Chapter III: Book VII: Two Cantos of Mvtabilitie 454 (3)

And eke with these, full many other Knights xxiii
She through her wicked working did incense,
Her to demaund, and chalenge as their rights,
Deserued for their perils recompense.
Amongst the rest with boastfull vaine pretense
Stept _Braggadochio_ forth, and as his thrall
Her claym’d, by him in battell wonne long sens[89]:
Whereto her selfe he did to witnesse call;
Who being askt, accordingly confessed all.

Thereat exceeding wroth was _Satyran_; xxiv
And wroth with _Satyran_ was _Blandamour_;
And wroth with _Blandamour_ was Eriuan;
And at them both Sir _Paridell_ did loure.
So all together stird vp strifull[90] stoure,
And readie were new battell to darraine.
Each one profest to be her paramoure,
And vow’d with speare and shield it to maintaine;
Ne Iudges powre, ne reasons rule mote them restrains.

Which troublous stirre when _Satyrane_ auiz’d, xxv
He gan to cast how to appease the same,
And to accord them all, this meanes deuiz’d:
First in the midst to set that fayrest Dame,
To whom each one[91] his chalenge should disclame,
And he himselfe his right would eke releasse:
Then looke to whom she voluntarie came,
He should without disturbance her possesse:
Sweete is the loue that comes alone with willingnesse.

They all agreed, and then that snowy Mayd xxvi
Was in the middest plast[92] among them all;
All on her gazing wisht, and vowd, and prayd,
And to the Queene of beautie close did call,
That she vnto their portion might befall.
Then when she long had lookt vpon each one,
As though she wished to haue pleasd them all,
At last to _Braggadochio_ selfe alone
She came of her accord, in spight of all his fone.

Which when they all beheld they chaft[93] and rag’d, xxvii
And woxe nigh mad for very harts despight,
That from reuenge their willes they scarse asswag’d:
Some thought from him her to haue reft by might;
Some proffer made with him for her to fight.
But he nought car’d for all that they could say:
For he their words as wind esteemed light.
Yet not fit place he thought it there to stay,
But secretly from thence that night her bore away.

They which remaynd, so soone as they perceiu’d, xxviii
That she was gone, departed thence with speed,
And follow’d them, in mind her to haue reau’d
From wight vnworthie of so noble meed.
In which poursuit[94] how each one did succeede,
Shall else be told in order, as it fell.
But now of _Britomart_ it here doth neede,
The hard aduentures and strange haps to tell;
Since with the rest she went not after _Florimell_.

For soone as she them saw to discord set, xxix
Her list no longer in that place abide;
But taking with her louely _Amoret_,
Vpon her first aduenture forth did ride,
To seeke her lou’d, making blind loue her guide.
Vnluckie Mayd to seeke her enemie,
Vnluckie Mayd to seeke him farre and wide,
Whom, when he was vnto her selfe most nie,
She through his late disguizement could him not descrie.

So much the more her griefe, the more her toyle: xxx
Yet neither toyle nor griefe she once did spare,
In seeking him, that should her paine assoyle;
Whereto great comfort in her sad misfare
Was _Amoret_, companion of her care:
Who likewise sought her louer long miswent,
The gentle _Scudamour_, whose hart whileare
That stryfull[95] hag with gealous discontent
Had fild, that he to fell reueng was fully bent.

Bent to reuenge on blamelesse _Britomart_ xxxi
The crime, which cursed _Ate_ kindled earst,
The which like thornes did pricke his[96] gealous hart,
And through his soule like poysned arrow perst,
That by no reason it might be reuerst,
For ought that _Glauce_ could or doe or say.
For aye the more that she the same reherst,
The more it gauld, and grieu’d him night and day,
That nought but dire reuenge his anger mote defray.

So as they trauelled, the drouping night xxxii
Couered with cloudie storme and bitter showre,
That dreadfull seem’d to euery liuing wight,
Vpon them fell, before her timely howre;
That forced them to seeke some couert bowre,
Where they might hide their heads in quiet rest,
And shrowd their persons from that stormie stowre.
Not farre away, not meete for any guest
They spide a little cottage, like some poore mans nest.

Vnder a steepe hilles side it placed was, xxxiii
There where the mouldred earth had cav’d the banke;
And fast beside a little brooke did pas
Of muddie water, that like puddle stanke,
By which few crooked sallowes grew in ranke:
Whereto approaching nigh, they heard the sound
Of many yron hammers beating ranke,
And answering their wearie turnes around,
That seemed some blacksmith dwelt in that desert ground.

There entring in, they found the goodman selfe, xxxiv
Full busily vnto his worke ybent;
Who was to weet a wretched wearish elfe,
With hollow eyes and rawbone cheekes forspent,
As if he had in prison long bene pent:
Full blacke and griesly did his face appeare,
Besmeard with smoke that nigh his eye-sight blent;
With rugged beard, and hoarie shagged heare,
The which he neuer wont to combe, or comely sheare.

Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent, xxxv
Ne better had he, ne for better cared:
With blistred hands emongst the cinders brent,
And fingers filthie, with long nayles vnpared,
Right fit to rend the food, on which he fared.
His name was _Care_; a blacksmith by his trade,
That neither day nor night[97] from working spared,
But to small purpose yron wedges made;
Those be vnquiet thoughts, that carefull minds inuade.

In which his worke he had sixe seruants prest, xxxvi
About the Andvile standing euermore,
With huge great hammers, that did neuer rest
From heaping stroakes, which thereon soused sore:
All sixe strong groomes, but one then other more;
For by degrees they all were disagreed;
So likewise did the hammers which they bore,
Like belles in greatnesse orderly succeed,
That he which was the last, the first did farre exceede.

He like a monstrous Gyant seem’d in sight, xxxvii
Farre passing _Bronteus_, or _Pyracmon_[98] great,
The which in _Lipari_ doe day and night
Frame thunderbolts for _Ioues_ auengefull threate.
So dreadfully he did the anduile beat,
That seem’d to dust he shortly would it driue:
So huge his hammer and so fierce his heat,
That seem’d a rocke of Diamond it could riue,
And rend a sunder quite, if he thereto list striue.

Sir _Scudamour_ there entring, much admired xxxviii
The manner of their worke and wearie paine;
And hauing long beheld, at last enquired
The cause and end thereof: but all in vaine;
For they for nought would from their worke refraine,
Ne let his speeches come vnto their eare.
And eke the breathfull bellowes blew amaine,
Like to the Northren winde, that none could heare:[99]
Those _Pensifenesse_ did moue; and _Sighes_ the bellows weare.

Which when that warriour saw, he said no more, xxxix
But in his armour layd him downe to rest:
To rest he layd him downe vpon the flore,
(Whylome for ventrous Knights the bedding best)
And thought his wearie limbs to haue redrest.
And that old aged Dame, his faithfull Squire,
Her feeble ioynts layd eke a downe to rest;
That needed much her weake age to desire,
After so long a trauell, which them both did tire.

There lay Sir _Scudamour_ long while expecting, xl
When gentle sleepe his heauie eyes would close;
Oft chaunging sides, and oft new place electing,
Where better seem’d he mote himselfe repose;
And oft in wrath he thence againe vprose;
And oft in wrath he layd him downe againe.
But wheresoeuer he did himselfe dispose,
He by no meanes could wished ease obtaine:
So euery place seem’d painefull, and ech changing vaine.

And euermore, when he to sleepe did thinke, xli
The hammers sound his senses did molest;
And euermore, when he began to winke,
The bellowes noyse disturb’d his quiet rest,
Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest.
And all the night the dogs did barke and howle
About the house, at sent of stranger guest:
And now the crowing Cocke, and now the Owle
Lowde shriking him afflicted to the very sowle.

And if by fortune any litle nap xlii
Vpon his heauie eye-lids chaunst to fall,
Eftsoones one of those villeins him did rap
Vpon his headpeece with his yron mall;
That he was soone awaked therewithall,
And lightly started vp as one affrayd;
Or as if one him suddenly did call.
So oftentimes he out of sleepe abrayd,
And then lay musing long, on that him ill apayd.

So long he muzed, and so long he lay, xliii
That at the last his wearie sprite opprest
With fleshly weaknesse, which no creature may
Long time resist, gaue place to kindly rest,
That all his senses did full soone arrest:
Yet in his soundest sleepe, his dayly feare
His ydle braine gan busily molest,
And made him dreame those two disloyall were:
The things that day most minds, at night doe most appeare.

With that, the wicked carle the maister[100] Smith xliv
A paire of redwhot[101] yron tongs did take
Out of the burning cinders, and therewith
Vnder his side him nipt, that forst to wake,
He felt his hart for very paine to quake,
And started vp auenged for to be
On him, the which his quiet slomber brake:
Yet looking round about him none could see;
Yet did the smart remaine, though he himselfe did flee.

In such disquiet and hartfretting payne, xlv
He all that night, that too long night did passe.
And now the day out of the Ocean mayne
Began to peepe aboue this earthly masse,
With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grasse:
Then vp he rose like heauie lumpe of lead,
That in his face, as in a looking glasse,
The signes of anguish one mote plainely read,
And ghesse the man to be dismayd with gealous dread.

Vnto his lofty steede he clombe anone, xlvi
And forth vpon his former voiage fared,
And with him eke that aged Squire attone;
Who whatsoeuer perill was prepared,
Both equall paines and equall perill shared:
The end whereof and daungerous euent
Shall for another canticle be spared.
But here my wearie teeme nigh ouer spent
Shall breath it selfe awhile, after so long a went.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] v 5 _Aridalian_ _1609_

[85] vi 1 _Cestas_ _1609_

[86] viii 1 that] the _1609_

[87] ix 8 Then] The _1609_

[88] xvi 1 that] the _1609_

[89] xxiii 7 since _1609_

[90] xxiv 5 strifull] strifefull _1609_

[91] xxv 5 one] once _1596_

[92] xxvi 2 plac’t _1609_

[93] xxvii 1 chaf’t _1609_

[94] xxviii 5 pursuit _1609_

[95] xxx 8 stryfefull _1609_

[96] xxxi 3 his] her _1596_

[97] xxxv 7 night, _1596 &c._

[98] xxxvii 2 _Pynacmon_ _1596_

[99] xxxviii 8 heare, _1596_

[100] xliv 1 master _1609_

[101] 2 red-hot _1609_

_Cant. VI._

_Both Scudamour and Arthegall
Doe fight with Britomart,
He sees her face; doth fall in loue,
and soone from her depart._
]

What equall torment to the griefe of mind, i
And pyning anguish hid in gentle hart,
That inly feeds it selfe with thoughts vnkind,
And nourisheth her owne consuming smart?
What medicine can any Leaches art
Yeeld such a sore, that doth her grieuance hide,
And will to none her maladie impart?
Such was the wound that _Scudamour_ did gride;
For which _Dan Phebus_ selfe cannot a salue prouide.

Who hauing left that restlesse house of _Care_, ii
The next day, as he on his way did ride,
Full of melancholie and sad misfare,
Through misconceipt; all vnawares espide
An armed Knight vnder a forrest side,
Sitting in shade beside his grazing steede;
Who soone as them approaching he descride,
Gan towards them to pricke with eger speede,
That seem’d he was full bent to some mischieuous deede.

Which _Scudamour_ perceiuing, forth issewed iii
To haue rencountred him in equall race;
But soone as th’other nigh approaching, vewed
The armes he bore, his speare he gan abase,
And voide his course: at which so suddain case
He wondred much. But th’other thus can say;
Ah gentle _Scudamour_, vnto your grace
I me submit, and you of pardon pray,
That almost had against you trespassed this day.

Whereto thus _Scudamour_, Small harme it were iv
For any knight, vpon a ventrous knight
Without displeasance for to proue his spere.
But reade you Sir, sith ye my name haue hight,
What is your owne, that I mote you requite.
Certes (sayd he) ye mote as now excuse
Me from discouering you my name aright:
For time yet serues that I the same refuse,
But call ye me the _Saluage Knight_, as others vse.

Then this, Sir _Saluage Knight_ (quoth he) areede; v
Or doe you here within this forrest wonne,
That seemeth well to answere to your weede?
Or haue ye it for some occasion donne?
That rather seemes, sith knowen armes ye shonne.
This other day (sayd he) a stranger knight
Shame and dishonour hath vnto me donne;
On whom I waite to wreake that foule despight,
When euer he this way shall passe by day or night.

Shame be his meede (quoth he) that meaneth shame, vi
But what is he, by whom ye shamed were?
A stranger knight, sayd he, vnknowne by name,
But knowne by fame, and by an Hebene speare,
With which he all that met him, downe did beare.
He in an open Turney lately held,
Fro me the honour of that game did reare;
And hauing me all wearie earst, downe feld,
The fayrest Ladie reft, and euer since withheld.

When _Scudamour_ heard mention of that speare, vii
He wist right well, that it was _Britomart_,
The which from him his fairest loue did beare.
Tho gan he swell in euery inner part,
For fell despight, and gnaw his gealous hart,
That thus he sharply sayd; Now by my head,
Yet is not this the first vnknightly part,
Which that same knight, whom by his launce I read,
Hath doen to noble knights, that many makes him dread.

For lately he my loue hath fro me reft, viii
And eke defiled with foule villanie
The sacred pledge, which in his faith was left,
In shame of knighthood and fidelitie;
The which ere long full deare he shall abie.
And if to that auenge by you decreed
This hand may helpe, or succour ought supplie,
It shall not fayle, when so ye shall it need.
So both to wreake their wrathes on _Britomart_ agreed.

Whiles thus they communed, lo farre away ix
A Knight soft ryding towards them they spyde,
Attyr’d in forraine armes and straunge aray:
Whom when they nigh approcht, they plaine descryde
To be the same, for whom they did abyde.
Sayd then Sir _Scudamour_, Sir _Saluage_ knight
Let me this craue, sith first I was defyde,
That first I may that wrong to him requite:
And if I hap to fayle, you shall recure my right.

Which being yeelded, he his threatfull speare x
Gan fewter, and against her fiercely ran.
Who soone as she him saw approaching neare
With so fell rage, her selfe she lightly gan
To dight, to welcome him, well as she can:
But entertaind him in so rude a wise,
That to the ground she smote both horse and man;
Whence neither greatly hasted to arise,
But on their common harmes together did deuise.

But _Artegall_ beholding his mischaunce, xi
New matter added to his former fire;
And eft auentring his steeleheaded launce,
Against her rode, full of despiteous ire,
That nought but spoyle and vengeance did require.
But to himselfe his felonous intent
Returning, disappointed his desire,
Whiles vnawares his saddle he forwent,
And found himselfe on ground in great amazement.

Lightly he started vp out of that stound, xii
And snatching forth his direfull deadly blade,
Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound
Thrust to an Hynd within some couert glade,
Whom without perill he cannot inuade.
With such fell greedines he her assayled,
That though she mounted were, yet he her made
To giue him ground, (so much his force preuayled)
And shun his mightie strokes, gainst which no armes auayled.

So as they coursed here and there, it chaunst xiii
That in her wheeling round, behind her crest
So sorely he her strooke, that thence it glaunst
Adowne her backe, the which it fairely blest
From foule mischance; ne did it euer rest,
Till on her horses hinder parts it fell;
Where byting deepe, so deadly it imprest,
That quite it chynd his backe behind the sell,
And to alight on foote her algates did compell.

Like as the lightning brond from riuen skie, xiv
Throwne out by angry _Ioue_ in his vengeance,
With dreadfull force falles on some steeple hie;
Which battring, downe it on the church doth glance,
And teares it all with terrible mischance.
Yet she no whit dismayd, her steed forsooke,
And casting from her that enchaunted lance,
Vnto her sword and shield her soone betooke;
And therewithall at him right furiously she strooke.

So furiously she strooke in her first heat, xv
Whiles with long fight on foot he breathlesse was,
That she him forced backward to retreat,
And yeeld vnto her weapon way to pas:
Whose raging rigour neither steele nor bras
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went,
And pour’d the purple bloud forth on the gras;
That all his mayle yriv’d, and plates yrent,
Shew’d all his bodie bare vnto the cruell dent.

At length when as he saw her hastie heat xvi
Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle,
He through long sufferance growing now more great,
Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle,
Heaping huge strokes, as thicke as showre of hayle,
And lashing dreadfully at euery part,
As if he thought her soule to disentrayle.
Ah cruell hand, and thrise more cruell hart,
That workst such wrecke on her, to whom thou dearest art.

What yron courage euer could endure, xvii
To worke such outrage on so faire a creature?
And in his madnesse thinke with hands impure
To spoyle so goodly workmanship of nature,
The maker selfe resembling in her feature?
Certes some hellish furie, or some feend
This mischiefe framd, for their first loues defeature,
To bath[102] their hands in bloud of dearest freend[103],
Thereby to make their loues beginning, their liues end.

Thus long they trac’d, and trauerst to and fro, xviii
Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed,
Still as aduantage they espyde thereto:
But toward th’end Sir _Arthegall_ renewed
His strength still more, but she still more decrewed.
At last his lucklesse hand he heau’d on hie,
Hauing his forces all in one accrewed,
And therewith stroke[104] at her so hideouslie,
That seemed nought but death mote be her destinie.

The wicked stroke vpon her helmet chaunst, xix
And with the force, which in it selfe it bore,
Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst
A downe in vaine, ne harm’d her any more.
With that her angels face, vnseene afore,
Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight,
Deawed with siluer drops, through sweating sore,
But somewhat redder, then beseem’d aright,
Through toylesome heate and labour of her weary fight.

And round about the same, her yellow heare xx
Hauing through stirring loosd their wonted band,
Like to a golden border did appeare,
Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand:
Yet goldsmithes cunning could not vnderstand
To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare.
For it did glister like the golden sand,
The which _Pactolus_ with his waters shere,
Throwes forth vpon the riuage round about him nere.

And as his hand he vp againe did reare, xxi
Thinking to worke on her his vtmost wracke,
His powrelesse arme benumbd with secret feare
From his reuengefull purpose shronke abacke,
And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke
Fell downe to ground, as if the steele had sence,
And felt some ruth, or sence his hand did lacke,
Or both of them did thinke, obedience
To doe to so diuine a beauties excellence.

And he himselfe long gazing thereupon, xxii
At last fell humbly downe vpon his knee,
And of his wonder made religion,
Weening some heauenly goddesse he did see,
Or else vnweeting, what it else might bee;
And pardon her besought his errour frayle,
That had done outrage in so high degree:
Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,
And made ech member quake, and manly hart to quayle.

Nathelesse she full of wrath for that late stroke, xxiii
All that long while vpheld her wrathfull hand,
With fell intent, on him to bene ywroke,
And looking sterne, still ouer him did stand,
Threatning to strike, vnlesse he would withstand:
And bad him rise, or surely he should die.
But die or liue for nought he would vpstand
But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,
Or wreake on him her will for so great iniurie.

Which when as _Scudamour_, who now abrayd, xxiv
Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside,
He was therewith right wondrously dismayd,
And drawing nigh, when as he plaine descride
That peerelesse paterne of Dame natures pride,
And heauenly image of perfection,
He blest himselfe, as one sore terrifide,
And turning his[105] feare to faint deuotion,
Did worship her as some celestiall vision.

But _Glauce_, seeing all that chaunced there, xxv
Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,
Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,
And her salewd with seemely belaccoyle,
Ioyous to see her safe after long toyle.
Then her besought, as she to her was deare,
To graunt vnto those warriours truce a whyle;
Which yeelded, they their beuers vp did reare,
And shew’d themselues to her, such as indeed they were.

When _Britomart_ with sharpe auizefull eye xxvi
Beheld the louely face of _Artegall_,
Tempred with sternesse and stout maiestie,
She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call,
To be the same which in her fathers hall
Long since in that enchaunted glasse she saw.
Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,
And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw,
That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft withdraw.

Yet she it forst to haue againe vpheld, xxvii
As fayning choler, which was turn’d to cold:
But euer when his visage she beheld,
Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:
But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,
She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold;
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,
But brought forth speeches myld, when she would haue missayd.

But _Scudamour_ now woxen inly glad, xxviii
That all his gealous feare he false had found,
And how that Hag his loue abused had
With breach of faith and loyaltie vnsound,
The which long time his grieued hart did wound,
He[106] thus bespake; Certes[107] Sir _Artegall_,
I ioy to see you lout so low on ground,
And now become to liue a Ladies thrall,
That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all.

Soone as she heard the name of _Artegall_, xxix
Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings tremble,
For sudden ioy, and secret feare withall,
And all her vitall powres with motion nimble,
To succour it, themselues gan there assemble,
That by the swift recourse of flushing blood
Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble,
And fayned still her former angry mood,
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.

When _Glauce_ thus gan wisely all vpknit; xxx
Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath brought,
To be spectators of this vncouth fit,
Which secret fate hath in this Ladie wrought,
Against the course of kind, ne meruaile nought,
Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo
Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought,
Fearing least she your loues away should woo,
Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants theretoo.

And you Sir _Artegall_, the saluage knight, xxxi
Henceforth may not disdaine, that womans hand
Hath conquered you anew in second fight:
For whylome they haue conquerd sea and land,
And heauen it selfe, that nought may them withstand.[108]
Ne henceforth be rebellious vnto loue,
That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band
Of noble minds deriued from aboue,
Which being knit with vertue, neuer will remoue.

And you faire Ladie knight, my dearest Dame, xxxii
Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will,
Whose fire were better turn’d to other flame;
And wiping out remembrance of all ill,
Graunt him your grace, but so that he fulfill
The penance, which ye shall to him empart:
For louers heauen must passe by sorrowes hell.
Thereat full inly blushed _Britomart_;
But _Artegall_ close smyling ioy’d in secret hart.

Yet durst he not make loue so suddenly, xxxiii
Ne thinke th’affection of her hart to draw
From one to other so quite contrary:
Besides her modest countenance he saw
So goodly graue, and full of princely aw,
That it his ranging fancie did refraine,
And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw;
Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine,
Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would restraine.

But _Scudamour_ whose hart twixt doubtfull feare xxxiv
And feeble hope hung all this while suspence,
Desiring of his _Amoret_ to heare
Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence,
Her thus bespake; But Sir without offence
Mote I request you tydings of my loue,
My _Amoret_, sith you her freed fro thence,
Where she captiued long, great woes did proue;
That where ye left, I may her seeke, as doth behoue.

To whom thus _Britomart_, Certes[109] Sir knight, xxxv
What is of her become, or whether reft,
I can not vnto you aread a right.
For from that time I from enchaunters theft
Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left,
I her preseru’d from perill and from feare,
And euermore from villenie her kept:
Ne euer was there wight to me more deare
Then she, ne vnto whom I more true loue did beare.

Till on a day as through a desert wyld xxxvi
We trauelled, both wearie of the way
We did alight, and sate in shadow myld;
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay.
But when as I did out of sleepe abray,
I found her not, where I her left whyleare,
But thought she wandred was, or gone astray.
I cal’d her loud, I sought her farre and neare;
But no where could her find, nor tydings of her heare.

When _Scudamour_ those heauie tydings heard, xxxvii
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare;
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard,
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare,
That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare.
Till _Glauce_ thus; Faire Sir, be nought dismayd
With needelesse dread, till certaintie ye heare:
For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd;
Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd.

Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech xxxviii
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight
Shew’d change of better cheare: so sore a breach
That sudden newes had made into his spright;
Till _Britomart_ him fairely thus behight;
Great cause of sorrow certes Sir ye haue:
But comfort take: for by this heauens light
I vow, you dead or liuing not to leaue,
Till I her find, and wreake on him that her did reaue.

Therewith he rested, and well pleased was, xxxix
So peace being confirm’d amongst them all,
They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas
Vnto some resting place, which mote befall,
All being guided by Sir _Artegall_.
Where goodly solace was vnto them made,
And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,
Vntill that they their wounds well healed had,
And wearie limmes recur’d after late vsage bad.

In all which time, Sir _Artegall_ made way xl
Vnto the loue of noble _Britomart_,
And with meeke seruice and much suit did lay
Continuall siege vnto her gentle hart,
Which being whylome launcht[110] with louely dart,
More eath was new impression to receiue,
How euer she her paynd with womanish art
To hide her wound, that none might it perceiue:
Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceiue.

So well he woo’d her, and so well he wrought her, xli
With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,
That at the length vnto a bay he brought her,
So as she to his speeches was content
To lend an eare, and softly to relent.
At last through many vowes which forth he pour’d,
And many othes, she yeelded her consent
To be his loue, and take him for her Lord,
Till they with mariage meet might finish that accord.

Tho when they had long time there taken rest, xlii
Sir _Artegall_, who all this while was bound
Vpon an hard aduenture yet in quest,
Fit time for him thence to depart it found,
To follow that, which he did long propound;
And vnto her his congee came to take.
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,
And loth to leaue her late betrothed make,
Her dearest loue full loth so shortly to forsake.

Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged, xliii
And wonne her will to suffer him depart;
For which his faith with her he fast engaged,
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart,
That all so soone as he by wit or art
Could that atchieue, whereto he did aspire,
He vnto her would speedily reuert:
No longer space thereto he did desire,
But till the horned moone three courses did expire.

With which she for the present was appeased, xliv
And yeelded leaue, how euer malcontent
She inly were, and in her mind displeased.
So early in[111] the morrow next he went
Forth on his way, to which he was ybent.
Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
As whylome was the custome ancient
Mongst Knights, when on aduentures they did ride,
Saue that she algates him a while accompanide.

And by the way she sundry purpose found xlv
Of this or that, the time for to delay,
And of the perils whereto he was bound,
The feare whereof seem’d much her to affray:
But all she did was but to weare out day.
Full oftentimes she leaue of him did take;
And eft againe deuiz’d some what to say,
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make:
So loth she was his companie for to forsake.

At last when all her speeches she had spent, xlvi
And new occasion fayld her more to find,
She left him to his fortunes gouernment,
And backe returned with right heauie mind,
To _Scudamour_, who she had left behind,
With whom she went to seeke faire _Amoret_,
Her second care, though in another kind;
For vertues onely sake, which doth beget
True loue and faithfull friendship, she by her did set.

Backe to that desert forrest they retyred, xlvii
Where sorie _Britomart_ had lost her late;
There they her sought, and euery where inquired,
Where they might tydings get of her estate;
Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate,
Or hard misfortune she was thence conuayd,
And stolne away from her beloued mate,
Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay
Vntill another tyde, that I it finish may.

FOOTNOTES:

[102] xvii 8 bathe _1609_

[103] friend _1609_

[104] xviii 8 strooke _1609_

[105] xxiv 8 his _om. 1609_

[106] xxviii 6 He] Her _1596_: Him _conj. Upton_

[107] certes _1596_

[108] xxxi 5 withstand _1596_

[109] xxxv 1 certes _1596_

[110] xl 5 launc’t _1609_

[111] xliv 4 in] on _1609_

_Cant. VII._

_Amoret rapt by greedie lust
Belphebe saues from dread,
The Squire her loues, and being blam’d
his dayes in dole[112] doth lead._
]

Great God of loue, that with thy cruell dart[113] i
Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground,
And setst thy kingdome in the captiue harts
Of Kings and Keasars, to thy seruice bound,
What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou found
In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore;
And adding anguish to the bitter wound,
With which their liues thou lanchedst[114] long afore,
By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more?

So whylome didst thou to faire _Florimell_; ii
And so and so to noble _Britomart_:
So doest thou now to her, of whom I tell,
The louely _Amoret_, whose gentle hart
Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
In saluage forrests, and in deserts wide,
With Beares and Tygers taking heauie part,
Withouten comfort, and withouten guide,
That pittie is to heare the perils, which she tride.

So soone as she with that braue Britonesse iii
Had left that Turneyment for beauties prise,
They trauel’d long, that now for wearinesse,
Both of the way, and warlike exercise,
Both through a forest ryding did deuise
T’alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile.
There heauie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise
Of _Britomart_ after long tedious toyle,
That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.

The whiles faire _Amoret_, of nought affeard, iv
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure, or for need;
When suddenly behind her backe she heard
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,
That ere she backe could turne to taken heed,
Had vnawares her snatched vp from ground[115].
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed,
That _Britomart_ heard not the shrilling sound,
There where through weary trauel she lay sleeping sound.

It was to weet a wilde and saluage man, v
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,
And eke in stature higher by a span,
All ouergrowne with haire, that could awhape
An hardy hart, and his wide mouth did gape
With huge great teeth, like to a tusked Bore:
For he liu’d all on rauin and on rape
Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,
The signe whereof yet stain’d his bloudy lips afore.

His neather lip was not like man nor beast, vi
But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low,
In which he wont the relickes[116] of his feast,
And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow:
And ouer it his huge great nose did grow,
Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;
And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow,
And raught downe to his waste, when vp he stood,
More great then th’eares of Elephants by _Indus_ flood.

His wast was with a wreath of yuie greene vii
Engirt about, ne other garment wore:
For all his haire was like a garment seene;
And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,
Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,
And beath’d in fire for steele to be in sted.
But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,
Of beasts, or of the earth, I haue not red:
But certes was with milke of Wolues and Tygres fed.

This vgly creature in his armes her snatcht, viii
And through the forrest bore her quite away,
With briers and bushes all to rent and scratcht;
Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray,
Which many a knight had sought so many a day.
He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing
Ran, till he came to th’end of all his way,
Vnto his caue farre from all peoples hearing,
And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought fearing.

For she deare Ladie all the way was dead, ix
Whilest he in armes her bore; but when she felt
Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread
Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt,
And eft gan into tender teares to melt.
Then when she lookt about, and nothing found
But darknesse and dread horrour, where she dwelt,
She almost fell againe into a swound,
Ne wist whether aboue she were, or vnder ground.

With that she heard some one close by her side x
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine
Her tender hart in peeces would diuide:
Which she long listning, softly askt againe
What mister wight it was that so did plaine?
To whom thus aunswer’d was: Ah wretched wight
That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine,
Vnweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight:
Selfe to forget to mind another, is ouersight[117].

Aye me (said she) where am I, or with whom? xi
Emong the liuing, or emong the dead?
What shall of me vnhappy maid become?
Shall death be th’end, or ought else worse, aread.
Vnhappy mayd (then answerd she) whose dread
Vntride, is lesse then when thou shalt it try:
Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead,
Both grace and gaine; but he in hell doth lie,
That liues a loathed life, and wishing cannot die.

This dismall day hath thee a caytiue[118] made, xii
And vassall to the vilest wretch aliue,
Whose cursed vsage and vngodly trade
The heauens abhorre, and into darkenesse driue.
For on the spoile of women he doth liue,
Whose bodies chast, when euer in his powre
He may them catch, vnable to gainestriue,
He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre,
And afterwards themselues doth cruelly deuoure.

Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes of men xiii
Diuide their works, haue past through heuen sheene,
Since I was brought into this dolefull[119] den;
During which space these sory eies haue seen
Seauen women by him slaine, and eaten clene.
And now no more for him but I alone,
And this old woman here remaining beene;
Till thou cam’st hither to augment our mone,
And of vs three to morrow he will sure eate one.

Ah dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare, xiv
(Quoth she) of all that euer hath bene knowen:
Full many great calamities and rare
This feeble brest endured hath, but none
Equall to this, where euer I haue gone.
But what are you, whom like vnlucky lot
Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone?
To tell (quoth she) that which ye see, needs not;
A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot.

But what I was, it irkes me to reherse; xv
Daughter vnto a Lord of high degree;
That ioyd in happy peace, till fates peruerse
With guilefull loue did secretly agree,
To ouerthrow my state and dignitie.
It was my lot to loue a gentle swaine,
Yet was he but a Squire of low degree;
Yet was he meet, vnlesse mine eye did faine,
By any Ladies side for Leman to haue laine.

But for his meannesse and disparagement, xvi
My Sire, who me too dearely well did loue,
Vnto my choise by no meanes would assent,
But often did my folly fowle reproue.
Yet nothing could my fixed mind remoue,
But whether willed or nilled friend or foe,
I me resolu’d the vtmost end to proue,
And rather then my loue abandon so,
Both sire, and friends, and all for euer to forgo.

Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to worke xvii
Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight
To hide th’intent, which in my heart did lurke,
Till I thereto had all things ready dight.
So on a day vnweeting vnto wight,
I with that Squire agreede away to flit,
And in a priuy place, betwixt vs hight,
Within a groue appointed him to meete;
To which I boldly came vpon my feeble feete.

But ah vnhappy houre me thither brought: xviii
For in that place where I him thought to find,
There was I found, contrary to my thought,
Of this accursed Carle of hellish kind,
The shame of men, and plague of womankind,
Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his pray,
Me hether[120] brought with him, as swift as wind,
Where yet vntouched till this present day,
I rest his wretched thrall, the sad _Æmylia_.

Ah sad _Æmylia_ (then sayd _Amoret_,) xix
Thy ruefull plight I pitty as mine owne.
But read to me, by what deuise or wit,
Hast thou in all this time, from him vnknowne
Thine honor sau’d, though into thraldome throwne.
Through helpe (quoth she) of this old woman here
I haue so done, as she to me hath showne.
For euer when he burnt in lustfull fire,
She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire.

Thus of their euils as they did discourse, xx
And each did other much bewaile and mone;
Loe where the villaine selfe, their sorrowes sourse,
Came to the caue, and rolling thence the stone,
Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, that none
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,
And spredding ouer all the flore alone,
Gan dight him selfe vnto his wonted sinne;
Which ended, then his bloudy banket should beginne.

Which when as fearefull _Amoret_ perceiued, xxi
She staid not the[121] vtmost end thereof to try,
But like a ghastly Gelt, whose wits are reaued,
Ran forth in hast with hideous outcry,
For horrour of his shamefull villany.
But after her full lightly he vprose,
And her pursu’d as fast as she did flie:
Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes,
Ne feeles the thorns and thickets pricke her tender toes.

Nor[122] hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she staies, xxii
But ouerleapes them all, like Robucke light,
And through the thickest makes her nighest waies;
And euermore when with regardfull sight
She looking backe, espies that griesly wight
Approching nigh, she gins to mend her pace,
And makes her feare a spur to hast her flight:
More swift then _Myrrh’_ or _Daphne_ in her race,
Or any of the Thracian Nimphes in saluage chase.

Long so she fled, and so he follow’d long; xxiii
Ne liuing aide for her on earth appeares,
But if the heauens helpe to redresse her wrong,
Moued with pity of her plenteous teares.
It fortuned _Belphebe_ with her peares
The woody Nimphs, and with that louely boy,
Was hunting then the Libbards and the Beares,
In these wild woods, as was her wonted ioy,
To banish sloth, that oft doth noble mindes annoy.

It so befell, as oft it fals in chace, xxiv
That each of them from other sundred were,
And that same gentle Squire arriu’d in place,
Where this same cursed caytiue did appeare,
Pursuing that faire Lady full of feare,
And now he her quite ouertaken had;
And now he her away with him did beare
Vnder his arme, as seeming wondrous glad,
That by his grenning laughter mote farre off be rad.

Which[123] drery sight the gentle Squire espying, xxv
Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest way,
Led with that wofull Ladies piteous crying,
And him assailes with all the might he may,
Yet will not he the louely spoile downe lay,
But with his craggy club in his right hand,
Defends him selfe, and saues his gotten pray.
Yet had it bene right hard him to withstand,
But that he was full light and nimble on the land.

Thereto the villaine vsed craft in fight; xxvi
For euer when the Squire his iauelin shooke,
He held the Lady forth before him right,
And with her body, as a buckler, broke
The puissance of his intended stroke.
And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight)
Whilest he on him was greedy to be wroke,
That any little blow on her did light,
Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight.

Which subtill sleight did him encumber much, xxvii
And made him oft, when he would strike, forbeare;
For hardly could he come the carle to touch,
But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare:
Yet he his hand so carefully did beare,
That at the last he did himselfe attaine,
And therein left the pike head of his speare.
A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht amaine,
That all her silken garments did with bloud bestaine.

With that he threw her rudely on the flore, xxviii
And laying both his hands vpon his glaue,
With dreadfull strokes let driue at him so sore,
That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to saue:
Yet he therewith so felly still did raue,
That scarse the Squire his hand could once vpreare,
But for aduantage ground vnto him gaue,
Tracing and trauersing, now here, now there;
For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes to beare.

Whilest thus in battell they embusied were, xxix
_Belphebe_ raunging in that forrest wide,
The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare,
And drew thereto, making her eare her guide.
Whom when that theefe approching nigh espide,
With bow in hand, and arrowes ready bent,
He by his former combate would not bide,
But fled away with ghastly dreriment,
Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument.

Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed xxx
With winged feete, as nimble as the winde,
And euer in her bow she ready shewed[124]
The arrow, to his deadly marke desynde.
As when _Latonaes_ daughter cruell kynde,
In vengement of her mothers great disgrace,
With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde
Gainst wofull _Niobes_ vnhappy race,
That all the gods did mone her miserable case.

So well she sped her and so far she ventred, xxxi
That ere vnto his hellish den he raught,
Euen as he ready was there to haue entred,
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught,
That in the very dore him ouercaught,
And in his nape arriuing, through it thrild
His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught,
That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,
And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fild.

Whom when on ground she groueling saw to rowle, xxxii
She ran in hast his life to haue bereft:
But ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle
Hauing his carrion corse quite sencelesse left,
Was fled to hell, surcharg’d with spoile and theft.
Yet ouer him she there long gazing stood,
And oft admir’d his monstrous shape, and oft
His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud
The place there ouerflowne, seemd like a sodaine flood.

Thence forth[125] she past into his dreadfull den, xxxiii
Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,
Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then
Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound.
With that she askt, what ghosts there vnder ground
Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?
And bad them, if so be they were not bound,
To come and shew themselues before the light,
Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight.

Then forth the sad[126] _Æmylia_ issewed, xxxiv
Yet trembling euery ioynt through former feare;
And after her the Hag, there with her mewed,
A foule and lothsome creature did appeare;
A leman fit for such a louer deare.
That mou’d _Belphebe_ her no lesse to hate,
Then for to rue the others heauy cheare;
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate.
Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.

Thence she them brought toward the place, where late xxxv
She left the gentle Squire with _Amoret_:
There she him found by that new louely mate,
Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,
From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet,
Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene,
And handling soft the hurts, which she did get.
For of that Carle she sorely bruz’d had beene,
Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene.

Which when she saw, with sodaine glauncing eye, xxxvi
Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild
With deepe disdaine, and great indignity,
That in her wrath she thought them both haue thrild,
With that selfe arrow, which the Carle had kild:
Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore,
But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld;
Is this the faith,[127] she said, and said no more,
But turnd her face, and fled away for euermore.

He seeing her depart, arose vp light, xxxvii
Right sore agrieued at her sharpe reproofe,
And follow’d fast: but when he came in sight,
He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,
For dread of her displeasures vtmost proofe.
And euermore, when he did grace entreat,
And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,
Her mortall arrowes[128] she at him did threat,
And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat.

At last when long he follow’d had in vaine, xxxviii
Yet found no ease of griefe, nor hope of grace,
Vnto those woods he turned backe againe,
Full of sad anguish, and in heauy case:
And finding there fit solitary place
For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,
Where hardly eye mote see bright heauens face,
For mossy trees, which couered all with shade
And sad melancholy:[129] there he his cabin made.

His wonted warlike weapons all he broke, xxxix
And threw away, with vow to vse no more,
Ne thenceforth euer strike in battell stroke,
Ne euer word to speake to woman more;
But in that wildernesse, of men forlore,
And of the wicked world forgotten quight,
His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,
And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight;
So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne despight.

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, xl
He wilfully did cut and shape anew;
And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet
To be embaulm’d, and sweat out dainty dew,
He let to grow and griesly to concrew,
Vncomb’d, vncurl’d, and carelesly vnshed;
That in short time his face they ouergrew,
And ouer all his shoulders did dispred,
That who he whilome was, vneath was to be red.

There he continued in this carefull plight, xli
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,
Through wilfull penury consumed quight,
That like a pined ghost he soone appeares.
For other food then that wilde forrest beares,
Ne other drinke there did he euer[130] tast,
Then running water, tempred with his teares,
The more his weakened body so to wast:
That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last.

For on a day, by fortune as it fell, xlii
His owne deare Lord Prince _Arthure_ came that way,
Seeking aduentures, where he mote heare tell;
And as he through the wandring wood did stray,
Hauing espide this Cabin far away,
He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne;
Weening therein some holy Hermit lay,
That did resort of sinfull people shonne;
Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorching sunne.

Arriuing there, he found this wretched man, xliii
Spending his daies in dolour and despaire,
And through long fasting woxen pale and wan,
All ouergrowen with rude and rugged haire;
That albeit his owne deare Squire he were,
Yet he him knew not, ne auiz’d at all,
But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where,
Saluting him, gan into speach to fall,
And pitty much his plight, that liu’d like outcast thrall.

But to his speach he aunswered no whit, xliv
But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum,
Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit,
As one with griefe and anguishe ouercum,
And vnto euery thing did aunswere mum:
And euer when the Prince vnto him spake,
He louted lowly, as did him becum,
And humble homage did vnto him make,
Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.

At which his vncouth guise and vsage quaint xlv
The Prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse
The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint;
Yet weend by secret signes of manlinesse,
Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,
That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene,
Traind vp in feats of armes and knightlinesse;
Which he obseru’d, by that he him had seene
To weld[131] his naked sword, and try the edges keene.

And eke by that he saw on euery tree, xlvi
How he the name of one engrauen had,
Which likly[132] was his liefest loue to be,
For whom he now so sorely was bestad;
Which was by him _BELPHEBE_ rightly rad.
Yet who was that _Belphebe_, he ne wist;
Yet saw he often how he wexed glad,
When he it heard, and how the ground he kist,
Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist:

Tho when he long had marked his demeanor, xlvii
And saw that all he said and did, was vaine,
Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor,
Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine,
He left him there in languor to remaine,
Till time for him should remedy prouide,
And him restore to former grace againe.
Which for it is too long here to abide,
I will deferre the end vntill another tide.

FOOTNOTES:

[112] Arg. 4 _doole_ _1609_

[113] i 1 darts _1609_

[114] 8 launcedst _1609_

[115] iv 6 snatcht vp from the ground _1609_

[116] vi 3 reliques _1609_

[117] x 9 ore-sight _1609_

[118] xii 1 captiue _Collier &c._

[119] xiii 3 doolefull _1609_

[120] xviii 7 hither _1609_

[121] xxi 2 th’ _1609_

[122] xxii 1 Nor] For _Collier_

[123] xxv 1 Which] With _1596_

[124] xxx 3 shewed, _1596_

[125] xxxiii 1 Thenceforth _1596_

[126] xxxiv 1 sad] said _1596_

[127] xxxvi 8 faith _1596_

[128] xxxvii 8 arrowes, _1596_

[129] xxxviii 9 melancholy, _1596_

[130] xli 6 neuer _1609_

[131] xlv 9 wield _1609_

[132] xlvi 3 likely _1609_

_Cant. VIII._

_The gentle Squire recouers grace,
Sclaunder[133] her guests doth staine:
Corflambo chaseth Placidas,
And is by Arthure slaine._
]