The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

  Art thou the caytiue, that defyest me,

  And for this Mayd, whose party thou doest take,

  Wilt giue thy beard, though it but little bee?

  Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free.

  With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd

  On hideous strokes with most importune might,

  That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd,

  And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight.

  But Calidore, that was well skild in fight,

  Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar'd,

  Lying in waite, how him he damadge might.

  But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward,

  He greater grew, and gan to driue at him more hard.

  Like as a water streame, whose swelling sourse

  Shall driue a Mill, within strong bancks is pent,

  And long restrayned of his ready course;

  So soone as passage is vnto him lent,

  Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent.

  Such was the fury of Sir Calidore,

  When once he felt his foeman to relent;

  He fiercely him pursu'd, and pressed sore,

  Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more.

  The heauy burden of whose dreadfull might

  When as the Carle no longer could sustaine,

  His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight

  Toward the Castle, where if need constraine,

  His hope of refuge vsed to remaine.

  Whom Calidore perceiuing fast to flie,

  He him pursu'd and chaced through the plaine,

  That he for dread of death gan loude to crie

  Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie.

  They from the wall him seeing so aghast,

  The gate soone opened to receiue him in,

  But Calidore did follow him so fast,

  That euen in the Porch he him did win,

  And cleft his head asunder to his chin.

  The carkasse tumbling downe within the dore,

  Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,

  That it could not be shut, whilest Calidore

  Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.

  With that the rest, the which the Castle kept,

  About him flockt, and hard at him did lay;

  But he them all from him full lightly swept,

  As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,

  With his long taile the bryzes brush away.

  Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,

  Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay

  He was ymett, who with vncomely shame

  Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame.

  False traytor Knight, (sayd she) no Knight at all,

  But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand

  Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall;

  Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand,

  And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand?

  Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight

  Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand,

  Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right:

  And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.

  Much was the Knight abashed at that word;

  Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame,

  But to the shamefull doer it afford.

  Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame

  To punish those, that doe deserue the same;

  But they that breake bands of ciuilitie,

  And wicked customes make, those doe defame

  Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.

  No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.

  Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe

  This euill manner, which ye here maintaine,

  And doe in stead thereof mild curt'sie showe

  To all, that passe. That shall you glory gaine

  More then his loue, which thus ye seeke t'obtaine.

  Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde;

  Vile recreant, know that I doe much disdaine

  Thy courteous lore, that doest my loue deride,

  Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde.

  To take defiaunce at a Ladies word

  (Quoth he) I hold it no indignity;

  But were he here, that would it with his sword

  Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.

  Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly,

  Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place.

  If I doe so, (sayd he) then liberty

  I leaue to you, for aye me to disgrace

  With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to deface.

  With that a Dwarfe she cald to her in hast,

  And taking from her hand a ring of gould,

  A priuy token, which betweene them past,

  Bad him to flie with all the speed he could,

  To Crudor, and desire him that he would

  Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight,

  Who through strõg powre had now her self in hould,

  Hauing late slaine her Seneschall in fight,

  And all her people murdred with outragious might.

  The Dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night;

  But Calidore did with her there abyde

  The comming of that so much threatned Knight,

  Where that discourteous Dame with scornfull pryde,

  And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,

  That yron heart it hardly could sustaine:

  Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,

  Did well endure her womanish disdaine,

  And did him selfe from fraile impatience refraine.

  The morrow next, before the lampe of light,

  Aboue the earth vpreard his flaming head,

  The Dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight,

  Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread,

  He would her succour, and aliue or dead

  Her foe deliuer vp into her hand:

  Therefore he wild her doe away all dread;

  And that of him she mote assured stand,

  He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band.

  Thereof full blyth the Lady streight became,

  And gan t'augment her bitternesse much more:

  Yet no whit more appalled for the same,

  Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore,

  But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore.

  And hauing soone his armes about him dight,

  Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore;

  Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight

  He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might.

  Well weend he streight, that he should be the same,

  Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine;

  Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,

  But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine.

  They bene ymett in middest of the plaine,

  With so fell fury, and dispiteous forse,

  That neither could the others stroke sustaine,

  But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse,

  Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse.

  But Calidore vprose againe full light,

  Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound,

  Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:

  For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.

  But when Briana saw that drery stound,

  There where she stood vppon the Castle wall,

  She deem'd him sure to haue bene dead on ground,

  And made such piteous mourning therewithall,

  That from the battlements she ready seem'd to fall.

  Nathlesse at length him selfe he did vpreare

  In lustlesse wise, as if against his will,

  Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,
r />   And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill

  Of his late fall, a while he rested still:

  But when he saw his foe before in vew,

  He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill

  Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,

  To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

  There then began a fearefull cruell fray

  Betwixt them two, for maystery of might.

  For both were wondrous practicke in that play,

  And passing well expert in single fight,

  And both inflam'd with furious despight:

  Which as it still encreast, so still increast

  Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;

  Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,

  Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast.

  Thus long they trac'd and trauerst to and fro,

  And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make

  Into the life of his malignant foe;

  They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder brake,

  As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake

  Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood,

  That at the last like to a purple lake

  Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood,

  Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood.

  At length it chaunst, that both their hands on hie,

  At once did heaue, with all their powre and might,

  Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie,

  And proue the finall fortune of the fight:

  But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight,

  And nimbler handed, then his enemie,

  Preuented him before his stroke could light,

  And on the helmet smote him formerlie,

  That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie.

  And ere he could recouer foot againe,

  He following that faire aduantage fast,

  His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,

  That him vpon the ground he groueling cast;

  And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast

  His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way.

  Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast,

  Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay,

  But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.

  With that his mortall hand a while he stayd,

  And hauing somewhat calm'd his wrathfull heat

  With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;

  And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,

  That menaced me from the field to beat,

  Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne,

  Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,

  But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne,

  The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne.

  For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,

  That court'sie doth as well as armes professe,

  How euer strong and fortunate in fight,

  Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.

  In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,

  Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:

  All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse,

  Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;

  What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you.

  Who will not mercie vnto others shew,

  How can he mercy euer hope to haue?

  To pay each with his owne is right and dew.

  Yet since ye mercie now doe need to craue,

  I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue;

  With these conditions, which I will propound:

  First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue

  Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground;

  Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound.

  The wretched man, that all this while did dwell

  In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,

  And promist to performe his precept well,

  And whatsoeuer else he would requere.

  So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare

  By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,

  To take Briana for his louing fere,

  Withouten dowre or composition;

  But to release his former foule condition.

  All which accepting, and with faithfull oth

  Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,

  He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth,

  And swore to him true fealtie for aye.

  Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay

  The sad Briana, which all this beheld:

  Who comming forth yet full of late affray,

  Sir Calidore vpcheard, and to her teld

  All this accord, to which he Crudor had compeld.

  Whereof she now more glad, then sory earst,

  All ouercome with infinite affect,

  For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst

  Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,

  Before his feet her selfe she did proiect,

  And him adoring as her liues deare Lord,

  With all due thankes, and dutifull respect,

  Her selfe acknowledg'd bound for that accord,

  By which he had to her both life and loue restord.

  So all returning to the Castle glad,

  Most ioyfully she them did entertaine,

  Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,

  To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,

  By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:

  And after all, vnto Sir Calidore

  She freely gaue that Castle for his paine,

  And her selfe bound to him for euermore;

  So wondrously now chaung'd, from that she was afore.

  But Calidore himselfe would not retaine

  Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,

  But gaue them streight vnto that Squire againe,

  Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,

  And to his damzell as their rightfull meed,

  For recompence of all their former wrong:

  There he remaind with them right well agreed,

  Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,

  And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

  Cant. II.

  Calidore sees young Tristram slay

  A proud discourteous knight:

  He makes him Squire, and of him learnes

  his state and present plight.

  VV Hat vertue is so fitting for a knight,

  Or for a Ladie, whom a knight should loue,

  As Curtesie, to beare themselues aright

  To all of each degree, as doth behoue?

  For whether they be placed high aboue,

  Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know

  Their good, that none them rightly may reproue

  Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:

  Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

  Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend:

  For some so goodly gratious are by kind,

  That euery action doth them much commend,

  And in the eyes of men great liking find;

  Which others, that haue greater skill in mind,

  Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine.

  For euerie thing, to which one is inclin'd,

  Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:

  Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine.

  That well in courteous Calidore appeares,

  Whose euery act and word, that he did say,

  Was like enchantment, that through both the eares,

  And both the eyes did steale the hart away.

  He now againe is on his former way,

  To follow his first quest, when as he spyde

  A tall young man from thence not farr
e away,

  Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,

  Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.

  And them beside a Ladie faire he saw,

  Standing alone on foot, in foule array:

  To whom himselfe he hastily did draw,

  To weet the cause of so vncomely fray,

  And to depart them, if so be he may.

  But ere he came in place, that youth had kild

  That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;

  Which when he saw, his hart was inly child

  With great amazement, & his thought with wonder fild.

  Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee

  A goodly youth of amiable grace,

  Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see

  Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face

  That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race.

  All in a woodmans iacket he was clad

  Of Lincolne greene, belayd with siluer lace;

  And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,

  And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had.

  Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,

  Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part,

  As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;

  In his right hand he held a trembling dart,

  Whose fellow he before had sent apart;

  And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,

  With which he wont to launch the saluage hart

  Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare

  That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare.

  Whom Calidore a while well hauing vewed,

  At length bespake; What meanes this, gentle swaine?

  Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed

  In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,

  By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?

  Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken

  The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,

  Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,

  So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

  For not I him, as this his Ladie here

  May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,

  Ne surely thus vnarm'd I likely were;

  But he me first, through pride and puissance strong