Chapter XII: Book VII: Two Cantos of Mvtabilitie 454 (12)

So as he was pursuing of his quest xx
He chaunst to come whereas a iolly Knight,
In couert shade him selfe did safely rest,
To solace with his Lady in delight:
His warlike armes he had from him vndight:
For that him selfe he thought from daunger free,
And far from enuious eyes that mote him spight.
And eke the Lady was full faire to see,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree.

To whom Sir _Calidore_ approaching nye, xxi
Ere they were well aware of liuing wight,
Them much abasht, but more him selfe thereby,
That he so rudely did vppon them light,
And troubled had their quiet loues delight.
Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,
Him selfe thereof he labour’d to acquite,
And pardon crau’d for his so rash default[440],
That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default.

With which his gentle words and goodly wit xxii
He soone allayd that Knights conceiu’d displeasure,
That he besought him downe by him to sit,
That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure;
And of aduentures, which had in his measure
Of so long waies to him befallen late.
So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure
His long aduentures gan to him relate,
Which he endured had through daungerous debate.

Of which whilest they discoursed both together, xxiii
The faire _Serena_[441] (so his Lady hight)
Allur’d with myldnesse of the gentle wether,
And pleasaunce of the place, the which was dight
With diuers flowres distinct with rare delight,[442]
Wandred about the fields, as liking led
Her wauering lust after her wandring sight,
To make a garland to adorne her hed,
Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred.

All sodainely out of the forrest nere xxiv
The Blatant Beast forth rushing vnaware,
Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there,
And in his wide great mouth away her bare,[443]
Crying aloud in vaine,[444] to shew her sad misfare
Vnto the Knights, and calling oft for ayde,
Who with the horrour of her haplesse care
Hastily starting vp,[445] like men dismayde,
Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

The Beast with their pursuit incited more, xxv
Into the wood was bearing her apace
For to haue spoyled her, when _Calidore_
Who was more light of foote and swift in chace,
Him ouertooke in middest of his race:
And fiercely charging him with all his might,
Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,
And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight;
For he durst not abide with _Calidore_ to fight.

Who nathelesse, when he the Lady saw xxvi
There left on ground, though in full euill plight,
Yet knowing that her Knight now neare did draw,
Staide not to succour her in that affright,
But follow’d fast the Monster in his flight:
Through woods and hils he follow’d him so fast,
That he nould let him breath nor gather spright,
But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast,
As if his lungs and lites were nigh a sunder brast.

And now by this Sir _Calepine_, so hight, xxvii
Came to the place, where he his Lady found
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
Hauing both sides through grypt with griesly wound.
His weapons soone from him he threw away,
And stouping downe to her in drery swound,
Vprear’d her from the ground whereon she lay,
And in his tender armes her forced vp to stay.

So well he did his busie paines apply, xxviii
That the faint sprite he did reuoke againe,
To her fraile mansion of mortality.
Then vp he tooke her twixt his armes twaine,
And setting on his steede, her did sustaine
With carefull hands soft footing[446] her beside,
Till to some place of rest they mote attaine,
Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,
Till she recured were of those her woundes wide.

Now when as _Phœbus_ with his fiery waine xxix
Vnto his Inne began to draw apace;
Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine,
In trauelling on foote so long a space,
Not wont on foote with heauy armes to trace,
Downe in a dale forby a riuers syde,
He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,
To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,
In hope there for his loue some succour to prouyde.

But comming to the riuers side, he found xxx
That hardly passable on foote it was:
Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,
Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas.
Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,
Deuising what to doe, he nigh espyde
An armed Knight approaching to the place,
With a faire Lady lincked by his syde,
The which themselues prepard thorough[447] the foord to ride.[448]

Whom _Calepine_ saluting (as became) xxxi
Besought of courtesie in that his neede,
For safe conducting of his sickely Dame,
Through that same perillous foord with better heede,
To take him vp behinde vpon his steed.
To whom that other did this taunt returne.
Perdy thou peasant Knight, mightst rightly reed
Me then to be full base and euill borne,
If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

But as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame, xxxii
So fare on foote till thou another gayne,
And let thy Lady likewise doe the same.
Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,
And proue thy manhood on the billowes vayne.
With which rude speach his Lady much displeased,[449]
Did him reproue, yet could him not restrayne,
And would on her owne Palfrey him haue eased,
For pitty of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased.

Sir _Calepine_ her thanckt, yet inly wroth xxxiii
Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused,
And carelesly into the riuer goth,
As in despight to be so fowle abused
Of a rude churle, whom often he accused
Of fowle discourtesie, vnfit for Knight;[450]
And strongly wading through the waues vnused,
With speare in th’one hand, stayd him selfe vpright,
With th’other staide his Lady vp with steddy might.

And all the while, that same discourteous Knight, xxxiv
Stood on the further bancke beholding him,
At whose calamity, for more despight
He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.
But when as _Calepine_ came to the brim,
And saw his carriage past that perill well,
Looking at that same Carle with count’nance grim,
His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,
And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell.

Vnknightly Knight, the blemish of that name, xxxv
And blot of all that armes vppon them take,
Which[451] is the badge of honour and of fame,
Loe I defie thee, and here challenge make,
That thou for euer doe those armes forsake,
And be for euer held a recreant Knight,
Vnlesse thou dare for thy deare Ladies sake,
And for thine owne defence on foote alight,
To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.

The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde, xxxvi
Seem’d not to weigh his threatfull words at all,
But laught them out, as if his greater pryde[452]
Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall:
Or had no courage, or else had no gall.
So much the more was _Calepine_ offended,
That him to no reuenge he forth could call,
But both his challenge and him selfe contemned,
Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

But he nought weighing what he sayd or did, xxxvii
Turned his steede about another way,
And with his Lady to the Castle rid,
Where was his won; ne did the other stay,
But after went directly as he may,
For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke,
Where he arriuing with the fall of day,
Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke,
And myld entreaty lodging did for her[453] beseeke.

But the rude Porter that no manners had, xxxviii
Did shut the gate against him in his face,
And entraunce boldly vnto him forbad.
Nathelesse the Knight now in so needy case,
Gan him entreat euen with submission base,
And humbly praid to let them in that night:
Who to him aunswer’d, that there was no place
Of lodging fit for any errant Knight,
Vnlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight.

Full loth am I (quoth he) as now at earst, xxxix
When day is spent, and rest vs needeth most,
And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst
With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost:
Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,
That should to me such curtesie afford,
Vnlesse that I were thereunto enforst.
But yet aread to me, how hight thy Lord,
That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford.

His name (quoth he) if that thou list to learne, xl
Is hight Sir _Turpine_, one of mickle might,
And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne
In all assaies to euery errant Knight,
Because of one, that wrought him fowle despight.
Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiaunt be,
That he should be so Sterne to stranger wight:
For seldome yet did liuing creature see,
That curtesie and manhood euer disagree.

But go thy waies to him, and fro me say, xli
That here is at his gate an errant Knight,
That house-rome craues, yet would be loth t’assay
The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night,
Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:
Yet if he needes will fight, craue leaue till morne,
And tell withall,[454] the lamentable plight,
In which this Lady languisheth forlorne,
That pitty craues, as he of woman was yborne.

The groome went streight way in, and to his Lord xlii
Declar’d the message, which that Knight did moue;
Who sitting with his Lady then at bord,
Not onely did not his demaund approue,[455]
But both himselfe reuil’d, and eke his loue;
Albe his Lady, that _Blandina_ hight,
Him of vngentle vsage did reproue[456]
And earnestly entreated that they might
Finde fauour to be lodged there for that same night.

Yet would he not perswaded be for ought, xliii
Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.
Which answer when the groome returning, brought
To _Calepine_, his heart did inly flame
With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,
That he could not thereof auenged bee:
But most for pitty of his dearest Dame,
Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;
Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee.

But all in vaine; for why, no remedy xliv
He saw, the present mischiefe to redresse,
But th’vtmost end perforce for to aby,
Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.
So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse,
And layd her vnderneath a bush to sleepe,
Couer’d with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse,
Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe,
And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day xlv
Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,
_Serena_ full of dolorous dismay,
Twixt darkenesse dread, and hope of liuing light,
Vprear’d her head to see that chearefull sight.
Then _Calepine_, how euer inly wroth,
And greedy to auenge that vile despight,
Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth
To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney goth.

He goth on foote all armed by her side, xlvi
Vpstaying still her selfe vppon her steede,
Being vnhable else alone to ride;
So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:
Till that at length, in his extreamest neede,
He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy,
Pursuing him apace with greedy speede,
Whom well he wist to be some enemy,
That meant to make aduantage of his misery.

Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew, xlvii
To weet what issue would thereof betyde,
Tho whenas he approched nigh in vew,
By certaine signes he plainely him descryde,
To be the man, that with such scornefull pryde
Had him abusde, and shamed yesterday;
Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde
His former malice to some new assay,
He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.

By this the other came in place likewise, xlviii
And couching close his speare and all his powre,
As bent to some malicious enterprise,
He bad him stand, t’abide the bitter stoure
Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make auoure
Of the lewd words and deedes, which he had done:
With that ran at him, as he would deuoure
His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun
The perill of his pride, or else be ouerrun.

Yet he him still pursew’d from place to place, xlix
With full intent him cruelly to kill,
And like a wilde goate round about did chace,
Flying the fury of his bloudy will.
But his best succour and refuge was still
Behinde his Ladies backe, who to him cryde,
And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,
As euer he to Lady was affyde,
To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacifyde.

But he the more thereby enraged was, l
And with more eager felnesse him pursew’d,
So that at length, after long weary chace,
Hauing by chaunce a close aduantage vew’d,
He ouer raught him, hauing long eschew’d
His violence in vaine, and with his spere
Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew’d
In great aboundance, as a well it were,
That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound, li
But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry,
Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground
He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously:
The which was certes in great ieopardy,
Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,
And saued from his cruell villany.
Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought:
That in another Canto shall to end be brought.

FOOTNOTES:

[436] iv 5 doolefull _1609_

[437] x 2 Would not to _1609_

[438] xi 5 sigh’t _1609_

[439] xiii 7 rust. _1596_

[440] xxi 8 default] assault _conj. Collier_

[441] xxiii 2 _Serena_] _Crispina_ _1596 Bodl._

[442] 5 delight; _1596_, _1609_

[443] xxiv 4 bare. _1596_, _1609_

[444] 5 in vaine _om. 1612-13_

[445] 8 starting, vp _1596_

[446] xxviii 6 softing foot _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1679_

[447] xxx 9 through _1596_

[448] ride _1596_

[449] xxxii 6 displeased. _1596_

[450] xxxiii 6 Knight _1596_

[451] xxxv 3 Which] That _1596 Bodl._

[452] xxxvi 3 pryde, _1596_

[453] xxxvii 9 for her did _1596 Bodl._

[454] xli 7 with all _1596_

[455] xlii 4 approue] reproue _1596_

[456] 7 reproue] approue _1596_

_Cant. IIII._

_Calepine by a saluage man
from Turpine reskewed is,
And whylest an Infant from a Beare
he saues, his love doth misse._
]

Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost, i
Hauing spent all her mastes and her ground-hold,
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
At last some fisher barke doth neare behold,
That giueth comfort to her courage cold.
Such was the state of this most courteous knight
Being oppressed by that faytour bold,
That he remayned in most perilous plight,
And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright.

Till that by fortune, passing all foresight, ii
A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne,
Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright,
Toward the same incessantly did ronne,
To vnderstand what there was to be donne.
There he this most discourteous crauen found,
As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,
Chasing the gentle _Calepine_ around,
Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound.

The saluage man, that neuer till this houre iii
Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure
Was much emmoued at his perils vew,
That euen his ruder hart began to rew,
And feele compassion of his euill plight,
Against his foe that did him so pursew:
From whom he meant to free him, if he might,
And him auenge of that so villenous despight.

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight, iv
Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments,
Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite,
But naked without needfull vestiments,
To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,
No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents:
For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare,[457]
He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare.

He stayed not t’aduize,[458] which way were best v
His foe t’assayle, or how himselfe to gard,
But with fierce fury and with force infest
Vpon him ran; who being well prepard,
His first assault full warily did ward,
And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare
Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard,
That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare;
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

With that the wyld man more enraged grew, vi
Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray,
And with mad mood againe vpon him flew,
Regarding neither speare, that mote him slay,
Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay,
The saluage nation doth all dread despize:
Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,
And held the same so hard, that by no wize
He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize.

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro, vii
And euery way did try, but all in vaine:
For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,
But hayld and puld with all his might, and maine,
That from his steed him nigh he drew againe.
Who hauing now no vse of his long speare,
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,
Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

But after him the wyld man ran apace, viii
And him pursewed with importune speed,
(For he was swift as any Bucke in chace)
And had he not in his extreamest need,
Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,
He had him ouertaken in his flight.
Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed,
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,
And shrieked out, a thing vncomely for a knight.

But when the Saluage saw his labour vaine, ix
In following of him, that fled so fast,
He wearie woxe, and backe return’d againe
With speede vnto the place, whereas he last
Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast.
There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,
And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast,
Both for the perill of the present stound,
And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound.

For though she were right glad, so rid to bee x
From that vile lozell, which her late offended,
Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,
And perill by this saluage man pretended;
Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended,
By reason that her knight was wounded sore.
Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended
To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore,
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare, xi
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
And by rude tokens made to her appeare
His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;
For other language had he none nor speach,
But a soft murmure, and confused sound
Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach,
T’expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach.

And comming likewise to the wounded knight, xii
When he beheld the streames of purple blood
Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight,
He made great mone after his saluage mood,
And running streight into the thickest wood,
A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought,
Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood:
The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.

Then taking vp that Recreants shield and speare, xiii
Which earst he left, he signes vnto them made,
With him to wend vnto his wonning neare:
To which he easily did them perswade.[459]
Farre in the forrest by a hollow glade,
Couered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode
Did vnderneath them make a gloomy[460] shade;
Where[461] foot of liuing creature neuer trode,
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.

Thether[462] he brought these vnacquainted guests; xiv
To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed
By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests.
But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrewed,
Must be their bed, their pillow was vnsowed,
And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:
For their bad Stuard neither plough’d nor sowed,
Ne fed on flesh, ne euer of wyld beast
Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first beheast.

Yet howsoeuer base and meane it were, xv
They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,
Which had them freed from that deadly feare,
And sau’d from being to that caytiue thrall.
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)
Compelled were themselues a while to rest,
Glad of that easement, though it were but small;
That hauing there their wounds awhile redrest,
They mote the abler be to passe vnto the rest.

During which time, that wyld man did apply xvi
His best endeuour, and his daily paine,
In seeking all the woods both farre and nye
For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine,
When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine.
So as ere long he had that knightes wound
Recured well, and made him whole againe:
But that same Ladies hurts[463] no herbe he found,
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly vnsound.

Now when as _Calepine_ was woxen strong, xvii
Vpon a day he cast abrode to wend,
To take the ayre, and heare the thrushes song,
Vnarm’d, as fearing neither foe nor frend,
And without sword his person to defend.
There him befell, vnlooked for before,
An hard aduenture with vnhappie end,
A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore
Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.

The litle babe did loudly scrike[464] and squall, xviii
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[465] his hart with pities point did thrill;
That after him[466] 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, xix
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 xx
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[467] 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, xxi
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, xxii
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 xxiii
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, xxiv
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 xxv
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, xxvi
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 xxvii
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[468] need me Sir to tell, xxviii
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; xxix
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, xxx
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[469] happie fortunes, cruell fate
Hath ioyn’d one euill, which doth ouerthrow[470]
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, xxxi
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, xxxii
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 whom that feend shold be fordonne.

Well hop’t he then, when this was propheside, xxxiii
That from his sides[471] 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 thinkes 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 xxxiv
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[472] 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 xxxv
Be lacke of children, to supply your place,
Lo[473] 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, xxxvi
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, xxxvii
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 xxxviii
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 xxxix
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, xl
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,[474] that she in safetie did remaine.

FOOTNOTES:

[457] iv 8 beare _1596_

[458] v 1 stay’d not to _1609_

[459] xiii 4 perswade _1596_

[460] 7 gloamy _1609_

[461] 8 Where] There _1596_

[462] xiv 1 Thither _1609_

[463] xvi 8 hurt _1612-13_

[464] xviii 1 scrieke _1609_

[465] 5 Pearcing _1609 passim_

[466] 6 him, _1596_, _1609_

[467] xx 5 lose _1609_

[468] xxviii 1 what _1596_

[469] xxx 5 these] those _1609_

[470] 6 ouerthow _1596_

[471] xxxiii 2 side _1609_

[472] xxxiv 6 faire _1596_

[473] xxxv 3 Lo] Low _1596_

_Cant. V._

_The saluage serues Matilda[475] 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 i
The gentle bloud, how euer it be wrapt[476]
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, ii
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 iii
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, iv
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, v
Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,
That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,
As if her breast new launcht[477] 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, vi
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 vii
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, viii
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, ix
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, x
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, xi
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[478])
Prince _Arthur_ and young _Timias_, which met
By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

After that _Timias_ had againe recured xii
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 mine seeke xiii
Three mightie enemies[479] 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_;
The third nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest _Defetto_.

Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ, xiv
And seuerall deceipts, but all in vaine:
For neither they by force could him destroy,
Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine.
Therefore conspiring all together plaine,
They did their counsels now in one compound;
Where singled forces faile, conioynd may gaine.
The _Blatant Beast_ the fittest meanes they found,
To worke his vtter shame, and throughly him confound.

Vpon a day as they the time did waite, xv
When he did raunge the wood for saluage game,
They sent that _Blatant Beast_ to be a baite,
To draw him from his deare beloued dame,
Vnwares into the daunger of defame.
For well they wist, that Squire to be so bold,
That no one beast in forrest wylde or tame,
Met him in chase, but he it challenge would,
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy hould.

The hardy boy, as they deuised had, xvi
Seeing the vgly Monster passing by,
Vpon him set, of perill nought adrad,
Ne skilfull of the vncouth ieopardy;
And charged him so fierce and furiously,
That his great force vnable to endure,
He forced was to turne from him and fly:
Yet ere he fled, he with his tooth impure
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.

Securely he did after him pursew, xvii
Thinking by speed to ouertake his flight;
Who through thicke woods and brakes and briers him drew,
To weary him the more, and waste his spight,
So that he now has almost spent his spright.
Till that at length vnto a woody glade
He came, whose couert stopt his further sight,
There his three foes shrowded in guilefull shade,
Out of their ambush broke, and gan him to inuade.

Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile, xviii
Burning with inward rancour and despight,
And heaped strokes did round about him haile
With so huge force, that seemed nothing might
Beare off their blowes, from percing thorough quite.
Yet he them all so warily did ward,
That none of them in his soft flesh did bite,
And all the while his backe for best safegard,
He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard.

Like a wylde Bull, that being at a bay, xix
Is bayted of a mastiffe, and a hound,
And a curre-dog; that doe him sharpe assay
On euery side, and beat about him round;
But most that curre barking with bitter sownd,
And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber,
That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground,
And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder,
So did that Squire his foes disperse, and driue asonder.

Him well behoued so; for his three foes xx
Sought to encompasse him on euery side,
And dangerously did round about enclose.
But most of all _Defetto_ him annoyde,
Creeping behinde him still to haue destroyde:
So did _Decetto_ eke him circumuent,
But stout _Despetto_ in his greater pryde,
Did front him face to face against him bent,
Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.

Till that at length nigh tyrd with former chace, xxi
And weary now with carefull keeping ward,
He gan to shrinke, and somewhat to giue place,
Full like ere long to haue escaped hard;
When as vnwares he in the forrest heard
A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast
Did warne his rider be vppon his gard;
With noise whereof the Squire now nigh aghast,
Reuiued was, and sad dispaire away did cast.

Eftsoones he spide a Knight approching nye, xxii
Who seeing one in so great daunger set
Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye;
To reskue him, and his weake part abet,
For pitty so to see him ouerset.
Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,
They fled, and fast into the wood did get:
Him booted not to thinke them to pursew,
The couert was so thicke, that did no passage shew.

Then turning to that swaine, him well he knew xxiii
To be his _Timias_, his owne true Squire,
Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,
And him embracing twixt his armes entire,
Him thus bespake; My liefe, my lifes desire,
Why haue ye me alone thus long yleft?
Tell me what worlds despight, or heauens yre
Hath you thus long away from me bereft?
Where haue ye all this while bin wandring, where bene[480] weft?

With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne: xxiv
To whom the Squire nought aunswered againe,
But shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,
His deare affect with silence did restraine,
And shut vp all his plaint in priuy paine.
There they awhile some gracious speaches spent,
As to them seemed fit time to entertaine.
After all which vp to their steedes they went,
And forth together rode a comely couplement.

So now they be arriued both in sight xxv
Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found
About the sad _Serena_ things to dight,
With those braue armours lying on the ground,
That seem’d the spoile of some right well renownd.
Which when that Squire beheld, he to them stept,
Thinking to take them from that hylding hound:
But he it seeing, lightly to him lept,
And sternely with strong hand it from his handling kept.

Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly looke, xxvi
And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne,
Him with his fist vnwares on th’head he strooke,
That made him downe vnto the earth encline;
Whence soone vpstarting much he gan repine,
And laying hand vpon his wrathfull blade,
Thought therewithall forthwith him to haue slaine,
Who it perceiuing, hand vpon him layd,
And greedily him griping, his auengement stayd.

With that aloude the faire _Serena_ cryde xxvii
Vnto the Knight, them to dispart in twaine:
Who to them stepping did them soone diuide,
And did from further violence restraine,
Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine.
Then gan the Prince, of her for to demand,
What and from whence she was, and by what traine
She fell into that saluage villaines hand,
And whether free with him she now were, or in band.

To whom she thus; I am, as now ye see, xxviii
The wretchedst Dame, that liue[481] this day on ground,
Who both in minde, the which most grieueth me,
And body haue receiu’d a mortall wound,
That hath me driuen to this drery stound.
I was erewhile, the loue of _Calepine_,
Who whether he aliue be to be found,
Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine,
Since[482] I him lately lost, vneath is to define.

In saluage forrest I him lost of late, xxix
Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
Or else remained in most wretched state,
Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
Kept, and deliuered me from deadly dread.
In such a saluage wight, of brutish kynd,
Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd
So milde humanity, and perfect gentle mynd.

Let me therefore this fauour for him finde, xxx
That ye will not your wrath vpon him wreake,
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
Ne yours conceiue, ne but by tokens speake:
Small praise to proue your powre on wight so weake.
With such faire words she did their heate asswage,
And the strong course of their displeasure breake,
That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page.

So hauing all things well about her dight, xxxi
She on her way cast forward to proceede,
And they her forth conducted, where they might
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede.
For now her wounds corruption gan to breed;
And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was
Of that same Monster late, for lacke of heed,
Now gan to faint, and further could not pas
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has.

So forth they rode together all in troupe, xxxii
To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease
To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe,
And all the way the Prince sought to appease
The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease,
By all the courteous meanes he could inuent,
Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,
And otherwhile with good encouragement,
To make them to endure the pains, did them torment.

Mongst which, _Serena_ did to him relate xxxiii
The foule discourt’sies and vnknightly parts,
Which _Turpine_ had vnto her shewed late,
Without compassion of her cruell smarts,
Although _Blandina_ did with all her arts
Him otherwise perswade, all that she might;
Yet he of malice, without her desarts,
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary Knight.

Wherewith the Prince sore moued, there auoud, xxxiv
That soone as he returned backe againe,
He would auenge th’abuses of that proud
And shamefull Knight, of whom she did complaine.
This wize did they each other entertaine,
To passe the tedious trauell of the way;
Till towards night they came vnto a plaine,
By which a little Hermitage there lay,
Far from all neighbourhood[483], the which annoy it may.

And nigh thereto a little Chappell stoode, xxxv
Which being all with Yuy ouerspred,
Deckt all the roofe, and shadowing the roode,
Seem’d like a groue faire braunched ouer hed:
Therein the Hermite, which his life here led
In streight obseruaunce of religious vow,
Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;
And therein he likewise was praying now,
Whenas these Knights arriu’d, they wist not where nor how.

They stayd not there, but streight way in did pas, xxxvi
Whom when the Hermite present saw in place,
From his deuotion streight he troubled was;
Which breaking off[484] he toward them did pace,
With stayed steps, and graue beseeming grace:
For well it seem’d, that whilome he had beene
Some[485] goodly person, and of gentle race,
That could his good to all, and well did weene,
How each to entertaine with curt’sie well beseene.

And soothly it was sayd by common fame, xxxvii
So long as age enabled him thereto,
That he had bene a man of mickle name,
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:
But being aged now and weary to
Of warres delight, and worlds contentious toyle,
The name of knighthood he did disauow,
And hanging vp his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.

He thence them led into his Hermitage, xxxviii
Letting their steedes to graze vpon the greene:
Small was his house, and like a little cage,
For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes, and flowers gay beseene.
Therein he them full faire did entertaine
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
For courting fooles, that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.

Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee xxxix
Did vse, his feeble body to sustaine;
The which full gladly they did take in glee[486],
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But being well suffiz’d, them rested faine.
But faire _Serene_ all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle Squire[487], for grieuous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the _Blatant Beast_
Had giuen them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.

So all that night they past in great disease, xl
Till that the morning, bringing earely light
To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
And some asswagement of their painefull plight.
Then vp they rose, and gan them selues to dight
Vnto their iourney; but that Squire and Dame
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might
Endure to trauell, nor one foote to frame:
Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame.

Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in mynd xli
Would not permit, to make there[488] lenger stay,
Was forced there to leaue them both behynd,
In that good Hermits charge, whom he did pray
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,
And with him eke the saluage, that whyleare
Seeing his royall vsage and array,
Was greatly growne in loue of that braue pere,
Would needes depart, as shall declared be elsewhere.

FOOTNOTES:

[474] xl 9 vnderstand; _1596_

[475] Arg. 1 _Matilda_] _Serena_ _corr. Hughes rightly_

[476] i 2 bewrapt _1596_

[477] v 4 launc’t _1609 passim_

[478] xi 7 requre _1596_

[479] xiii 2 en’mies _1609_

[480] xxiii 9 bene] bin _1609_

[481] xxviii 2 liues _1609_

[482] 9 Sith _1609_

[483] xxxiv 9 neighbourhoood _1596_

[484] xxxvi 4 off] of _1596_

[485] 7 Soome _1596_

[486] xxxix 3 gree _1609_

[487] 7 Squire _1596_

[488] xli 2 there] their _1596_

_Cant. VI._

_The Hermite heales both Squire and dame
Of their sore maladies:
He Turpine doth defeate, and shame
For his late villanies._
]

No wound, which warlike hand of enemy i
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,
As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:
For by no art, nor any leaches might
It euer can recured be againe;
Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright
Of _Podalyrius_ did in it retaine,
Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine.

Such were the wounds, the which that _Blatant Beast_ ii
Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame;
And being such, were now much more increast,
For want of taking heede vnto the same,
That now corrupt and curelesse they became.
Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best,
With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame
The poysnous humour, which did most infest
Their ranckling wounds, and euery day them duely drest.

For he right well in Leaches craft was seene, iii
And through the long experience of his dayes,
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene,
And past through many perillous assayes,
He knew the diuerse went of mortall wayes,
And in the mindes of men had great insight;
Which with sage counsell, when they went astray,
He could enforme, and them reduce aright,
And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright.

For whylome he had bene a doughty Knight, iv
As any one, that liued in his daies,
And proued oft in many perillous fight,
Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,
And in all battels bore away the baies.
But being now attacht with timely age,
And weary of this worlds vnquiet waies,
He tooke him selfe vnto this Hermitage,
In which he liu’d alone, like carelesse bird in cage.

One day, as he was searching of their wounds, v
He found that they had festred priuily,
And ranckling inward with vnruly stounds,
The inner parts now gan to putrify,
That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery,
And rather needed to be disciplinde
With holesome reede of sad sobriety,
To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:
Giue salues to euery sore, but counsell to the minde.