The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

Or to present her with their labours late;

  Through which if any grace chaunst to arize

  To him, the Shepheard streight with iealousie did frize.

  One day as they all three together went

  To the greene wood, to gather strawberies,

  There chaunst to them a dangerous accident;

  A Tigre forth out of the wood did rise,

  That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize,

  And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate,

  Did runne at Pastorell, her to surprize:

  Whom she beholding, now all desolate

  Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe ere all too late.

  Which Coridon first hearing, ran in hast

  To reskue her, but when he saw the feend,

  Through cowherd feare he fled away as fast,

  Ne durst abide the daunger of the end;

  His life he steemed dearer then his frend.

  But Calidore soone comming to her ayde,

  When he the beast saw ready now to rend

  His Loues deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde,

  He ran at him enrag[e]d in stead of being frayde.

  He had no weapon, but his shepheards hooke,

  To serue the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will;

  With which so sternely he the monster strooke,

  That to the ground astonished he fell;

  Whence ere he could recou'r, he did him quell,

  And hewing off his head, [he] it presented

  Before the feete of the faire Pastorell;

  Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted,

  A thousand times him thankt, that had her death preuented.

  From that day forth she gan him to affect,

  And daily more her fauour to augment;

  But Coridon for cowherdize reiect,

  Fit to keepe sheepe, vnfit for loues content:

  The gentle heart scornes base disparagement.

  Yet Calidore did not despise him quight,

  But vsde him friendly for further intent,

  That by his fellowship, he colour might

  Both his estate, and loue from skill of any wight.

  So well he wood her, and so well he wrought her,

  With humble seruice, and with daily sute,

  That at the last vnto his will he brought her;

  Which he so wisely well did prosecute,

  That of his loue he reapt the timely frute,

  And ioyed long in close felicity:

  Till fortune fraught with malice, blinde, and brute,

  That enuies louers long prosperity,

  Blew vp a bitter storme of foule aduersity.

  It fortuned one day, when Calidore

  Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade)

  A lawlesse people, Brigants hight of yore,

  That neuer vsde to liue by plough nor spade,

  But fed on spoile and booty, which they made

  Vpon their neighbours, which did nigh them border,

  The dwelling of these shepheards did inuade,

  And spoyld their houses, and them selues did murder;

  And droue away their flocks, with other much disorder.

  Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray,

  They spoyld old Melibee of all he had,

  And all his people captiue led away;

  Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad,

  Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad,

  Most sorrowfull, most sad, that euer sigh't,

  Now made the spoile of theeues and Brigants bad,

  Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight,

  That euer liu'd, and th'onely glory of his might.

  With them also was taken Coridon,

  And carried captiue by those theeues away;

  Who in the couert of the night, that none

  Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray,

  Vnto their dwelling did them close conuay.

  Their dwelling in a little Island was,

  Couered with shrubby woods, in which no way

  Appeard for people in nor out to pas,

  Nor any footing fynde for ouergrowen gras.

  For vnderneath the ground their way was made,

  Through hollow caues, that no man mote discouer

  For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade

  From view of liuing wight, and couered ouer:

  But darkenesse dred and daily night did houer

  Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelt,

  Ne lightned was with window, nor with louer,

  But with continuall candlelight, which delt

  A doubtfull sense of things, not so well seene, as felt.

  Hither those Brigants brought their present pray,

  And kept them with continuall watch and ward,

  Meaning so soone, as they conuenient may,

  For slaues to sell them, for no small reward,

  To merchants, which them kept in bondage hard,

  Or sold againe. Now when faire Pastorell

  Into this place was brought, and kept with gard

  Of griesly theeues, she thought her self in hell,

  Where with such damned fiends she should in darknesse dwell.

  But for to tell the dolefull dreriment,

  And pittifull complaints, which there she made,

  Where day and night she nought did but lament

  Her wretched life, shut vp in deadly shade,

  And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade

  Like to a flowre, that feeles no heate of sunne,

  Which may her feeble leaues with comfort glade.

  But what befell her in that theeuish wonne,

  Will in an other Canto better be begonne.

  Cant. XI.

  The theeues fall out for Pastorell,

  VVhilest Melibee is slaine:

  Her Calidore from them redeemes,

  And bringeth backe againe.

  T He ioyes of loue, if they should euer last,

  Without affliction or disquietnesse,

  That worldly chaunces doe amongst them cast,

  Would be on earth too great a blessednesse,

  Liker to heauen, then mortall wretchednesse.

  Therefore the winged God, to let men weet,

  That here on earth is no sure happinesse,

  A thousand sowres hath tempred with one sweet,

  To make it seeme more deare and dainty, as is meet.

  Like as is now befalne to this faire Mayd,

  Faire Pastorell, of whom is now my song,

  Who being now in dreadfull darknesse layd,

  Amongst those theeues, which her in bondage strong

  Detaynd, yet Fortune not with all this wrong

  Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw,

  And sorrowes heapt on her in greater throng;

  That who so heares her heauinesse, would rew

  And pitty her sad plight, so chang'd from pleasaunt hew.

  Whylest thus she in these hellish dens remayned,

  Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts vnrest,

  It so befell (as Fortune had ordayned)

  That he, which was their Capitaine profest,

  And had the chiefe commaund of all the rest,

  One day as he did all his prisoners vew,

  With lustfull eyes, beheld that louely guest,

  Faire Pastorella, whose sad mournefull hew

  Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog did shew.

  At sight whereof his barbarous heart was fired,

  And inly burnt with flames most raging whot,

  That her alone he for his part desired

  Of all the other pray, which they had got,

  And her in mynde did to him selfe allot.

  From that day forth he kyndnesse to her showed,

  And sought her loue, by all the meanes he mote;

  With looks, with words, with gifts he oft her wowed;

  And mixed threats am
ong, and much vnto her vowed.

  But all that euer he could doe or say,

  Her constant mynd could not a whit remoue,

  Nor draw vnto the lure of his lewd lay,

  To graunt him fauour, or afford him loue.

  Yet ceast he not to sew and all waies proue,

  By which he mote accomplish his request,

  Saying and doing all that mote behoue;

  Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest,

  But her all night did watch, and all the day molest.

  At last, when him she so importune saw,

  Fearing least he at length the raines would lend

  Vnto his lust, and make his will his law,

  Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend;

  She thought it best, for shadow to pretend

  Some shew of fauour, by him gracing small,

  That she thereby mote either freely wend,

  Or at more ease continue there his thrall:

  A little well is lent, that gaineth more withall.

  So from thenceforth, when loue he to her made,

  With better tearmes she did him entertaine;

  Which gaue him hope, and did him halfe perswade,

  That he in time her ioyaunce should obtaine.

  But when she saw, through that small fauours gaine,

  That further, then she willing was, he prest;

  She found no meanes to barre him, but to faine

  A sodaine sickenesse, which her sore opprest,

  And made vnfit to serue his lawlesse mindes behest.

  By meanes whereof she would not him permit

  Once to approch to her in priuity,

  But onely mongst the rest by her to sit,

  Mourning the rigour of her malady,

  And seeking all things meete for remedy.

  But she resolu'd no remedy to fynde,

  Nor better cheare to shew in misery,

  Till Fortune would her captiue bonds vnbynde:

  Her sickenesse was not of the body but the mynde.

  During which space that she thus sicke did lie,

  It chaunst a sort of merchants, which were wount

  To skim those coastes, for bondmen there to buy,

  And by such trafficke after gaines to hunt,

  Arriued in this Isle though bare and blunt,

  T'inquire for slaues; where being readie met

  By some of these same theeues at the instant brunt,

  Were brought vnto their Captaine, who was set

  By his faire patients side with sorrowfull regret.

  To whom they shewed, how those marchants were

  Arriu'd in place, their bondslaues for to buy;

  And therefore prayd, that those same captiues there

  Mote to them for their most commodity

  Be sold, and mongst them shared equally.

  This their request the Captaine much appalled;

  Yet could he not their iust demaund deny,

  And willed streight the slaues should forth be called,

  And sold for most aduantage not to be forstalled.

  Then forth the good old Meliboe was brought,

  And Coridon, with many other moe,

  Whom they before in diuerse spoyles had caught:

  All which he to the marchants sale did showe.

  Till some, which did the sundry prisoners knowe,

  Gan to inquire for that faire shepherdesse,

  Which with the rest they tooke not long agoe,

  And gan her forme and feature to expresse,

  The more t'augment her price, through praise of comlinesse.

  To whom the Captaine in full angry wize

  Made answere, that the Mayd of whom they spake,

  Was his owne purchase and his onely prize,

  With which none had to doe, ne ought partake,

  But he himselfe, which did that conquest make;

  Litle for him to haue one silly lasse:

  Besides, through sicknesse now so wan and weake,

  That nothing meet in marchandise to passe.

  So shew'd them her, to proue how pale & weake she was.

  The sight of whom, though now decayd and mard,

  And eke but hardly seene by candle-light:

  Yet like a Diamond of rich regard,

  In doubtfull shadow of the darkesome night,

  With starrie beames about her shining bright,

  These marchants fixed eyes did so amaze,

  That what through wonder, & what through delight,

  Awhile on her they greedily did gaze,

  And did her greatly like, and did her greatly praize.

  At last when all the rest them offred were,

  And prises to them placed at their pleasure,

  They all refused in regard of her,

  Ne ought would buy, how euer prisd with measure,

  Withouten her, whose worth aboue all threasure

  They did esteeme, and offred store of gold.

  But then the Captaine fraught with more displeasure,

  Bad them be still, his loue should not be sold:

  The rest take if they would, he her to him would hold.

  Therewith some other of the chiefest theeues

  Boldly him bad such iniurie forbeare;

  For that same mayd, how euer it him greeues,

  Should with the rest be sold before him theare,

  To make the prises of the rest more deare.

  That with great rage he stoutly doth denay;

  And fiercely drawing forth his blade, doth sweare,

  That who so hardie hand on her doth lay,

  It dearely shall aby, and death for handsell pay.

  Thus as they words amongst them multiply,

  They fall to strokes, the frute of too much talke:

  And the mad steele about doth fiercely fly,

  Not sparing wight, ne leauing any balke,

  But making way for death at large to walke:

  Who in the horror of the griesly night,

  In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst them stalke,

  And makes huge hauocke, whiles the candlelight

  Out quenched, leaues no skill nor difference of wight.

  Like as a sort of hungry dogs ymet

  About some carcase by the common way,

  Doe fall together, stryuing each to get

  The greatest portion of the greedie pray;

  All on confused heapes themselues assay,

  And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, and teare;

  That who them sees, would wonder at their fray,

  And who sees not, would be affrayd to heare:

  Such was the conflict of those cruell Brigants there.

  But first of all, their captiues they doe kill,

  Least they should ioyne against the weaker side,

  Or rise against the remnant at their will;

  Old Meliboe is slaine, and him beside

  His aged wife, with many others wide:

  But Coridon escaping craftily,

  Creepes forth of dores, whilst darknes him doth hide,

  And flyes away as fast as he can hye,

  Ne stayeth leaue to take, before his friends doe dye.

  But Pastorella, wofull wretched Elfe,

  Was by the Captaine all this while defended:

  Who minding more her safety then himselfe,

  His target alwayes ouer her pretended;

  By meanes whereof, that mote not be amended,

  He at the length was slaine, and layd on ground,

  Yet holding fast twixt both his armes extended

  Fayre Pastorell, who with the selfe same wound

  Lanc't through the arme, fell down with him in drerie swound.

  There lay she couered with confused preasse

  Of carcases, which dying on her fell.

  Tho when as he was dead, the fray gan ceasse,

  And each to other calling, did compell

  To stay their cruell hands from slaughter fell.


  Sith they that were the cause of all, were gone.

  Thereto they all attonce agreed well,

  And lighting candles new, gan search anone,

  How many of their friends were slaine, how many fone.

  Their Captaine there they cruelly found kild,

  And in his armes the dreary dying mayd,

  Like a sweet Angell twixt two clouds vphild:

  Her louely light was dimmed and decayd,

  With cloud of death vpon her eyes displayd;

  Yet did the cloud make euen that dimmed light

  Seeme much more louely in that darknesse layd,

  And twixt the twinckling of her eye-lids bright,

  To sparke out litle beames, like starres in foggie night.

  But when they mou'd the carcases aside,

  They found that life did yet in her remaine:

  Then all their helpes they busily applyde,

  To call the soule backe to her home againe;

  And wrought so well with labour and long paine,

  That they to life recouered her at last.

  Who sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine

  Had riuen bene, and all her hart strings brast,

  With drearie drouping eyne lookt vp like one aghast.

  There she beheld, that sore her grieu'd to see,

  Her father and her friends about her lying,

  Her selfe sole left, a second spoyle to bee

  Of those, that hauing saued her from dying,

  Renew'd her death by timely death denying:

  What now is left her, but to wayle and weepe,

  Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud crying?

  Ne cared she her wound in teares to steepe,

  Albe with all their might those Brigants her did keepe.

  But when they saw her now reliu'd againe,

  They left her so, in charge of one the best

  Of many worst, who with vnkind disdaine

  And cruell rigour her did much molest;

  Scarse yeelding her due food, or timely rest,

  And scarsely suffring her infestred wound,

  That sore her payn'd, by any to be drest,

  So leaue we her in wretched thraldome bound,

  And turne we backe to Calidore, where we him found.

  Who when he backe returned from the wood,

  And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled quight,