The which doth litle crave, contented to abyde.
XVIII
Tho when they had their hunger slaked well,
And the fayre mayd the table ta’ne away, 155
The gentle knight, as he that did excell
In courtesie, and well could doe and say,
For so great kindnesse as he found that day
Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife;
And drawing thence his speach another way, 160
Gan highly to commend the happie life
Which shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife.
XIX
‘How much,’ sayd he, ‘more happie is the state,
In which ye, father, here doe dwell at ease,
Leading a life so free and fortunate 165
From all the tempests of these worldly seas,
Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease;
Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie
Doe them afflict, which no man can appease!
That certes I your happinesse envie, 170
And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.’
XX
‘Surely, my sonne,’ then answer’d he againe,
‘If happie, then it is in this intent,
That, having small, yet doe I not complaine
Of want, ne wish for more it to augment, 175
But doe my selfe, with that I have, content;
So taught of nature, which doth litle need
Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:
The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;
No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed. 180
XXI
‘Therefore I doe not any one envy,
Nor am envyde of any one therefore;
They that have much, feare much to loose thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.
The litle that I have growes dayly more 185
Without my care, but onely to attend it;
My lambes doe every yeare increase their score,
And my flockes father daily doth amend it.
What have I, but to praise th’ Almighty, that doth send it?
XXII
‘To them that list, the worlds gay showes I leave, 190
And to great ones such follies doe forgive,
Which oft through pride do their owne perill weave,
And through ambition downe themselves doe drive
To sad decay, that might contented live.
Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend, 195
Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve,
But all the night in silver sleepe I spend,
And all the day, to what I list I doe attend.
XXIII
‘Sometimes I hunt the fox, the vowed foe
Unto my lambes, and him dislodge away; 200
Sometimes the fawne I practise from the doe,
Or from the goat her kidde how to convay;
Another while I baytes and nets display,
The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle:
And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay 205
My limbes in every shade, to rest from toyle,
And drinke of every brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle.
XXIV
‘The time was once, in my first prime of yeares,
When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,
That I disdain’d amongst mine equall peares 210
To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire:
For further fortune then I would inquire,
And leaving home, to roiall court I sought;
Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire,
And in the princes gardin daily wrought: 215
There I beheld such vainenesse, as I never thought.
XXV
‘With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded
With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine,
After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded
From native home, and spent my youth in vaine, 220
I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine,
And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare.
Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe,
I from thenceforth have learn’d to love more deare
This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here.’ 225
XXVI
Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare
Hong still upon his melting mouth attent;
Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,
That he was rapt with double ravishment,
Both of his speach, that wrought him great content, 230
And also of the object of his vew,
On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;
That twixt his pleasing tongue and her faire hew
He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew.
XXVII
Yet to occasion meanes to worke his mind, 235
And to insinuate his harts desire,
He thus replyde: ‘Now surely, syre, I find,
That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,
Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre
Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead, 240
Fearelesse of foes, or Fortunes wrackfull yre,
Which tosseth states, and under foot doth tread
The mightie ones, affrayd of every chaunges dread.
XXVIII
‘That even I, which daily doe behold
The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won, 245
And now have prov’d what happinesse ye hold
In this small plot of your dominion,
Now loath great lordship and ambition;
And wish the heavens so much had graced mee,
As graunt me live in like condition; 250
Or that my fortunes might transposed bee
From pitch of higher place unto this low degree.’
XXIX
‘In vaine,’ said then old Melibœ, ‘doe men
The heavens of their fortunes fault accuse,
Sith they know best what is the best for them: 255
For they to each such fortune doe diffuse,
As they doe know each can most aptly use.
For not that which men covet most is best,
Nor that thing worst which men do most refuse;
But fittest is, that all contented rest 260
With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.
XXX
‘It is the mynd that maketh good or ill,
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:
For some, that hath abundance at his will,
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store; 265
And other, that hath litle, askes no more,
But in that litle is both rich and wise;
For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore
They are, which fortunes doe by vowes devize,
Sith each unto himselfe his life may fortunize.’ 270
XXXI
‘Since then in each mans self,’ said Calidore,
‘It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate,
Give leave awhyle, good father, in this shore
To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late
With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate, 275
In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine,
That, whether quite from them for to retrate
I shall resolve, or backe to turne againe,
I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine.
XXXII
‘Not that the burden of so bold a guest 280
Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all;
For your meane food shall be my daily feast,
And this your cabin both my bowre and hall.
Besides, for recompence hereof, I shall
You well reward, and golden guerdon give, 285
&
nbsp; That may perhaps you better much withall,
And in this quiet make you safer live.’
So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it drive.
XXXIII
But the good man, nought tempted with the offer
Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away, 290
And thus bespake: ‘Sir knight, your bounteous proffer
Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display
That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,
That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread.
But, if ye algates covet to assay 295
This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead,
Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread.’
XXXIV
So there that night Sir Calidore did dwell,
And long while after, whilest him list remaine,
Dayly beholding the faire Pastorell, 300
And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane.
During which time he did her entertaine
With all kind courtesies he could invent;
And every day, her companie to gaine,
When to the field she went, he with her went: 305
So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment.
XXXV
But she, that never had acquainted beene
With such queint usage, fit for queenes and kings,
Ne ever had such knightly service seene,
But, being bred under base shepheards wings, 310
Had ever learn’d to love the lowly things,
Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,
But cared more for Colins carolings
Then all that he could doe, or ever devize:
His layes, his loves, his lookes she did them all despize. 315
XXXVI
Which Calidore perceiving, thought it best
To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke;
And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest
In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke,
In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke, 320
That who had seene him then would have bethought
On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke,
When he the love of fayre Oenone sought,
What time the golden apple was unto him brought.
XXXVII
So being clad, unto the fields he went 325
With the faire Pastorella every day,
And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,
Watching to drive the ravenous wolfe away,
The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play;
And every evening helping them to fold: 330
And otherwhiles, for need, he did assay
In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,
And out of them to presse the milke: love so much could.
XXXVIII
Which seeing Coridon, who her likewise
Long time had lov’d, and hop’d her love to gaine, 335
He much was troubled at that straungers guize,
And many gealous thoughts conceiv’d in vaine,
That this of all his labour and long paine
Should reap the harvest, ere it ripened were;
That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine 340
Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there,
That she did love a stranger swayne then him more dere.
XXXIX
And ever, when he came in companie
Where Calidore was present, he would loure
And byte his lip, and even for gealousie 345
Was readie oft his owne hart to devoure,
Impatient of any paramoure:
Who on the other side did seeme so farre
From malicing, or grudging his good houre,
That all he could, he graced him with her, 350
Ne ever shewed signe of rancour or of jarre.
XL
And oft, when Coridon unto her brought
Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest,
Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought,
Or other daintie thing for her addrest, 355
He would commend his guift, and make the best.
Yet she no whit his presents did regard,
Ne him could find to fancie in her brest:
This newcome shepheard had his market mard.
Old love is litle worth when new is more prefard. 360
XLI
One day when as the shepheard swaynes together
Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee,
As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather,
The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee,
They fell to daunce: then did they all agree, 365
That Colin Clout should pipe, as one most fit;
And Calidore should lead the ring, as hee
That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit.
Thereat frown’d Coridon, and his lip closely bit.
XLII
But Calidore, of courteous inclination, 370
Tooke Coridon and set him in his place,
That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion;
For Coridon could daunce, and trimly trace.
And when as Pastorella, him to grace,
Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head, 375
And plast on his, he did it soone displace,
And did it put on Coridons in stead:
Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead.
XLIII
Another time, when as they did dispose
To practise games, and maisteries to try, 380
They for their judge did Pastorella chose;
A garland was the meed of victory.
There Coridon, forth stepping openly,
Did chalenge Calidore, to wrestling game:
For he, through long and perfect industry, 385
Therein well practisd was, and in the same
Thought sure t’ avenge his grudge, and worke his foe great shame.
XLIV
But Calidore he greatly did mistake;
For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,
That with one fall his necke he almost brake, 390
And had he not upon him fallen light,
His dearest joynt he sure had broken quight.
Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell
Given to Calidore, as his due right;
But he, that did in courtesie excell, 395
Gave it to Coridon, and said he wonne it well.
XLV
Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare
Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,
That even they the which his rivals were
Could not maligne him, but commend him needs: 400
For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds
Good will and favour. So it surely wrought
With this faire mayd, and in her mynde the seeds
Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought
The fruite of joy and blisse, though long time dearely bought. 405
XLVI
Thus Calidore continu’d there long time,
To winne the love of the faire Pastorell;
Which having got, he used without crime
Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well,
That he, of all the rest which there did dwell, 410
Was favoured, and to her grace commended.
But what straunge fortunes unto him befell,
Ere he attain’d the point by him intended,
Shall more conveniently in other place be ended.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto X
Calidore sees the Graces daunce
To Colins melody:
The whiles his Pastorell is led
Into captivity.
I
WHO now does follow the foule Blatant Beast,
Whilest Calidore does follow that faire mayd,
Unmyndfull of his vow, and high beheast
Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd,
That he should never leave, nor be delayd 5
From chacing him, till he had it attchieved?
But now entrapt of Love, which him betrayd,
He mindeth more how he may be relieved
With grace from her whose love his heart hath sore engrieved.
II
That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew 10
His former quest, so full of toile and paine;
Another quest, another game in vew
He hath, the guerdon of his love to gaine:
With whom he myndes for ever to remaine,
And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort, 15
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine
Of courtly favour, fed with light report
Of every blaste, and sayling alwaies in the port.
III
Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be,
From so high step to stoupe unto so low. 20
For who had tasted once (as oft did he)
The happy peace which there doth overflow,
And prov’d the perfect pleasures which doe grow
Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales,
Would never more delight in painted show 25
Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales,
T’ entrap unwary fooles in their eternall bales.
IV
For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze
Like to one sight which Calidore did vew?
The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze, 30
That never more they should endure the shew
Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew.
Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare,
(Save onely Glorianaes heavenly hew,
To which what can compare?) can it compare; 35
The which, as commeth now by course, I will declare.
V
One day as he did raunge the fields abroad,
Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere,
He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,
Unto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere 40
To passe all others on the earth which were:
For all that ever was by Natures skill
Devized to worke delight was gathered there,
And there by her were poured forth at fill,
As if, this to adorne, she all the rest did pill. 45
VI
It was an hill plaste in an open plaine,
That round about was bordered with a wood
Of matchlesse hight, that seem’d th’ earth to disdaine;
In which all trees of honour stately stood,
And did all winter as in sommer bud, 50
Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre,
Which in their lower braunches sung aloud;
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 117
