stirre up fraile affection;
Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talke restraine
From that they most affect, and in due termes containe.
VIII
‘For from those outward sences, ill affected,
The seede of all this evill first doth spring, 65
Which at the first, before it had infected,
Mote easie be supprest with little thing:
But being growen strong, it forth doth bring
Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine
In th’ inner parts, and lastly, scattering 70
Contagious poyson close through every vaine,
It never rests, till it have wrought his finall bane.
IX
‘For that beastes teeth, which wounded you tofore,
Are so exceeding venemous and keene,
Made all of rusty yron, ranckling sore, 75
That where they bite, it booteth not to weene
With salve, or antidote, or other mene,
It ever to amend: ne marvaile ought;
For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,
And long in darksome Stygian den upbrought, 80
Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is taught.
X
‘Echidna is a monster direfull dred,
Whom gods doe hate, and heavens abhor to see;
So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed,
That even the hellish fiends affrighted bee 85
At sight thereof, and from her presence flee:
Yet did her face and former parts professe
A faire young mayden, full of comely glee;
But all her hinder parts did plaine expresse
A monstrous dragon, full of fearefull uglinesse. 90
XI
‘To her the gods, for her so dreadfull face,
In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie,
And from the earth, appointed have her place
Mongst rocks and caves, where she enrold doth lie
In hideous horrour and obscurity, 95
Wasting the strength of her immortall age.
There did Typhaon with her company,
Cruell Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage
Make th’ heavens tremble oft, and him with vowes asswage.
XII
‘Of that commixtion they did then beget 100
This hellish dog, that hight the Blatant Beast;
A wicked monster, that his tongue doth whet
Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least,
And poures his poysnous gall forth to infest
The noblest wights with notable defame: 105
Ne ever knight, that bore so lofty creast,
Ne ever lady of so honest name,
But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete shame.
XIII
‘In vaine therefore it were, with medicine
To goe about to salve such kynd of sore, 110
That rather needes wise read and discipline,
Then outward salves, that may augment it more.’
‘Aye me!’ sayd then Serena, sighing sore,
‘What hope of helpe doth then for us remaine,
If that no salves may us to health restore?’ 115
‘But sith we need good counsell,’ sayd the swaine,
‘Aread, good sire, some counsell, that may us sustaine.’
XIV
‘The best,’ sayd he, ‘that I can you advize,
Is to avoide the occasion of the ill:
For when the cause, whence evill doth arize, 120
Removed is, th’ effect surceaseth still.
Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine your will,
Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight,
Use scanted diet, and forbeare your fill,
Shun secresie, and talke in open sight: 125
So shall you soone repaire your present evill plight.’
XV
Thus having sayd, his sickely patients
Did gladly hearken to his grave beheast,
And kept so well his wise commaundements,
That in short space their malady was ceast, 130
And eke the biting of that harmefull beast
Was throughly heal’d. Tho when they did perceave
Their wounds recur’d, and forces reincreast,
Of that good hermite both they tooke their leave,
And went both on their way, ne ech would other leave; 135
XVI
But each the other vow’d t’ accompany:
The lady, for that she was much in dred,
Now left alone in great extremity;
The squire, for that he courteous was indeed,
Would not her leave alone in her great need. 140
So both together traveld, till they met
With a faire mayden clad in mourning weed,
Upon a mangy jade unmeetely set,
And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry and wet.
XVII
But by what meanes that shame to her befell, 145
And how thereof her selfe she did acquite,
I must a while forbeare to you to tell;
Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite
What fortune to the Briton Prince did lite,
Pursuing that proud knight, the which whileare 150
Wrought to Sir Calepine so foule despight;
And eke his lady, though she sickely were,
So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare.
XVIII
The Prince, according to the former token,
Which faire Serene to him delivered had, 155
Pursu’d him streight, in mynd to bene ywroken
Of all the vile demeane, and usage bad,
With which he had those two so ill bestad:
Ne wight with him on that adventure went,
But that wylde man, whom though he oft forbad, 160
Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent,
Would he restrayned be from his attendement.
XIX
Arriving there, as did by chaunce befall,
He found the gate wyde ope, and in he rode,
Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall: 165
Where soft dismounting like a weary lode,
Upon the ground with feeble feete he trode,
As he unable were for very neede
To move one foote, but there must make abode;
The whiles the salvage man did take his steede, 170
And in some stable neare did set him up to feede.
XX
Ere long to him a homely groome there came,
That in rude wise him asked, what he was,
That durst so boldly, without let or shame,
Into his lords forbidden hall to passe. 175
To whom the Prince, him fayning to embase,
Mylde answer made, he was an errant knight,
The which was fall’n into this feeble case
Through many wounds, which lately he in fight
Received had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight. 180
XXI
But he, the more outrageous and bold,
Sternely did bid him quickely thence avaunt,
Or deare aby, forwhy his lord of old
Did hate all errant knights, which there did haunt,
Ne lodging would to any of them graunt; 185
And therefore lightly bad him packe away,
Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt;
And therewithall rude hand on him did lay,
To thrust him out of dore doing his worst assay.
XXII
Which when the salvage, comming now in place, 190
Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew,
And running streight upon that villaine base,
Like a fell lion at him fiercely flew,
And with his teeth and nailes, in present vew,
Him rudely rent, and all to peeces tore: 195
So miserably him all helpelesse slew,
That with the noise, whilest he did loudly rore,
The people of the house rose forth in great uprore.
XXIII
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