Tho when as all her plaints she had displayd,
And well disburdened her engrieved brest,
Upon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd; 300
Where, being tyrde with travell, and opprest
With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest.
There whilest in Morpheus bosome safe she lay,
Fearelesse of ought that mote her peace molest,
False Fortune did her safety betray 305
Unto a straunge mischaunce, that menac’d her decay.
XXXV
In these wylde deserts, where she now abode,
There dwelt a salvage nation, which did live
Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode
Into their neighbours borders; ne did give 310
Them selves to any trade, as for to drive
The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,
Or by adventrous marchandize to thrive;
But on the labours of poore men to feed,
And serve their owne necessities with others need. 315
XXXVI
Thereto they usde one most accursed order,
To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde,
And straungers to devoure, which on their border
Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde:
A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde. 320
They towards evening wandring every way,
To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde
Whereas this lady, like a sheepe astray,
Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay.
XXXVII
Soone as they spide her, lord! what gladfull glee 325
They made amongst them selves! but when her face
Like the faire yvory shining they did see,
Each gan his fellow solace and embrace,
For joy of such good hap by heavenly grace.
Then gan they to devize what course to take: 330
Whether to slay her there upon the place,
Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,
And then her eate attonce, or many meales to make.
XXXVIII
The best advizement was, of bad, to let her
Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment: 335
For sleepe, they sayd, would make her battill better.
Then, when she wakt, they all gave one consent,
That since by grace of God she there was sent,
Unto their god they would her sacrifize,
Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud, they would present; 340
But of her dainty flesh they did devize
To make a common feast, and feed with gurmandize.
XXXIX
So round about her they them selves did place
Upon the grasse, and diversely dispose,
As each thought best to spend the lingring space. 345
Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose;
Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose;
Some whet their knives, and strip their elboes bare:
The priest him selfe a garland doth compose
Of finest flowres, and with full busie care 350
His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare.
XL
The damzell wakes; then all attonce upstart,
And round about her flocke, like many flies,
Whooping and hallowing on every part,
As if they would have rent the brasen skies. 355
Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies,
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew
Benumbes her cheekes: then out aloud she cries,
Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew,
And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew. 360
XLI
But all bootes not: they hands upon her lay;
And first they spoile her of her jewels deare,
And afterwards of all her rich array;
The which amongst them they in peeces teare,
And of the pray each one a part doth beare. 365
Now being naked, to their sordid eyes
The goodly threasures of Nature appeare:
Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes,
Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest envyes.
XLII
Her yvorie necke, her alablaster brest, 370
Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were,
For Love in soft delight thereon to rest;
Her tender sides, her bellie white and clere,
Which like an altar did it selfe uprere,
To offer sacrifice divine thereon; 375
Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare
Like a triumphall arch, and thereupon
The spoiles of princes hang’d, which were in battel won.
XLIII
Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight,
Which mote not be prophan’d of common eyes, 380
Those villeins vew’d with loose lascivious sight,
And closely tempted with their craftie spyes;
And some of them gan mongst themselves devize,
Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure:
But them the priest rebuking, did advize 385
To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure,
Vow’d to the gods: religion held even theeves in measure.
XLIV
So being stayd, they her from thence directed
Unto a litle grove not farre asyde,
In which an altar shortly they erected, 390
To slay her on. And now the eventyde
His brode black wings had through the heavens wyde
By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned
For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:
Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned, 395
And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned.
XLV
Tho, when as all things readie were aright,
The damzell was before the altar set,
Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright.
To whom the priest with naked armes full net 400
Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet,
Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme,
With other divelish ceremonies met:
Which doen, he gan aloft t’ advance his arme,
Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud alarme. 405
XLVI
Then gan the bagpypes and the hornes to shrill,
And shrieke aloud, that, with the peoples voyce
Confused, did the ayre with terror fill,
And made the wood to tremble at the noyce:
The whyles she wayld, the more they did rejoyce. 410
Now mote ye understand that to this grove
Sir Calepine, by chaunce more then by choyce,
The selfe same evening fortune hether drove,
As he to seeke Serena through the woods did rove.
XLVII
Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle 415
Had traveld still on foot in heavie armes,
Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyle,
Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes:
And now, all weetlesse of the wretched stormes,
In which his love was lost, he slept full fast, 420
Till, being waked with these loud alarmes,
He lightly started up like one aghast,
And catching up his arms, streight to the noise forth past.
XLVIII
There by th’ uncertaine glims of starry night,
And by the twinkling of their sacred fire, 425
He mote perceive a litle dawning sight
Of all which there was doing in that quire:
Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire
He spyde, lamenting her unluckie strife,
And groning sore from grieved hart entire; 430
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife
Readie to launch her brest, and let out loved life.
XLIX
With that he thrusts into the thickest throng,
And even as his right hand adowne descends,
He him preventing, layes on earth along, 435
And sacrifizeth to th’ infernall feends.
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends,
Of whom he makes such havocke and such hew,
That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends:
The rest, that scape his sword and death eschew, 440
Fly like a flocke of doves before a faulcons vew.
L
From them returning to that ladie backe,
Whom by the altar he doth sitting find,
Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke
Of clothes to cover what they ought by kind, 445
He first her hands beginneth to unbind,
And then to question of her present woe,
And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind.
But she, for nought that he could say or doe,
One word durst speake, or answere him a whit thereto. 450
LI
So inward shame of her uncomely case
She did conceive, through care of womanhood,
That though the night did cover her disgrace,
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood
Would not bewray the state in which she stood. 455
So all that night to him unknowen she past.
But day, that doth discover bad and good,
Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:
The end whereof Ile keepe untill another cast.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto IX
Calidore hostes with Melibœ
And loves fayre Pastorell;
Coridon envies him, yet he
For ill rewards him well.
I
NOW turne againe my teme, thou jolly swayne,
Backe to the furrow which I lately left;
I lately left a furrow, one or twayne,
Unplough’d, the which my coulter hath not cleft:
Yet seem’d the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft, 5
As I it past, that were too great a shame,
That so rich frute should be from us bereft;
Besides the great dishonour and defame,
Which should befall to Calidores immortall name.
II
Great travell hath the gentle Calidore 10
And toyle endured, sith I left him last
Sewing the Blatant Beast, which I forbore
To finish then, for other present hast.
Full many pathes and perils he hath past,
Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, and throgh plaines, 15
In that same quest which fortune on him cast,
Which he atchieved to his owne great gaines,
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.
III
So sharply he the monster did pursew,
That day nor night he suffred him to rest, 20
Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew,
For dread of daunger, not to be redrest,
If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest.
Him first from court he to the citties coursed,
And from the citties to the townes him prest, 25
And from the townes into the countrie forsed,
And from the country back to private farmes he scorsed.
IV
From thence into the open fields he fled,
Whereas the heardes were keeping of their neat,
And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed, 30
Layes of sweete love and youthes delightfull heat:
Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat
He followed fast, and chaced him so nie,
That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat,
And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie 35
In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flie.
V
There on a day, as he pursew’d the chace,
He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes,
Playing on pypes, and caroling apace,
The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes 40
Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes:
For other worldly wealth they cared nought.
To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes,
And them to tell him courteously besought,
If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought. 45
VI
They answer’d him that no such beast they saw,
Nor any wicked feend that mote offend
Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw:
But if that such there were (as none they kend)
They prayd High God them farre from them to send. 50
Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,
After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,
Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat,
And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat.
VII
The knight was nothing nice, where was no need, 55
And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne
They prayd him sit, and gave him for to feed
Such homely what as serves the simple clowne,
That doth despise the dainties of the towne.
Tho, having fed his fill, he there besyde 60
Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne
Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde,
Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde.
VIII
Upon a litle hillocke she was placed
Higher then all the rest, and round about 65
Environ’d with a girland, goodly graced,
Of lovely lasses, and them all without
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,
The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,
And oft rejoyce, and oft for wonder shout, 70
As if some miracle of heavenly hew
Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.
IX
And soothly sure she was full fayre of face,
And perfectly well shapt in every lim,
Which she did more augment with modest grace 75
And comely carriage of her count’nance trim,
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:
Who, her admiring as some heavenly wight,
Did for their soveraine goddesse her esteeme,
And caroling her name both day and night, 80
The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight.
X
Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne,
But her did honour, and eke many a one
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing payne
Full many a night for her did sigh and grone: 85
But most of all the shepheard Coridon
For her did languish, and his deare life spend;
Yet neither she for him nor other none
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:
Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend. 90
XI
Her whyles Sir Calidore there vewed well,
And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed
So farre the meane of shepheards to excell,
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed
To be a princes paragone esteemed, 95
He was unwares surprisd in subtile bands
Of the Blynd Boy, ne thence could be redeemed
By any skill out of his cruell hands,
Caught like the bird which gazing still on others stands.
XII
So stood he still long gazing thereupon, 100
Ne any will had the
nce to move away,
Although his quest were farre afore him gon;
But after he had fed, yet did he stay,
And sate there still, untill the flying day
Was farre forth spent, discoursing diversly 105
Of sundry things, as fell, to worke delay;
And evermore his speach he did apply
To th’ heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy.
XIII
By this the moystie night approching fast,
Her deawy humour gan on th’ earth to shed, 110
That warn’d the shepheards to their homes to hast
Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,
For feare of wetting them before their bed;
Then came to them a good old aged syre,
Whose silver lockes bedeckt his beard and hed, 115
With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,
That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre.
XIV
He was, to weet, by common voice esteemed
The father of the fayrest Pastorell,
And of her selfe in very deede so deemed; 120
Yet was not so, but, as old stories tell,
Found her by fortune, which to him befell,
In th’ open fields an infant left alone,
And taking up brought home, and noursed well
As his owne chyld; for other he had none; 125
That she in tract of time accompted was his owne.
XV
She at his bidding meekely did arise,
And streight unto her litle flocke did fare:
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,
And each his sundrie sheepe with severall care 130
Gathered together, and them homeward bare:
Whylest everie one with helping hands did strive
Amongst themselves, and did their labours share,
To helpe faire Pastorella home to drive
Her fleecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did give. 135
XVI
But Melibœe (so hight that good old man)
Now seeing Calidore left all alone,
And night arrived hard at hand, began
Him to invite unto his simple home;
Which though it were a cottage clad with lome, 140
And all things therein meane, yet better so
To lodge then in the salvage fields to rome.
The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,
Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go.
XVII
There he was welcom’d of that honest syre, 145
And of his aged beldame homely well;
Who him besought himselfe to disattyre,
And rest himselfe, till supper time befell;
By which home came the fayrest Pastorell,
After her flocke she in their fold had tyde; 150
And, supper readie dight, they to it fell
With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,
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