The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

  Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.

  The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,

  And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,

  As if his cry did meane for helpe to call

  To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill

  Percing his hart with pities point did thrill;

  That after him he ran with zealous haste,

  To rescue th'infant, ere he did him kill:

  Whom though he saw now somewhat ouerpast,

  Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.

  Well then him chaunst his heauy armes to want,

  Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,

  And hinder him from libertie to pant:

  For hauing long time, as his daily weed,

  Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,

  Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,

  That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed

  From bels and iesses, which did let her flight,

  Him seem'd his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.

  So well he sped him, that the wearie Beare

  Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay,

  And without weapon him assayling neare,

  Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.

  Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his pray,

  Vpon him turned, and with greedie force

  And furie, to be crossed in his way,

  Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse

  To be aueng'd on him, and to deuoure his corse.

  But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd,

  But catching vp in hand a ragged stone,

  Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)

  Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone

  Into his gaping throte, that made him grone

  And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,

  Being vnable to digest that bone;

  Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe,

  Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

  Whom when as he thus combred did behold,

  Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast,

  He with him closd, and laying mightie hold

  Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,

  That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast;

  And then oppressing him with vrgent paine,

  Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast,

  Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,

  And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine.

  Then tooke he vp betwixt his armes twaine

  The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;

  Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,

  From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,

  And from his face the filth that did it ray,

  And euery litle limbe he searcht around,

  And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay,

  Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound

  Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.

  So hauing all his bands againe vptyde,

  He with him thought backe to returne againe:

  But when he lookt about on euery syde,

  To weet which way were best to entertaine,

  To bring him to the place, where he would faine,

  He could no path nor tract of foot descry,

  Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme.

  For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,

  That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

  Much was he then encombred, ne could tell

  Which way to take: now West he went a while,

  Then North; then neither, but as fortune fell.

  So vp and downe he wandred many a mile,

  With wearie trauell and vncertaine toile,

  Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end;

  And euermore his louely litle spoile

  Crying for food, did greatly him offend.

  So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend.

  At last about the setting of the Sunne,

  Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,

  And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne:

  Where looking all about, where he mote fynd

  Some place of succour to content his mynd,

  At length he heard vnder the forrests syde

  A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd,

  Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,

  And oft complayn'd of fate, and Fortune oft defyde.

  To whom approching, when as she perceiued

  A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,

  As if she doubted to haue bene deceiued,

  Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd.

  Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd,

  He to her drew, and with faire blandishment

  Her chearing vp, thus gently to her sayd;

  What be you wofull Dame, which thus lament,

  And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent?

  To whom she thus, What need me Sir to tell,

  That which your selfe haue earst ared so right?

  A wofull dame ye haue me termed well;

  So much more wofull, as my wofull plight

  Cannot redressed be by liuing wight.

  Nathlesse (quoth he) if need doe not you bynd,

  Doe it disclose, to ease your grieued spright:

  Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd

  Find remedie vnsought, which seeking cannot fynd.

  Then thus began the lamentable Dame;

  Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord,

  I am th'vnfortunate Matilde by name,

  The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord

  Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword

  From a great Gyant, called Cormoraunt;

  Whom he did ouerthrow by yonder foord,

  And in three battailes did so deadly daunt,

  That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt.

  So is my Lord now seiz'd of all the land,

  As in his fee, with peaceable estate,

  And quietly doth hold it in his hand,

  Ne any dares with him for it debate.

  But to these happie fortunes, cruell Fate

  Hath ioyn'd one euill, which doth ouerthrow

  All these our ioyes, and all our blisse abate;

  And like in time to further ill to grow,

  And all this land with endlesse losse to ouerflow.

  For th'heauens enuying our prosperitie,

  Haue not vouchsaft to graunt vnto vs twaine

  The gladfull blessing of posteritie,

  Which we might see after our selues remaine

  In th'heritage of our vnhappie paine:

  So that for want of heires it to defend,

  All is in time like to returne againe

  To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend

  To leape into the same after our liues end.

  But most my Lord is grieued herewithall,

  And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke

  That all this land vnto his foe shall fall,

  For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke,

  That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.

  Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne

  Be gotten, not begotten, which should drinke

  And dry vp all the water, which doth ronne

  In the next brooke, by whõ that feend shold be fordonne.

  Well hop't he then, when this was propheside,

  That from his sides some noble chyld should rize,

  The which through fame should farre be magnifide,

  And this proud gyant should with braue emprize

  Quite ouerthrow, who now ginnes to despize

  The good Sir Bruin, growing farre in yeares;

  Who thin
kes from me his sorrow all doth rize.

  Lo this my cause of griefe to you appeares;

  For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth ceaselesse teares.

  Which when he heard, he inly touched was

  With tender ruth for her vnworthy griefe:

  And when he had deuized of her case,

  He gan in mind conceiue a fit reliefe

  For all her paine, if please her make the priefe.

  And hauing cheared her, thus said; faire Dame,

  In euils counsell is the comfort chiefe,

  Which though I be not wise enough to frame,

  Yet as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame.

  If that the cause of this your languishment

  Be lacke of children, to supply your place,

  Lo how good fortune doth to you present

  This litle babe, of sweete and louely face,

  And spotlesse spirit, in which ye may enchace

  What euer formes ye list thereto apply,

  Being now soft and fit them to embrace;

  Whether ye list him traine in cheualry,

  Or noursle vp in lore of learn'd Philosophy.

  And certes it hath oftentimes bene seene,

  That of the like, whose linage was vnknowne,

  More braue and noble knights haue raysed beene,

  As their victorious deedes haue often showen,

  Being with fame through many Nations blowen,

  Then those, which haue bene dandled in the lap.

  Therefore some thought, that those braue imps were sowen

  Here by the Gods, and fed with heauenly sap,

  That made them grow so high t'all honorable hap.

  The Ladie hearkning to his sensefull speach,

  Found nothing that he said, vnmeet nor geason,

  Hauing oft seene it tryde, as he did teach.

  Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,

  Agreeing well both with the place and season,

  She gladly did of that same babe accept,

  As of her owne by liuerey and seisin,

  And hauing ouer it a litle wept,

  She bore it thence, and euer as her owne it kept.

  Right glad was Calepine to be so rid

  Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought:

  Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did,

  And with her husband vnder hand so wrought,

  That when that infant vnto him she brought,

  She made him thinke it surely was his owne,

  And it in goodly thewes so well vpbrought,

  That it became a famous knight well knowne,

  And did right noble deedes, the which elswhere are showne.

  But Calepine, now being left alone

  Vnder the greenewoods side in sorie plight,

  Withouten armes or steede to ride vpon,

  Or house to hide his head from heauens spight,

  Albe that Dame by all the meanes she might,

  Him oft desired home with her to wend,

  And offred him, his courtesie to requite,

  Both horse and armes, and what so else to lend,

  Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend.

  And for exceeding griefe which inly grew,

  That he his loue so lucklesse now had lost,

  On the cold ground, maugre himselfe he threw,

  For fell despight, to be so sorely crost;

  And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,

  Vowing, that neuer he in bed againe

  His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,

  Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaine,

  Or vnderstand, that she in safetie did remaine.

  Cant. V.

  The saluage serues Matilda well

  till she Prince Arthure fynd,

  Who her together with his Squyre

  with th'Hermit leaues behynd.

  O What an easie thing is to descry

  The gentle bloud, how euer it be wrapt

  In sad misfortunes foule deformity,

  And wretched sorrowes, which haue often hapt?

  For howsoeuer it may grow mis-shapt,

  Like this wyld man, being vndisciplynd,

  That to all vertue it may seeme vnapt,

  Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd,

  And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd.

  That plainely may in this wyld man be red,

  Who though he were still in this desert wood,

  Mongst saluage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,

  Ne euer saw faire guize, ne learned good,

  Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood,

  By gentle vsage of that wretched Dame.

  For certes he was borne of noble blood,

  How euer by hard hap he hether came;

  As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.

  Who when as now long time he lacked had

  The good Sir Calepine, that farre was strayd,

  Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,

  As he of some misfortune were afrayd:

  And leauing there this Ladie all dismayd,

  Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde,

  To seeke, if he perchance a sleepe were layd,

  Or what so else were vnto him betyde:

  He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde.

  Tho backe returning to that sorie Dame,

  He shewed semblant of exceeding mone,

  By speaking signes, as he them best could frame;

  Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,

  Now beating his hard head vpon a stone,

  That ruth it was to see him so lament.

  By which she well perceiuing, what was done,

  Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,

  And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment.

  Vpon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw,

  Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,

  That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,

  As if her breast new launcht with murdrous knife,

  Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life.

  There she long groueling, and deepe groning lay,

  As if her vitall powers were at strife

  With stronger death, and feared their decay,

  Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous assay.

  Whom when the Saluage saw so sore distrest,

  He reared her vp from the bloudie ground,

  And sought by all the meanes, that he could best,

  Her to recure out of that stony swound,

  And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound.

  Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,

  Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound,

  But day and night did vexe her carefull thought,

  And euer more and more her owne affliction wrought.

  At length, when as no hope of his retourne

  She saw now left, she cast to leaue the place,

  And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,

  To seeke some comfort in that sorie case.

  His steede now strong through rest so long a space,

  Well as she could, she got, and did bedight,

  And being thereon mounted, forth did pace,

  Withouten guide, her to conduct aright,

  Or gard her to defend from bold oppressors might.

  Whom when her Host saw readie to depart,

  He would not suffer her alone to fare,

  But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.

  Those warlike armes, which Calepine whyleare

  Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare,

  And put them all about himselfe vnfit,

  His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare.

  But without sword vpon his thigh to sit:

  Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it.

  So forth they traueld an vneuen payre,

 
; That mote to all men seeme an vncouth sight;

  A saluage man matcht with a Ladie fayre,

  That rather seem'd the conquest of his might,

  Gotten by spoyle, then purchaced aright.

  But he did her attend most carefully,

  And faithfully did serue both day and night,

  Withouten thought of shame or villeny,

  Ne euer shewed signe of foule disloyalty.

  Vpon a day as on their way they went,

  It chaunst some furniture about her steed

  To be disordred by some accident:

  Which to redresse, she did th'assistance need

  Of this her groome, which he by signes did reede;

  And streight his combrous armes aside did lay

  Vpon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed,

  And in his homely wize began to assay

  T'amend what was amisse, and put in right aray.

  Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard,

  Lo where a knight together with his squire,

  All arm'd to point came ryding thetherward,

  Which seemed by their portance and attire,

  To be two errant knights, that did inquire

  After aduentures, where they mote them get.

  Those were to weet (if that ye it require)

  Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met

  By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

  After that Timias had againe recured

  The fauour of Belphebe, (as ye heard)

  And of her grace did stand againe assured,

  To happie blisse he was full high vprear'd,

  Nether of enuy, nor of chaunge afeard,

  Though many foes did him maligne therefore,

  And with vniust detraction him did beard;

  Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,

  That in her soueraine lyking he dwelt euermore.

  But of them all, which did his ruine seeke

  Three mightie en'mies did him most despight,

  Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,

  That him not onely sought by open might

  To ouerthrow, but to supplant by slight.

  The first of them by name was cald Despetto,

  Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight;

  The second not so strong but wise, Decetto;