Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Some, clambring through the hollow cliffes on hy,

  Nibble the bushie shrubs, which growe thereby. 80

  Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop,

  And brouze the woodbine twigges, that freshly bud;

  This with full bit doth catch the utmost top

  Of some soft willow, or new growen stud;

  This with sharpe teeth the bramble leaves doth lop, 85

  And chaw the tender prickles in her cud;

  The whiles another high doth overlooke

  Her owne like image in a christall brooke.

  O the great happines which shepheards have,

  Who so loathes not too much the poore estate 90

  With minde that ill use doth before deprave,

  Ne measures all things by the costly rate

  Of riotise, and semblants outward brave!

  No such sad cares, as wont to macerate

  And rend the greedie mindes of covetous men, 95

  Do ever creepe into the shepheards den.

  Ne cares he if the fleece which him arayes

  Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye;

  Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes

  The summer beames, doe blinde his gazing eye; 100

  Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing rayes

  Of precious stones, whence no good commeth by;

  Ne yet his cup embost with imagery

  Of Bætus or of Alcons vanity.

  Ne ought the whelky pearles esteemeth hee, 105

  Which are from Indian seas brought far away:

  But with pure brest from carefull sorrow free,

  On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft display,

  In sweete spring time, when flowres varietie

  With sundrie colours paints the sprincled lay; 110

  There, lying all at ease from guile or spight,

  With pype of fennie reedes doth him delight.

  There he, lord of himselfe, with palme bedight,

  His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine:

  There his milk dropping goats be his delight, 115

  And fruitefull Pales, and the forrest greene,

  And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies pight,

  Wheras continuall shade is to be seene,

  And where fresh springing wells, as christall neate,

  Do alwayes flow, to quench his thirstie heate. 120

  O who can lead then a more happie life

  Than he, that with cleane minde and heart sincere,

  No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie strife,

  No deadly fight of warlick fleete doth feare,

  Ne runs in perill of foes cruell knife, 125

  That in the sacred temples he may reare

  A trophee of his glittering spoyles and treasure,

  Or may abound in riches above measure?

  Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe,

  And not with skill of craftsman polished: 130

  He joyes in groves, and makes himselfe full blythe

  With sundrie flowers in wilde fieldes gathered;

  Ne frankincens he from Panchæa buyth:

  Sweete Quiet harbours in his harmeles head,

  And perfect Pleasure buildes her joyous bowre, 135

  Free from sad cares, that rich mens hearts devowre.

  This all his care, this all his whole indevour,

  To this his minde and senses he doth bend,

  How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour,

  Content with any food that God doth send; 140

  And how his limbs, resolv’d through idle leisour

  Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend,

  In some coole shadow from the scorching heat,

  The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do eate.

  O flocks, O faunes, and O ye pleasaunt springs 145

  Of Tempe, where the countrey nymphs are rife,

  Through whose not costly care each shepheard sings

  As merrie notes upon his rusticke fife

  As that Ascræan bard, whose fame now rings

  Through the wide world, and leads as joyfull life, 150

  Free from all troubles and from worldly toyle,

  In which fond men doe all their dayes turmoyle.

  In such delights whilst thus his carelesse time

  This shepheard drives, upleaning on his batt,

  And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick rime, 155

  Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full hott,

  Into the highest top of heaven gan clime,

  And the world parting by an equall lott,

  Did shed his whirling flames on either side,

  As the great Ocean doth himselfe divide. 160

  Then gan the shepheard gather into one

  His stragling goates, and drave them to a foord,

  Whose cærule streame, rombling in pible stone,

  Crept under mosse as greene as any goord.

  Now had the sun halfe heaven overgone, 165

  When he his heard back from that water foord

  Drave from the force of Phœbus boyling ray,

  Into thick shadowes, there themselves to lay.

  Soone as he them plac’d in thy sacred wood

  (O Delian goddesse) saw, to which of yore 170

  Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus brood,

  Cruell Agave, flying vengeance sore

  Of King Nictileus for the guiltie blood

  Which she with cursed hands had shed before;

  There she halfe frantick having slaine her sonne, 175

  Did shrowd her selfe like punishment to shonne.

  Here also playing on the grassy greene,

  Woodgods, and satyres, and swift dryades,

  With many fairies oft were dauncing seene.

  Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse 180

  The streames of Hebrus with his songs, I weene,

  As that faire troupe of woodie goddesses

  Staied thee (O Peneus) powring foorth to thee,

  From cheereful lookes, great mirth and gladsome glee.

  The verie nature of the place, resounding 185

  With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre,

  A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding

  In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre,

  To rest their limbs with wearines redounding.

  For first the high palme trees, with braunches faire, 190

  Out of the lowly vallies did arise,

  And high shoote up their heads into the skyes.

  And them amongst the wicked lotos grew,

  Wicked, for holding guilefully away

  Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes new, 195

  Taking to hoste, it quite from him did stay;

  And eke those trees, in whose transformed hew

  The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the rash decay

  Of Phaeton, whose limbs with lightening rent

  They gathering up, with sweete teares did lament. 200

  And that same tree, in which Demophoon,

  By his disloyalty lamented sore,

  Eternall hurte left unto many one:

  Whom als accompanied the oke, of yore

  Through fatall charmes transformd to such an one: 205

  The oke, whose acornes were our foode, before

  That Ceres seede of mortall men were knowne,

  Which first Triptoleme taught how to be sowne.

  Here also grew the rougher rinded pine,

  The great Argoan ships brave ornament, 210

  Whom golden fleece did make an heavenly signe;

  Which coveting, with his high tops extent,

  To make the mountaines touch the starres divine,

  Decks all the forrest with embellishment;

  And the blacke holme that loves the watrie vale; 215

  And the sweete cypresse, signe of deadly bale.

  Emongst the rest the clambring yvie grew,

  Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold,

 
Least that the poplar happely should rew

  Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she doth enfold 220

  With her lythe twigs, till they the top survew,

  And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold.

  Next did the myrtle tree to her approach,

  Not yet unmindfull of her olde reproach.

  But the small birds, in their wide boughs embowring, 225

  Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete consent;

  And under them a silver spring, forth powring

  His trickling streames, a gentle murmure sent;

  Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie scowring

  Of the moist moores, their jarring voyces bent; 230

  And shrill grashoppers chirped them around:

  All which the ayrie echo did resound.

  In this so pleasant place this shepheards flocke

  Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to rest,

  On everie bush, and everie hollow rocke, 235

  Where breathe on them the whistling wind mote best;

  The whiles the shepheard self, tending his stocke,

  Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to rest,

  Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed him,

  Displaid on ground, and seized everie lim. 240

  Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he keep,

  But, looslie on the grassie greene dispredd,

  His dearest life did trust to careles sleep;

  Which, weighing down his drouping drowsie hedd,

  In quiet rest his molten heart did steep, 245

  Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd:

  Had not inconstant Fortune, bent to ill,

  Bid strange mischance his quietnes to spill.

  For at his wonted time in that same place

  An huge great serpent, all with speckles pide, 250

  To drench himselfe in moorish slime did trace,

  There from the boyling heate himselfe to hide:

  He, passing by with rolling wreathed pace,

  With brandisht tongue the emptie aire did gride,

  And wrapt his scalie boughts with fell despight, 255

  That all things seem’d appalled at his sight.

  Now more and more having himselfe enrolde,

  His glittering breast he lifteth up on hie,

  And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth holde;

  His creste above, spotted with purple die, 260

  On everie side did shine like scalie golde,

  And his bright eyes, glauncing full dreadfullie,

  Did seeme to flame out flakes of flashing fyre,

  And with sterne lookes to threaten kindled yre.

  Thus wise long time he did himselfe dispace 265

  There round about, when as at last he spide,

  Lying along before him in that place,

  That flocks grand captaine and most trustie guide:

  Eftsoones more fierce in visage and in pace,

  Throwing his firie eyes on everie side, 270

  He commeth on, and all things in his way

  Full stearnly rends, that might his passage stay.

  Much he disdaines, that anie one should dare

  To come unto his haunt; for which intent

  He inly burns, and gins straight to prepare 275

  The weapons which Nature to him hath lent;

  Fellie he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare,

  And hath his jawes with angrie spirits rent,

  That all his tract with bloudie drops is stained,

  And all his foldes are now in length outstrained. 280

  Whom, thus at point prepared, to prevent,

  A litle noursling of the humid ayre,

  A Gnat, unto the sleepie shepheard went,

  And marking where his ey-lids, twinckling rare,

  Shewd the two pearles which sight unto him lent, 285

  Through their thin coverings appearing fayre,

  His little needle there infixing deep,

  Warnd him awake, from death himselfe to keep.

  Wherewith enrag’d, he fiercely gan upstart,

  And with his hand him rashly bruzing, slewe, 290

  As in avengement of his heedles smart,

  That streight the spirite out of his senses flew,

  And life out of his members did depart:

  When suddenly casting aside his vew,

  He spide his foe with felonous intent, 295

  And fervent eyes to his destruction bent.

  All suddenly dismaid, and hartles quight,

  He fled abacke, and, catching hastie holde

  Of a yong alder hard beside him pight,

  It rent, and streight about him gan beholde 300

  What god or fortune would assist his might.

  But whether god or fortune made him bold

  Its hard to read: yet hardie will he had

  To overcome, that made him lesse adrad.

  The scalie backe of that most hideous snake 305

  Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire,

  And oft him to assaile, he fiercely strake

  Whereas his temples did his creast front tyre;

  And, for he was but slowe, did slowth off shake,

  And gazing ghastly on (for feare and yre 310

  Had blent so much his sense, that lesse he feard;)

  Yet, when he saw him slaine, himselfe he cheard.

  By this the Night forth from the darksome bowre

  Of Herebus her teemed steedes gan call,

  And laesie Vesper in his timely howre 315

  From golden Oeta gan proceede withall;

  Whenas the shepheard after this sharpe stowre,

  Seing the doubled shadowes low to fall,

  Gathering his straying flocke, does homeward fare,

  And unto rest his wearie joynts prepare. 320

  Into whose sense so soone as lighter sleepe

  Was entered, and now loosing everie lim,

  Sweete slumbring deaw in carelesnesse did steepe,

  The image of that Gnat appeard to him,

  And in sad tearmes gan sorrowfully weepe, 325

  With greislie countenaunce and visage grim,

  Wailing the wrong which he had done of late,

  In steed of good, hastning his cruell fate.

  Said he, ‘What have I, wretch, deserv’d, that thus

  Into this bitter bale I am outcast, 330

  Whilest that thy life more deare and precious

  Was than mine owne, so long as it did last?

  I now, in lieu of paines so gracious,

  Am tost in th’ ayre with everie windie blast:

  Thou, safe delivered from sad decay, 335

  Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost display.

  ‘So livest thou; but my poore wretched ghost

  Is forst to ferrie over Lethes river,

  And, spoyld of Charon, too and fro am tost.

  Seest thou, how all places quake and quiver, 340

  Lightned with deadly lamps on everie post?

  Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver

  Her flaming fire brond, encountring me,

  Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be.

  ‘And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo bay, 345

  And barke out flames, as if on fire he fed;

  Adowne whose necke, in terrible array,

  Ten thousand snakes, cralling about his hed,

  Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray,

  And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red; 350

  He oftentimes me dreadfullie doth threaten,

  With painfull torments to be sorely beaten.

  ‘Ay me! that thankes so much should faile of meed!

  For that I thee restor’d to life againe,

  Even from the doore of death and deadlie dreed. 355

  Where then is now the guerdon of my paine?

  Where the reward of my so piteous deed?

  The praise of pitie vanisht is in vaine,

  And th’ antique faith
of justice long agone

  Out of the land is fled away and gone. 360

  ‘I saw anothers fate approaching fast,

  And left mine owne his safetie to tender;

  Into the same mishap I now am cast,

  And shun’d destruction doth destruction render:

  Not unto him that never hath trespast, 365

  But punishment is due to the offender:

  Yet let destruction be the punishment,

  So long as thankfull will may it relent.

  ‘I carried am into waste wildernesse,

  Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian shades, 370

  Where endles paines and hideous heavinesse

  Is round about me heapt in darksome glades.

  For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse,

  Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades,

  Far of beholding Ephialtes tide, 375

  Which once assai’d to burne this world so wide.

  ‘And there is mournfull Tityus, mindefull yet

  Of thy displeasure, O Latona faire;

  Displeasure too implacable was it,

  That made him meat for wild foules of the ayre: 380

  Much do I feare among such fiends to sit;

  Much do I feare back to them to repayre,

  To the black shadowes of the Stygian shore,

  Where wretched ghosts sit wailing evermore.

  ‘There next the utmost brinck doth he abide, 385

  That did the bankets of the gods bewray,

  Whose throat, through thirst, to nought nigh being dride,

  His sense to seeke for ease turnes every way:

  And he that in avengement of his pride,

  For scorning to the sacred gods to pray, 390

  Against a mountaine rolls a mightie stone,

  Calling in vaine for rest, and can have none.

  ‘Go ye with them, go, cursed damosells,

  Whose bridale torches foule Erynnis tynde,

  And Hymen, at your spousalls sad, foretells 395

  Tydings of death and massacre unkinde:

  With them that cruell Colchid mother dwells,

  The which conceiv’d in her revengefull minde,

  With bitter woundes her owne deere babes to slay,

  And murdred troupes upon great heapes to lay. 400

  ‘There also those two Pandionian maides,

  Calling on Itis, Itis evermore,

  Whom, wretched boy, they slew with guiltie blades;

  For whome the Thracian king lamenting sore,

  Turn’d to a lapwing, fowlie them upbraydes, 405

  And fluttering round about them still does sore;

  There now they all eternally complaine

  Of others wrong, and suffer endles paine.

  ‘But the two brethren borne of Cadmus blood,

  Whilst each does for the soveraignty contend, 410

  Blinde through ambition, and with vengeance wood,