The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

  All trauellers; therefore aduise ye well,

  Before ye enterprise that way to wend:

  One may his iourney bring too soone to euill end.

  Malbecco stopt in great astonishment,

  And with pale eyes fast fixed on the rest,

  Their counsell crau'd, in daunger imminent.

  Said Trompart, You that are the most opprest

  With burden of great treasure, I thinke best

  Here for to stay in safetie behind;

  My Lord and I will search the wide forrest.

  That counsell pleased not Malbeccoes mind;

  For he was much affraid, himselfe alone to find.

  Then is it best (said he) that ye doe leaue

  Your treasure here in some securitie,

  Either fast closed in some hollow greaue,

  Or buried in the ground from ieopardie,

  Till we returne againe in safetie:

  As for vs two, least doubt of vs ye haue,

  Hence farre away we will blindfolded lie,

  Ne priuie be vnto your treasures graue.

  It pleased: so he did, Then they march forward braue.

  Now when amid the thickest woods they were,

  They heard a noyse of many bagpipes shrill,

  And shrieking Hububs them approching nere,

  Which all the forrest did with horror fill:

  That dreadfull sound the boasters hart did thrill,

  With such amazement, that in haste he fled,

  Ne euer looked backe for good or ill,

  And after him eke fearefull Trompart sped;

  The old man could not fly, but fell to ground halfe ded.

  Yet afterwards close creeping, as he might,

  He in a bush did hide his fearefull hed,

  The iolly Satyres full of fresh delight,

  Came dauncing forth, and with them nimbly led

  Faire Hellenore, with girlonds all bespred,

  Whom their May-lady they had newly made:

  She proud of that new honour, which they red,

  And of their louely fellowship full glade,

  Daunst liuely, and her face did with a Lawrell shade.

  The silly man that in the thicket lay

  Saw all this goodly sport, and grieued sore,

  Yet durst he not against it doe or say,

  But did his hart with bitter thoughts engore,

  To see th'vnkindnesse of his Hellenore.

  All day they daunced with great lustihed,

  And with their horned feet the greene grasse wore,

  The whiles their Gotes vpon the brouzes fed,

  Till drouping Phoebus gan to hide his golden hed.

  Tho vp they gan their merry pypes to trusse,

  And all their goodly heards did gather round,

  But euery Satyre first did giue a busse

  To Hellenore: so busses did abound.

  Now gan the humid vapour shed the ground

  With perly deaw, and th'Earthes gloomy shade

  Did dim the brightnesse of the welkin round,

  That euery bird and beast awarned made,

  To shrowd themselues, whiles sleepe their senses did inuade.

  Which when Malbecco saw, out of his bush

  Vpon his hands and feete he crept full light,

  And like a Gote emongst the Gotes did rush,

  That through the helpe of his faire hornes on hight,

  And misty dampe of misconceiuing night,

  And eke through likenesse of his gotish beard,

  He did the better counterfeite aright:

  So home he marcht emongst the horned heard,

  That none of all the Satyres him espyde or heard.

  At night, when all they went to sleepe, he vewd,

  Whereas his louely wife emongst them lay,

  Embraced of a Satyre rough and rude,

  Who all the night did minde his ioyous play:

  Nine times he heard him come aloft ere day,

  That all his hart with gealosie did swell;

  But yet that nights ensample did bewray,

  That not for nought his wife them loued so well,

  When one so oft a night did ring his matins bell.

  So closely as he could, he to them crept,

  When wearie of their sport to sleepe they fell,

  And to his wife, that now full soundly slept,

  He whispered in her eare, and did her tell,

  That it was he, which by her side did dwell,

  And therefore prayd her wake, to heare him plaine.

  As one out of a dreame not waked well,

  She turned her, and returned backe againe:

  Yet her for to awake he did the more constraine.

  At last with irkesome trouble she abrayd;

  And then perceiuing, that it was indeed

  Her old Malbecco, which did her vpbrayd,

  With loosenesse of her loue, and loathly deed,

  She was astonisht with exceeding dreed,

  And would haue wakt the Satyre by her syde;

  But he her prayd, for mercy, or for meed,

  To saue his life, ne let him be descryde,

  But hearken to his lore, and all his counsell hyde.

  Tho gan he her perswade, to leaue that lewd

  And loathsome life, of God and man abhord,

  And home returne, where all should be renewd

  With perfect peace, and bandes of fresh accord,

  And she receiu'd againe to bed and bord,

  As if no trespasse euer had bene donne:

  But she it all refused at one word,

  And by no meanes would to his will be wonne,

  But chose emongst the iolly Satyres still to wonne.

  He wooed her, till day spring he espyde;

  But all in vaine: and then turnd to the heard,

  Who butted him with hornes on euery syde,

  And trode downe in the durt, where his hore beard

  Was fowly dight, and he of death afeard.

  Early before the heauens fairest light

  Out of the ruddy East was fully reard,

  The heardes out of their foldes were loosed quight,

  And he emongst the rest crept forth in sory plight.

  So soone as he the Prison dore did pas,

  He ran as fast, as both his feete could beare,

  And neuer looked, who behind him was,

  Ne scarsely who before: like as a Beare

  That creeping close, amongst the hiues to reare

  An hony combe, the wakefull dogs espy,

  And him assayling, sore his carkasse teare,

  That hardly he with life away does fly,

  Ne stayes, till safe himselfe he see from ieopardy.

  Ne stayd he, till he came vnto the place,

  Where late his treasure he entombed had,

  Where when he found it not (for Trompart bace

  Had it purloyned for his maister bad:)

  With extreme fury he became quite mad,

  And ran away, ran with himselfe away:

  That who so straungely had him seene bestad,

  With vpstart haire, and staring eyes dismay,

  From Limbo lake him late escaped sure would say.

  High ouer hilles and ouer dales he fled,

  As if the wind him on his winges had borne,

  Ne banck nor bush could stay him, when he sped

  His nimble feet, as treading still on thorne:

  Griefe, and despight, and gealosie, and scorne

  Did all the way him follow hard behind,

  And he himselfe himselfe loath'd so forlorne,

  So shamefully forlorne of womankind;

  That as a Snake, still lurked in his wounded mind.

  Still fled he forward, looking backward still,

  Ne stayd his flight, nor fearefull agony,

  Till that he came vnto a rockie hill,

  Ouer the sea, suspended dreadfully,

  That liuing creature it would terrify,


  To looke adowne, or vpward to the hight:

  From thence he threw himselfe dispiteously,

  All desperate of his fore-damned spright,

  That seem'd no helpe for him was left in liuing sight.

  But through long anguish, and selfe-murdring thought

  He was so wasted and forpined quight,

  That all his substance was consum'd to nought,

  And nothing left, but like an aery Spright,

  That on the rockes he fell so flit and light,

  That he thereby receiu'd no hurt at all,

  But chaunced on a craggy cliff to light;

  Whence he with crooked clawes so long did crall,

  That at the last he found a caue with entrance small.

  Into the same he creepes, and thenceforth there

  Resolu'd to build his balefull mansion,

  In drery darkenesse, and continuall feare

  Of that rockes fall, which euer and anon

  Threates with huge ruine him to fall vpon,

  That he dare neuer sleepe, but that one eye

  Still ope he keepes for that occasion;

  Ne euer rests he in tranquillity,

  The roring billowes beat his bowre so boystrously.

  Ne euer is he wont on ought to feed,

  But toades and frogs, his pasture poysonous,

  Which in his cold complexion do breed

  A filthy bloud, or humour rancorous,

  Matter of doubt and dread suspitious,

  That doth with curelesse care consume the hart,

  Corrupts the stomacke with gall vitious,

  Croscuts the liuer with internall smart,

  And doth transfixe the soule with deathes eternall dart.

  Yet can he neuer dye, but dying liues,

  And doth himselfe with sorrow new sustaine,

  That death and life attonce vnto him giues.

  And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.

  There dwels he euer, miserable swaine,

  Hatefull both to him selfe, and euery wight;

  Where he through priuy griefe, and horrour vaine,

  Is woxen so deform'd, that he has quight

  Forgot he was a man, and Gealosie is hight.

  Cant. XI.

  Britomart chaceth Ollyphant,

  findes Scudamour distrest:

  Assayes the house of Busyrane,

  where Loues spoyles are exprest.

  O Hatefull hellish Snake, what furie furst

  Brought thee from balefull house of Proserpine,

  Where in her bosome she thee long had nurst,

  And fostred vp with bitter milke of tine,

  Fowle Gealosie, that turnest loue diuine

  To ioylesse dread, and mak'st the louing hart

  With hatefull thoughts to languish and to pine,

  And feed it selfe with selfe-consuming smart?

  Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art.

  O let him far be banished away,

  And in his stead let Loue for euer dwell,

  Sweet Loue, that doth his golding wings embay

  In blessed Nectar, and pure Pleasures well,

  Vntroubled of vile feare, or bitter fell.

  And ye faire Ladies, that your kingdomes make

  In th'harts of men, them gouerne wisely well,

  And of faire Britomart ensample take,

  That was as trew in loue, as Turtle to her make.

  Who with Sir Satyrane, as earst ye red,

  Forth ryding from Malbeccoes hostlesse hous,

  Far off aspyde a young man, the which fled

  From an huge Geaunt, that with hideous

  And hatefull outrage long him chaced thus;

  It was that Ollyphant, the brother deare

  Of that Argante vile and vitious,

  From whom the Squire of Dames was reft whylere;

  This all as bad as she, and worse, if worse ought were.

  For as the sister did in feminine

  And filthy lust exceede all woman kind,

  So he surpassed his sex masculine,

  In beastly vse that I did euer find;

  Whom when as Britomart beheld behind

  The fearefull boy so greedily pursew,

  She was emmoued in her noble mind,

  T'employ her puissaunce to his reskew,

  And pricked fiercely forward, where she him did vew.

  Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behinde,

  But with like fiercenesse did ensew the chace:

  Whom when the Gyaunt saw, he soone resinde

  His former suit, and from them fled apace;

  They after both, and boldly bad him bace,

  And each did striue the other to out-goe,

  But he them both outran a wondrous space,

  For he was long, and swift as any Roe,

  And now made better speed, t'escape his feared foe.

  It was not Satyrane, whom he did feare,

  But Britomart the flowre of chastity;

  For he the powre of chast hands might not beare,

  But alwayes did their dread encounter fly:

  And now so fast his feet he did apply,

  That he has gotten to a forrest neare,

  Where he is shrowded in security.

  The wood they enter, and search euery where,

  They searched diuersely, so both diuided were.

  Faire Britomart so long him followed,

  That she at last came to a fountaine sheare,

  By which there lay a knight all wallowed

  Vpon the grassy ground, and by him neare

  His haberieon, his helmet, and his speare;

  A little off, his shield was rudely throwne,

  On which the winged boy in colours cleare

  Depeincted was, full easie to be knowne,

  And he thereby, where euer it in field was showne.

  His face vpon the ground did groueling ly,

  As if he had bene slombring in the shade,

  That the braue Mayd would not for courtesy,

  Out of his quiet slomber him abrade,

  Nor seeme too suddeinly him to inuade:

  Still as she stood, she heard with grieuous throb

  Him grone, as if his hart were peeces made,

  And with most painefull pangs to sigh and sob,

  That pitty did the Virgins hart of patience rob.

  At last forth breaking into bitter plaintes

  He said; ô soueraigne Lord that sit'st on hye,

  And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed Saintes,

  How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty,

  So long vnwreaked of thine enimy?

  Or hast thou, Lord, of good mens cause no heed?

  Or doth thy iustice sleepe, and silent ly?

  What booteth then the good and righteous deed,

  If goodnesse find no grace, nor righteousnesse no meed?

  If good find grace, and righteousnesse reward,

  Why then is Amoret in caytiue band,

  Sith that more bounteous creature neuer far'd

  On foot, vpon the face of liuing land?

  Or if that heauenly iustice may withstand

  The wrongfull outrage of vnrighteous men,

  Why then is Busirane with wicked hand

  Suffred, these seuen monethes day in secret den

  My Lady and my loue so cruelly to pen?

  My Lady and my loue is cruelly pend

  In dolefull darkenesse from the vew of day,

  Whilest deadly torments do her chast brest rend,

  And the sharpe steele doth riue her hart in tway,

  All for she Scudamore will not denay.

  Yet thou vile man, vile Scudamore art sound,

  Ne canst her ayde, ne canst her foe dismay:

  Vnworthy wretch to tread vpon the ground,

  For whom so faire a Lady feeles so sore a wound.

  There an huge heape of singulfes did oppresse

  His strugling soule, and swelling throbs empeachr />
  His foltring toung with pangs of drerinesse,

  Choking the remnant of his plaintife speach,

  As if his dayes were come to their last reach.

  Which when she heard, and saw the ghastly fit,

  Threatning into his life to make a breach,

  Both with great ruth and terrour she was smit,

  Fearing least from her cage the wearie soule would flit.

  Tho stooping downe she him amoued light;

  Who therewith somewhat starting, vp gan looke,

  And seeing him behind a straunger knight,

  Whereas no liuing creature he mistooke,

  With great indignaunce he that sight forsooke,

  And downe againe himselfe disdainefully

  Abiecting, th'earth with his faire forhead strooke:

  Which the bold Virgin seeing, gan apply

  Fit medcine to his griefe, and spake thus courtesly.

  Ah gentle knight, whose deepe conceiued griefe

  Well seemes t'exceede the powre of patience,

  Yet if that heauenly grace some good reliefe

  You send, submit you to high prouidence,

  And euer in your noble hart prepense,

  That all the sorrow in the world is lesse,

  Then vertues might, and values confidence,

  For who nill bide the burden of distresse,

  Must not here thinke to liue: for life is wretchednesse.

  Therefore, faire Sir, do comfort to you take,

  And freely read, what wicked felon so

  Hath outrag'd you, and thrald your gentle make.

  Perhaps this hand may helpe to ease your woe,

  And wreake your sorrow on your cruell foe,

  At least it faire endeuour will apply.

  Those feeling wordes so neare the quicke did goe,

  That vp his head he reared easily,

  And leaning on his elbow, these few wordes let fly.

  What boots it plaine, that cannot be redrest,

  And sow vaine sorrow in a fruitlesse eare,

  Sith powre of hand, nor skill of learned brest,

  Ne worldly price cannot redeeme my deare,

  Out of her thraldome and continuall feare?

  For he the tyraunt, which her hath in ward

  By strong enchauntments and blacke Magicke leare,

  Hath in a dungeon deepe her close embard,