Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  XXXIII

  When Calidore these ruefull newes had raught,

  His hart quite deaded was with anguish great, 290

  And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught,

  That he his face, his head, his brest did beat,

  And death it selfe unto himselfe did threat;

  Oft cursing th’ heavens, that so cruell were

  To her, whose name he often did repeat; 295

  And wishing oft, that he were present there,

  When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour nere.

  XXXIV

  But after griefe awhile had had his course,

  And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last

  Began to mitigate his swelling sourse, 300

  And in his mind with better reason cast,

  How he might save her life, if life did last;

  Or if that dead, how he her death might wreake,

  Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;

  Or if it to revenge he were too weake, 305

  Then for to die with her, and his lives threed to breake.

  XXXV

  Tho Coridon he prayd, sith he well knew

  The readie way unto that theevish wonne,

  To wend with him, and be his conduct trew

  Unto the place, to see what should be donne. 310

  But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne,

  Would not for ought be drawne to former drede,

  But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne:

  Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed,

  And faire bespoke with words, that he at last agreed. 315

  XXXVI

  So forth they goe together (God before)

  Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,

  And both with shepheards hookes: but Calidore

  Had, underneath, him armed privily.

  Tho, to the place when they approched nye, 320

  They chaunst, upon an hill not farre away,

  Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy;

  To whom they both agreed to take their way,

  In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best assay.

  XXXVII

  There did they find, that which they did not feare, 325

  The selfe same flocks the which those theeves had reft

  From Melibœ and from themselves whyleare,

  And certaine of the theeves there by them left,

  The which for want of heards themselves then kept.

  Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe, 330

  And seeing them, for tender pittie wept:

  But when he saw the theeves which did them keepe,

  His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe.

  XXXVIII

  But Calidore recomforting his griefe,

  Though not his feare; for nought may feare disswade; 335

  Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe

  Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade;

  Whom Coridon him counseld to invade

  Now all unwares, and take the spoyle away;

  But he, that in his mind had closely made 340

  A further purpose, would not so them slay,

  But gently waking them, gave them the time of day.

  XXXIX

  Tho sitting downe by them upon the greene,

  Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine;

  That he by them might certaine tydings weene 345

  Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine.

  Mongst which the theeves them questioned againe,

  What mister men, and eke from whence they were.

  To whom they answer’d, as did appertaine,

  That they were poore heardgroomes, the which whylere 350

  Had from their maisters fled, and now sought hyre elswhere.

  XL

  Whereof right glad they seem’d, and offer made

  To hyre them well, if they their flockes would keepe:

  For they themselves were evill groomes, they sayd,

  Unwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe, 355

  But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe.

  Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke,

  To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe;

  For they for better hyre did shortly looke:

  So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke. 360

  XLI

  Tho, when as towards darksome night it drew,

  Unto their hellish dens those theeves them brought,

  Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew,

  And all the secrets of their entrayles sought.

  There did they find, contrarie to their thought, 365

  That Pastorell yet liv’d, but all the rest

  Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught:

  Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,

  But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most possest.

  XLII

  At length, when they occasion fittest found, 370

  In dead of night, when all the theeves did rest

  After a late forray, and slept full sound,

  Sir Calidore him arm’d, as he thought best,

  Having of late by diligent inquest

  Provided him a sword of meanest sort: 375

  With which he streight went to the captaines nest.

  But Coridon durst not with him consort,

  Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse effort.

  XLIII

  When to the cave they came, they found it fast:

  But Calidore with huge resistlesse might 380

  The dores assayled, and the locks upbrast.

  With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light,

  Unto the entrance ran: where the bold knight,

  Encountring him, with small resistance slew;

  The whiles faire Pastorell through great affright 385

  Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new

  Some uprore were like that which lately she did vew.

  XLIV

  But when as Calidore was comen in,

  And gan aloud for Pastorell to call,

  Knowing his voice, although not heard long sin, 390

  She sudden was revived there withall,

  And wondrous joy felt in her spirits thrall:

  Like him that being long in tempest tost,

  Looking each houre into deathes mouth to fall,

  At length espyes at hand the happie cost, 395

  On which he safety hopes, that earst feard to be lost.

  XLV

  Her gentle hart, that now long season past

  Had never joyance felt, nor chearefull thought,

  Began some smacke of comfort new to tast,

  Like lyfull heat to nummed senses brought, 400

  And life to feele, that long for death had sought;

  Ne lesse in hart rejoyced Calidore,

  When he her found, but, like to one distraught

  And robd of reason, towards her him bore,

  A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more. 405

  XLVI

  But now by this, with noyse of late uprore,

  The hue and cry was raysed all about;

  And all the Brigants, flocking in great store,

  Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having dout

  Of that was doen, and entred in a rout. 410

  But Calidore in th’ entry close did stand,

  And entertayning them with courage stout,

  Still slew the formost that came first to hand,

  So long, till all the entry was with bodies mand.

  XLVII

  Tho, when no more could nigh to him approch, 415

  He breath’d his sword, and rested him till day:

  Which when he spyde upon the earth t’ encroch,

  Through the dead carcases he made his way,

  Mongst which he found a sword of better say,

  With which he forth went i
nto th’ open light: 420

  Where all the rest for him did readie stay,

  And fierce assayling him, with all their might

  Gan all upon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight.

  XLVIII

  How many flyes in whottest sommers day

  Do seize upon some beast, whose flesh is bare, 425

  That all the place with swarmes do overlay,

  And with their litle stings right felly fare;

  So many theeves about him swarming are,

  All which do him assayle on every side,

  And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare: 430

  But he doth with his raging brond divide

  Their thickest troups, and round about him scattreth wide.

  XLIX

  Like as a lion mongst an heard of dere,

  Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray;

  So did he fly amongst them here and there, 435

  And all that nere him came did hew and slay,

  Till he had strowd with bodies all the way;

  That none his daunger daring to abide,

  Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convay

  Into their caves, their heads from death to hide, 440

  Ne any left, that victorie to him envide.

  L

  Then backe returning to his dearest deare,

  He her gan to recomfort, all he might,

  With gladfull speaches and with lovely cheare,

  And forth her bringing to the joyous light, 445

  Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight,

  Deviz’d all goodly meanes, from her to drive

  The sad remembrance of her wretched plight.

  So her uneath at last he did revive,

  That long had lyen dead, and made againe alive. 450

  LI

  This doen, into those theevish dens he went,

  And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take,

  Which they from many long had robd and rent,

  But Fortune now the victors meed did make;

  Of which the best he did his love betake; 455

  And also all those flockes, which they before

  Had reft from Melibœ and from his make,

  He did them all to Coridon restore:

  So drove them all away, and his love with him bore.

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto XII

  Fayre Pastorella by great hap

  Her parents understands.

  Calidore doth the Blatant Beast

  Subdew, and bynd in bands.

  I

  LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wyde

  Directs her course unto one certaine cost,

  Is met of many a counter winde and tyde,

  With which her winged speed is let and crost,

  And she her selfe in stormie surges tost; 5

  Yet making many a borde, and many a bay,

  Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost:

  Right so it fares with me in this long way,

  Whose course is often stayd, yet never is astray.

  II

  For all that hetherto hath long delayd 10

  This gentle knight from sewing his first quest,

  Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd,

  To shew the courtesie by him profest

  Even unto the lowest and the least.

  But now I come into my course againe, 15

  To his atchievement of the Blatant Beast;

  Who all this while at will did range and raine,

  Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to restraine.

  III

  Sir Calidore, when thus he now had raught

  Faire Pastorella from those Brigants powre, 20

  Unto the Castle of Belgard her brought,

  Whereof was lord the good Sir Bellamoure;

  Who whylome was, in his youthes freshest flowre,

  A lustie knight as ever wielded speare,

  And had endured many a dreadfull stoure 25

  In bloudy battell for a ladie deare,

  The fayrest ladie then of all that living were.

  IV

  Her name was Claribell, whose father hight

  The Lord of Many Ilands, farre renound

  For his great riches and his greater might. 30

  He, through the wealth wherein he did abound,

  This daughter thought in wedlocke to have bound

  Unto the Prince of Picteland bordering nere;

  But she, whose sides before with secret wound

  Of love to Bellamoure empierced were, 35

  By all meanes shund to match with any forrein fere.

  V

  And Bellamour againe so well her pleased,

  With dayly service and attendance dew,

  That of her love he was entyrely seized,

  And closely did her wed, but knowne to few. 40

  Which when her father understood, he grew

  In so great rage, that them in dongeon deepe

  Without compassion cruelly he threw;

  Yet did so streightly them a sunder keepe,

  That neither could to company of th’ other creepe. 45

  VI

  Nathlesse Sir Bellamour, whether through grace

  Or secret guifts, so with his keepers wrought,

  That to his love sometimes he came in place,

  Whereof her wombe, unwist to wight, was fraught,

  And in dew time a mayden child forth brought. 50

  Which she streight way, for dread least, if her syre

  Should know thereof, to slay he would have sought,

  Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre

  She should it cause he fostred under straunge attyre.

  VII

  The trustie damzell bearing it abrode 55

  Into the emptie fields, where living wight

  Mote not bewray the secret of her lode,

  She forth gan lay unto the open light

  The litle babe, to take thereof a sight.

  Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold, 60

  Upon the litle brest, like christall bright,

  She mote perceive a litle purple mold,

  That like a rose her silken leaves did faire unfold.

  VIII

  Well she it markt, and pittied the more,

  Yet could not remedie her wretched case, 65

  But, closing it againe like as before,

  Bedeaw’d with teares there left it in the place:

  Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space

  Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde,

  To weet what mortall hand, or heavens grace, 70

  Would for the wretched infants helpe provyde,

  For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde.

  IX

  At length a shepheard, which there by did keepe

  His fleecie flocke upon the playnes around,

  Led with the infants cry, that loud did weepe, 75

  Came to the place; where when he wrapped found

  Th’ abandond spoyle, he softly it unbound;

  And seeing there that did him pittie sore,

  He took it up, and in his mantle wound;

  So home unto his honest wife it bore, 80

  Who as her owne it nurst, and named evermore.

  X

  Thus long continu’d Claribell a thrall,

  And Bellamour in bands, till that her syre

  Departed life, and left unto them all.

  Then all the stormes of Fortunes former yre 85

  Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre.

  Thenceforth they joy’d in happinesse together,

  And lived long in peace and love entyre,

  Without disquiet or dislike of ether,

  Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella thether. 90

  XI

  Both whom they goodly well did entertaine;

&
nbsp; For Bellamour knew Calidore right well,

  And loved for his prowesse, sith they twaine

  Long since had fought in field: als Claribell

  No lesse did tender the faire Pastorell, 95

  Seeing her weake and wan, through durance long.

  There they a while together thus did dwell

  In much delight, and many joyes among,

  Untill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong.

  XII

  Tho gan Sir Calidore him to advize 100

  Of his first quest, which he had long forlore,

  Asham’d to thinke, how he that enterprize,

  The which the Faery Queene had long afore

  Bequeath’d to him, forslacked had so sore;

  That much he feared, least reprochfull blame 105

  With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore;

  Besides the losse of so much loos and fame,

  As through the world thereby should glorifie his name.

  XIII

  Therefore resolving to returne in hast

  Unto so great atchievement, he bethought 110

  To leave his love, now perill being past,

  With Claribell, whylest he that monster sought

  Throughout the world, and to destruction brought.

  So taking leave of his faire Pastorell,

  Whom to recomfort all the meanes he wrought, 115

  With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,

  He went forth on his quest, and did that him befell.

  XIV

  But first, ere I doe his adventures tell

  In this exploite, me needeth to declare

  What did betide to the faire Pastorell, 120

  During his absence left in heavy care,

  Through daily mourning and nightly misfare:

  Yet did that auncient matrone all she might,

  To cherish her with all things choice and rare;

  And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight, 125

  Appointed to attend her dewly day and night.

  XV

  Who in a morning, when this mayden faire

  Was dighting her, having her snowy brest

  As yet not laced, nor her golden haire

  Into their comely tresses dewly drest, 130

  Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest

  The rosie marke, which she remembered well

  That litle infant had, which forth she kest,

  The daughter of her Lady Claribell,

  The which she bore the whiles in prison she did dwell. 135

  XVI

  Which well avizing, streight she gan to cast

  In her conceiptfull mynd, that this faire mayd

  Was that same infant, which so long sith past

  She in the open fields had loosely layd

  To fortunes spoile, unable it to ayd. 140

  So, full of joy, streight forth she ran in hast

  Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd,