To tell her how the heavens had her graste,
To save her chylde, which in misfortunes mouth was plaste.
XVII
The sober mother, seeing such her mood, 145
Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine thro,
Askt her, how mote her words be understood,
And what the matter was, that mov’d her so.
‘My liefe,’ sayd she, ‘ye know that long ygo,
Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gave 150
A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho;
The same againe if now ye list to have,
The same is yonder lady, whom High God did save.’
XVIII
Much was the lady troubled at that speach,
And gan to question streight how she it knew. 155
‘Most certaine markes,’ sayd she, ‘do me it teach,
For on her brest I with these eyes did vew
The litle purple rose which thereon grew,
Whereof her name ye then to her did give.
Besides, her countenaunce and her likely hew, 160
Matched with equall yeares, do surely prieve
That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet doth live.’
XIX
The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire,
But forth in hast ran to the straunger mayd;
Whom catching greedily for great desire, 165
Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd,
In which that rose she plainely saw displayd.
Then her embracing twixt her armes twaine,
She long so held, and softly weeping sayd:
‘And livest thou, my daughter, now againe? 170
And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long did faine?’
XX
Tho further asking her of sundry things,
And times comparing with their accidents,
She found at last by very certaine signes,
And speaking markes of passed monuments, 175
That this young mayd, whom chance to her presents,
Is her owne daughter, her owne infant deare.
Tho, wondring long at those so straunge events,
A thousand times she her embraced nere,
With many a joyfull kisse, and many a melting teare. 180
XXI
Who ever is the mother of one chylde,
Which having thought long dead, she fyndes alive,
Let her by proofe of that which she hath fylde
In her owne breast, this mothers joy descrive:
For other none such passion can contrive 185
In perfect forme, as this good lady felt,
When she so faire a daughter saw survive,
As Pastorella was, that nigh she swelt
For passing joy, which did all into pitty melt.
XXII
Thence running forth unto her loved lord, 190
She unto him recounted all that fell:
Who joyning joy with her in one accord,
Acknowledg’d for his owne faire Pastorell
There leave we them in joy, and let us tell
Of Calidore, who, seeking all this while 195
That monstrous beast by finall force to quell,
Through every place, with restlesse paine and toile,
Him follow’d by the tract of his outragious spoile.
XXIII
Through all estates he found that he had past,
In which he many massacres had left, 200
And to the clergy now was come at last;
In which such spoile, such havocke, and such theft
He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft,
That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin knight,
Who now no place besides unsought had left, 205
At length into a monastere did light,
Where he him found despoyling all with maine and might.
XXIV
Into their cloysters now he broken had,
Through which the monckes he chaced here and there,
And them pursu’d into their dortours sad, 210
And searched all their cels and secrets neare;
In which what filth and ordure did appeare
Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule beast,
Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare,
And ransacke all their dennes from most to least, 215
Regarding nought religion, nor their holy heast.
XXV
From thence into the sacred church he broke,
And robd the chancell, and the deskes downe threw,
And altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke,
And th’ images, for all their goodly hew, 220
Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew;
So all confounded and disordered there.
But seeing Calidore, away he flew,
Knowing his fatall hand by former feare;
But he him fast pursuing, soone approched neare 225
XXVI
Him in a narrow place he overtooke,
And fierce assailing forst him turne againe:
Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke
With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine
With open mouth, that seemed to containe 230
A full good pecke within the utmost brim,
All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine,
That terrifide his foes, and armed him,
Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly grim.
XXVII
And therein were a thousand tongs empight, 235
Of sundry kindes, and sundry quality;
Some were of dogs, that barked day and night,
And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry,
And some of beares, that groynd continually,
And some of tygres, that did seeme to gren 240
And snar at all that ever passed by:
But most of them were tongues of mortall men,
Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor when.
XXVIII
And them amongst were mingled here and there
The tongues of serpents with three forked stings, 245
That spat out poyson and gore bloudy gere
At all that came within his ravenings,
And spake licentious words and hatefull things
Of good and bad alike, of low and hie;
Ne kesars spared he a whit, nor kings, 250
But either blotted them with infamie,
Or bit them with his banefull teeth of injury.
XXIX
But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd,
Rencountred him with so impetuous might,
That th’ outrage of his violence he stayd, 255
And bet abacke, threatning in vaine to bite,
And spitting forth the poyson of his spight,
That fomed all about his bloody jawes.
Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight,
He rampt upon him with his ravenous pawes, 260
As if he would have rent him with his cruell clawes.
XXX
But he right well aware, his rage to ward,
Did cast his shield atweene, and therewithall
Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu’d so hard,
That backeward he enforced him to fall, 265
And being downe, ere he new helpe could call,
His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held,
Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall
Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld,
Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld. 270
XXXI
Full cruelly the beast did rage and rore,
To be downe held, and maystred so with might,
That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore,
Striving in vaine to rere him selfe upright.
For still the more he strove, the more the knight 275
Did him suppresse, and forc
ibly subdew;
That made him almost mad for fell despight.
He grind, hee bit, he scratcht, he venim threw,
And fared like a feend, right horrible in hew:
XXXII
Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they faine 280
That great Alcides whilome overthrew,
After that he had labourd long in vaine
To crop his thousand heads, the which still new
Forth budded, and in greater number grew.
Such was the fury of this hellish beast, 285
Whilest Calidore him under him downe threw;
Who nathemore his heavy load releast,
But aye the more he rag’d, the more his powre increast.
XXXIII
Tho when the beast saw he mote nought availe
By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply, 290
And sharpely at him to revile and raile,
With bitter termes of shamefull infamy;
Oft interlacing many a forged lie,
Whose like he never once did speake, nor heare,
Nor ever thought thing so unworthily: 295
Yet did he nought, for all that, him forbeare,
But strained him so streightly that he chokt him neare.
XXXIV
At last, when as he found his force to shrincke,
And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzell strong
Of surest yron, made with many a lincke; 300
Therewith he mured up his mouth along,
And therein shut up his blasphemous tong,
For never more defaming gentle knight,
Or unto lovely lady doing wrong:
And thereunto a great long chaine he tight, 305
With which he drew him forth, even in his own despight.
XXXV
Like as whylome that strong Tirynthian swaine
Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of hell,
Against his will fast bound in yron chaine,
And roring horribly, did him compell 310
To see the hatefull sunne, that he might tell
To griesly Pluto what on earth was donne,
And to the other damned ghosts, which dwell
For aye in darkenesse, which day light doth shonne:
So led this knight his captyve with like conquest wonne. 315
XXXVI
Yet greatly did the beast repine at those
Straunge bands, whose like till then he never bore,
Ne ever any durst till then impose,
And chauffed inly, seeing now no more
Him liberty was left aloud to rore: 320
Yet durst he not draw backe, nor once withstand
The proved powre of noble Calidore,
But trembled underneath his mighty hand,
And like a fearefull dog him followed through the land.
XXXVII
Him through all Faery Land he follow’d so, 325
As if he learned had obedience long,
That all the people, where so he did go,
Out of their townes did round about him throng,
To see him leade that beast in bondage strong,
And seeing it, much wondred at the sight; 330
And all such persons as he earst did wrong
Rejoyced much to see his captive plight,
And much admyr’d the beast, but more admyr’d the knight.
XXXVIII
Thus was this monster, by the maystring might
Of doughty Calidore, supprest and tamed, 335
That never more he mote endammadge wight
With his vile tongue, which many had defamed,
And many causelesse caused to be blamed:
So did he eeke long after this remaine,
Untill that, whether wicked fate so framed, 340
Or fault of men, he broke his yron chaine,
And got into the world at liberty againe.
XXXIX
Thenceforth more mischiefe and more scath he wrought
To mortall men, then he had done before;
Ne ever could, by any, more be brought 345
Into like bands, ne maystred any more:
Albe that long time after Calidore,
The good Sir Pelleas him tooke in hand,
And after him Sir Lamoracke of yore,
And all his brethren borne in Britaine land; 350
Yet none of them could ever bring him into band.
XL
So now he raungeth through the world againe,
And rageth sore in each degree and state;
Ne any is, that may him now restraine,
He growen is so great and strong of late, 355
Barking and biting all that him doe bate,
Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime:
Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate,
Ne spareth he the gentle poets rime,
But rends without regard of person or of time. 360
XLI
Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest,
Hope to escape his venemous despite,
More then my former writs, all were they cleanest
From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite,
With which some wicked tongues did it backebite, 365
And bring into a mighty peres displeasure,
That never so deserved to endite.
Therfore do you, my rimes, keep better measure,
And seeke to please, that now is counted wisemens threasure.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Faerie Queene: Book VII. Two. Cantos of Mutabilitie
Canto VI
TWO CANTOS
OF
MUTABILITIE
WHICH, BOTH FOR FORME AND MATTER, APPEARE TO BE PARCELL OF SOME FOLLOWING BOOKE OF THE
FAERIE QUEENE
UNDER THE LEGEND
OF
CONSTANCIE
NEVER BEFORE IMPRINTED
CANTO VI
Proud Change (not pleasd in mortall things
Beneath the moone to raigne)
Pretends, as well of gods as men,
To be the soveraine.
I
WHAT man that sees the ever-whirling wheele
Of Change, the which all mortall things doth sway,
But that therby doth find, and plainly feele,
How Mutability in them doth play
Her cruell sports, to many mens decay? 5
Which that to all may better yet appeare,
I will rehearse that whylome I heard say,
How she at first her selfe began to reare
Gainst all the gods, and th’ empire sought from them to beare.
II
But first, here falleth fittest to unfold 10
Her antique race and linage ancient,
As I have found it registred of old
In Faery Land mongst records permanent.
She was, to weet, a daughter by descent
Of those old Titans that did whylome strive 15
With Saturnes sonne for heavens regiment;
Whom though high Jove of Kingdome did deprive,
Yet many of their stemme long after did survive.
III
And many of them afterwards obtain’d
Great power of Jove, and high authority: 20
As Hecatè, in whose almighty hand
He plac’t all rule and principality,
To be by her disposed diversly,
To gods and men, as she them list divide;
And drad Bellona, that doth sound on hie 25
Warres and allarums unto nations wide,
That makes both heaven and earth to tremble at her pride.
IV
So likewise did this Titanesse aspire,
Rule and dominion to her selfe to gaine;
That as a goddesse men might her admire, 30
And heavenly honours yield, as to them twaine.
> And first, on earth she sought it to obtaine;
Where she such proofe and sad examples shewed
Of her great power, to many ones great paine,
That not men onely (whom she soone subdewed), 35
But eke all other creatures, her bad dooings rewed.
V
For she the face of earthly things so changed,
That all which Nature had establisht first
In good estate, and in meet order ranged,
She did pervert, and all their statutes burst: 40
And all the worlds faire frame (which none yet durst
Of gods or men to alter or misguide)
She alter’d quite, and made them all accurst
That God had blest, and did at first provide
In that still happy state for ever to abide. 45
VI
Ne shee the lawes of Nature onely brake,
But eke of Justice, and of Policie;
And wrong of right, and bad of good did make,
And death for life exchanged foolishlie:
Since which, all living wights have learn’d to die, 50
And all this world is woxen daily worse.
O pittious worke of Mutabilitie!
By which we all are subject to that curse,
And death, in stead of life, have sucked from our nurse.
VII
And now, when all the earth she thus had brought 55
To her behest, and thralled to her might,
She gan to cast in her ambitious thought
T’ attempt the empire of the heavens hight,
And Jove himselfe to shoulder from his right.
And first, she past the region of the ayre, 60
And of the fire, whose substance thin and slight
Made no resistance, ne could her contraire,
But ready passage to her pleasure did prepaire.
VIII
Thence to the circle of the Moone she clambe,
Where Cynthia raignes in everlasting glory, 65
To whose bright shining palace straight she came,
All fairely deckt with heavens goodly story:
Whose silver gates (by which there sate an hory
Old aged sire, with hower-glasse in hand,
Hight Tyme) she entred, were he liefe or sory: 70
Ne staide till she the highest stage had scand,
Where Cynthia did sit, that never still did stand.
IX
Her sitting on an ivory throne shee found,
Drawne of two steeds, th’ one black, the other white,
Environd with tenne thousand starres around, 75
That duly her attended day and night;
And by her side there ran her page, that hight
Vesper, whom we the evening-starre intend:
That with his torche, still twinkling like twylight,
Her lightened all the way where she should wend, 80
And joy to weary wandring travailers did lend:
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 121
