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                    SPENSER'S
                THE FAERIE QUEENE

                     BOOK I

     EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
                       BY
   GEORGE ARMSTRONG WAUCHOPE, M.A., Ph.D.

Professor of English in the South Carolina College

         _Velut inter ignes luna minores_

                    New York
               The Macmillan Company
           London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
                     1921
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1903.







                 CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION:
    I. The Age which produced the Faerie Queene
    II. The Author of the Faerie Queene
    III. Study of the Faerie Queene:
        1. A Romantic Epic
        2. Influence of the New Learning
        3. Interpretation of the Allegory
        4. The Spenserian Stanza
        5. Versification
        6. Diction and Style
    IV. Chronological Table of Events

THE FAERIE QUEENE. BOOK I:
    Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh
    Sonnet to Sir Walter Raleigh
    Dedication to Queen Elizabeth
    Canto I
    Canto II
    Canto III
    Canto IV
    Canto V
    Canto VI
    Canto VII
    Canto VIII
    Canto IX
    Canto X
    Canto XI
    Canto XII

NOTES

GLOSSARY

       *       *       *       *       *

INTRODUCTION

I. THE AGE WHICH PRODUCED THE _FAERIE QUEENE_

The study of the _Faerie Queene_ should be preceded by a review of the
great age in which it was written. An intimate relation exists between the
history of the English nation and the works of English authors. This close
connection between purely external events and literary masterpieces is
especially marked in a study of the Elizabethan Age. To understand the
marvelous outburst of song, the incomparable drama, and the stately prose
of this period, one must enter deeply into the political, social, and
religious life of the times.

The _Faerie Queene_ was the product of certain definite conditions which
existed in England toward the close of the sixteenth century. The first of
these national conditions was the movement known as the _revival of
chivalry_; the second was the _spirit of nationality_ fostered by the
English Reformation; and the third was that phase of the English
Renaissance commonly called the _revival of learning_.

The closing decade of Queen Elizabeth's reign was marked by a strong
reaction toward romanticism. The feudal system with its many imperfections
had become a memory, and had been idealized by the people. The nation felt
pride in its new aristocracy, sprung largely from the middle class, and
based rather on worth than ancestry. The bitterness of the Wars of the
Roses was forgotten, and was succeeded by an era of reconciliation and good
feeling. England was united in a heroic queen whom all sects, ranks, and
parties idolized. The whole country exulting in its new sense of freedom
and power became a fairyland of youth, springtime, and romantic
achievement.

Wise and gallant courtiers, like Sidney, Leicester, and Raleigh, gathered
about the queen, and formed a new chivalry devoted to deeds of adventure
and exploits of mind in her honor. The spirit of the old sea-kings lived
again in Drake and his bold buccaneers, who swept the proud Spaniards from
the seas. With the defeat of the Invincible Armada, the greatest naval
expedition of modern times, the fear of Spanish and Catholic domination
rolled away. The whole land was saturated with an unexpressed poetry, and
the imagination of young and old was so fired with patriotism and noble
endeavor that nothing seemed impossible. Add to this intense delight in
life, with all its mystery, beauty, and power, the keen zest for learning
which filled the air that men breathed, and it is easy to understand that
the time was ripe for a new and brilliant epoch in literature. First among
the poetic geniuses of the Elizabethan period came Edmund Spenser with his
_Faerie Queene_, the allegory of an ideal chivalry.

This poem is one of the fruits of that intellectual awakening which first
fertilized Italian thought in the twelfth century, and, slowly spreading
over Europe, made its way into England in the fifteenth century. The mighty
impulse of this New Learning culminated during the reign of the Virgin
Queen in a profound quickening of the national consciousness, and in
arousing an intense curiosity to know and to imitate the rich treasures of
the classics and romance. Its first phase was the _classical revival_. The
tyrannous authority of ecclesiasticism had long since been broken; a
general reaction from Christian asceticism had set in; and by the side of
the ceremonies of the church had been introduced a semi-pagan religion of
art--the worship of moral and sensuous beauty. Illiteracy was no longer the
style at court. Elizabeth herself set the example in the study of Greek.
Books and manuscripts were eagerly sought after, Scholars became conversant
with Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and the great tragic poets Sophocles,
Euripides, and Æschylus; and translations for the many of Vergil, Ovid,
Plautus, Terence, and Seneca poured forth from the printing-presses of
London. The English mind was strongly tempered by the idealistic philosophy
of Plato and Aristotle, and the influence of Latin tragedy and comedy was
strongly felt by the early English drama.

Along with this classical culture came a higher appreciation of the _beauty
of mediævalism_. The romantic tendency of the age fostered the study of the
great epics of chivalry, Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_ and Tasso's _Jerusalem
Delivered_, and of the cycles of French romance. From the Italian poets
especially Spenser borrowed freely. Ariosto's fresh naturalness and magic
machinery influenced him most strongly, but he was indebted to the
semi-classical Tasso for whole scenes. On the whole, therefore, Spenser's
literary affinities were more with the Gothic than the classical.

Spenser was also the spokesman of his time on religious questions. The
violent controversies of the Reformation period were over. Having turned
from the beliefs of ages with passionate rejection, the English people had
achieved religious freedom, and were strongly rooted in Protestantism,
which took on a distinctly national aspect. That Calvinism was at that time
the popular and aristocratic form of Protestantism is evident from
references in the _Faerie Queene_.

Spenser lived in the afterglow of the great age of chivalry. The passing
glories of knighthood in its flower impressed his imagination like a
gorgeous dream, and he was thus inspired to catch and crystallize into
permanent art its romantic spirit and heroic deeds. Into the framework of
his romance of chivalry he inserted a veiled picture of the struggles and
sufferings of his own people in Ireland. The _Faerie Queene_ might almost
be called the epic of the English conquest of Ireland. The poet himself and
many of his friends were in that unhappy island as representatives of the
queen's government, trying to pacify the natives, and establish law and
order out of discontent and anarchy. Spenser's poem was written for the
most part amidst all these scenes of misery and disorder, and the courage,
justice, and energy shown by his countrymen were aptly portrayed under the
allegory of a mighty spiritual warfare of the knights of old against the
power of evil.

Spenser's essay on _A View of the Present State of Ireland_ shows that, far
from shutting himself up in a fool's paradise of fancy, he was fully awake
to the social and political condition of that turbulent island, and that it
furnished him with concrete examples of those vices and virtues, bold
encounters and hair-breadth escapes, strange wanderings and deeds of
violence, with which he has crowded the allegory of the _Faerie Queene_.

II. THE AUTHOR OF THE _FAERIE QUEENE_

Edmund Spenser was born in London near the Tower in the year 1552. His
parents were poor, though they were probably connected with the Lancashire
branch of the old family of Le Despensers, "an house of ancient fame," from
which the Northampton Spencers were also descended. The poet's familiarity
with the rural life and dialect of the north country supports the theory
that as a boy he spent some time in Lancashire. Beyond two or three facts,
nothing is known with certainty of his early years. He himself tells us
that his mother's name was Elizabeth, and that London was his "most kindly
nurse." His name is mentioned as one of six poor pupils of the Merchant
Taylors' School, who received assistance from a generous country squire.

At the age of seventeen, Master Edmund became a student in Pembroke Hall,
one of the colleges of the great University of Cambridge. His position was
that of a sizar, or paid scholar, who was exempt from the payment of
tuition fees and earned his way by serving in the dining hall or performing
other menial duties. His poverty, however, did not prevent him from forming
many helpful friendships with his fellow-students. Among his most valued
friends he numbered Launcelot Andrews, afterward Bishop of Winchester,
Edward Kirke, a young man of Spenser's own age, who soon after edited his
friend's first important poem, the _Shepheards Calender_, with elaborate
notes, and most important of all, the famous classical scholar, a fellow of
Pembroke, Gabriel Harvey, who was a few years older than Spenser, and was
later immortalized as the Hobbinoll of the _Faerie Queene_. It was by
Harvey that the poet was introduced to Sir Philip Sidney, the most
accomplished gentleman in England, and a favorite of Queen Elizabeth.

Spenser's residence in Cambridge extended over seven years, during which he
received the usual degrees of bachelor and master of arts. He became one of
the most learned of English poets, and we may infer that while at this seat
of learning he laid the foundations for his wide scholarship in the
diligent study of the Greek and Latin classics, the philosophy of Plato and
Aristotle, the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Vergil, and the great
mediæval epics of Italian literature. On account of some misunderstanding
with the master and tutors of his college, Spenser failed to receive the
appointment to a fellowship, and left the University in 1576, at the age of
twenty-four. His failure to attain the highest scholastic recognition was
due, it is supposed, to his being involved in some of the dangerous
controversies which were ripe in Cambridge at that time "with daily
spawning of new opinions and heresies in divinity, in philosophy, in
humanity, and in manners."

On leaving the University, Spenser resided for about a year with relatives
in Lancashire, where he found employment. During this time he had an
unrequited love affair with an unknown beauty whom he celebrated in the
_Shepheards Calender_ under the name of Rosalind, "the widow's daughter of
the glen." A rival, Menalchas, was more successful in finding favor with
his fair neighbor. Although he had before this turned his attention to
poetry by translating the sonnets of Petrarch and Du Bellay (published in
1569), it was while here in the North country that he first showed his high
poetic gifts in original composition.

After a visit to Sir Philip Sidney at Penshurst, Spenser went down to
London with his friend in 1578, and was presented to Sidney's great uncle,
the Earl of Leicester. He thus at once had an opportunity for advancement
through the influence of powerful patrons, a necessity with poor young
authors in that age. An immediate result of his acquaintance with Sidney,
with whom he was now on relations of intimate friendship, was an
introduction into the best society of the metropolis. This period of
association with many of the most distinguished and cultivated men in
England, together with the succession of brilliant pageants, masks, and
processions, which he witnessed at court and at Lord Leicester's mansion,
must have done much to refine his tastes and broaden his outlook on the
world.

In personal appearance Spenser was a fine type of a sixteenth century
gentleman. The grace and dignity of his bearing was enhanced by a face of
tender and thoughtful expression in which warmth of feeling was subdued by
the informing spirit of refinement, truthfulness, simplicity, and nobility.
He possessed a fine dome-like forehead, curling hair, brown eyes, full
sensuous lips, and a nose that was straight and strongly moulded. His long
spare face was adorned with a full mustache and a closely cropped Van Dyke
beard.

The _Shepheards Calender_ was published in the winter of 1579 with a
grateful and complimentary dedication to Sidney. It is an academic exercise
consisting of a series of twelve pastoral poems in imitation of the
eclogues of Vergil and Theocritus. The poem is cast in the form of
dialogues between shepherds, who converse on such subjects as love,
religion, and old age. In three eclogues the poet attacks with Puritan zeal
the pomp and sloth of the worldly clergy, and one is devoted to the courtly
praise of the queen. It was at once recognized as the most notable poem
that had appeared since the death of Chaucer, and placed Spenser
immediately at the head of living English poets.

In 1580 Spenser went over to Ireland as private secretary to Lord Grey of
Wilton, the Artegall of the Legend of Justice in the _Faerie Queene_. After
the recall of his patron he remained in that turbulent island in various
civil positions for the rest of his life, with the exception of two or
three visits and a last sad flight to England. For seven years he was clerk
of the Court of Chancery in Dublin, and then was appointed clerk to the
Council of Munster. In 1586 he was granted the forfeited estate of the Earl
of Desmond in Cork County, and two years later took up his residence in
Kilcolman Castle, which was beautifully situated on a lake with a distant
view of mountains. In the disturbed political condition of the country,
life here seemed a sort of exile to the poet, but its very loneliness and
danger gave the stimulus needed for the development of his peculiar genius.

"Here," says Mr. Stopford Brooke, "at the foot of the Galtees, and bordered
to the north by the wild country, the scenery of which is frequently
painted in the _Faerie Queene_ and in whose woods and savage places such
adventures constantly took place in the service of Elizabeth as are
recorded in the _Faerie Queene_, the first three books of that great poem
were finished." Spenser had spent the first three years of his residence at
Kilcolman at work on this masterpiece, which had been begun in England,
under the encouragement of Sidney, probably before 1580. The knightly
Sidney died heroically at the battle of Zutphen, in 1586, and Spenser
voiced the lament of all England in the beautiful pastoral elegy
_Astrophel_ which he composed in memory of "the most noble and valorous
knight."

Soon after coming to Ireland, Spenser made the acquaintance of Sir Walter
Raleigh, which erelong ripened into intimate friendship. A memorable visit
from Raleigh, who was now a neighbor of the poet's, having also received a
part of the forfeited Desmond estate, led to the publication of the _Faerie
Queene_. Sitting under the shade "of the green alders of the Mulla's
shore," Spenser read to his guest the first books of his poem. So pleased
was Raleigh that he persuaded the poet to accompany him to London, and
there lay his poem at the feet of the great queen, whose praises he had so
gloriously sung. The trip was made, Spenser was presented to Elizabeth, and
read to her Majesty the three Legends of Holiness, Temperance, and
Chastity. She was delighted with the fragmentary epic in which she heard
herself delicately complimented in turn as Gloriana, Belphoebe, and
Britomart, conferred upon the poet a pension of £50 yearly, and permitted
the _Faerie Queene_ to be published with a dedication to herself. Launched
under such auspices, it is no wonder that the poem was received by the
court and all England with unprecedented applause.

The next year while still in London, Spenser collected his early poems and
issued them under the title of _Complaints_. In this volume were the _Ruins
of Time_ and the _Tears of the Muses_, two poems on the indifference shown
to literature before 1580, and the remarkable _Mother Hubberds Tale_, a
bitter satire on the army, the court, the church, and politics. His
_Daphnaida_ was also published about the same time. On his return to
Ireland he gave a charming picture of life at Kilcolman Castle, with an
account of his visit to the court, in _Colin Clout's Come Home Again_. The
story of the long and desperate courtship of his second love, Elizabeth,
whom he wedded in 1594, is told in the _Amoretti_, a sonnet sequence full
of passion and tenderness. His rapturous wedding ode, the _Epithalamion_,
which is, by general consent, the most glorious bridal song in our
language, and the most perfect of all his poems in its freshness, purity,
and passion, was also published in 1595. The next year Spenser was back in
London and published the _Prothalamion_, a lovely ode on the marriage of
Lord Worcester's daughters, and his four _Hymns_ on Love and Beauty,
Heavenly Love, and Heavenly Beauty. The first two _Hymns_ are early poems,
and the two latter maturer work embodying Petrarch's philosophy, which
teaches that earthly love is a ladder that leads men to the love of God. In
this year, 1596, also appeared the last three books of the _Faerie Queene_,
containing the Legends of Friendship, Justice, and Courtesy.

At the height of his fame, happiness, and prosperity, Spenser returned for
the last time to Ireland in 1597, and was recommended by the queen for the
office of Sheriff of Cork. Surrounded by his beloved wife and children, his
domestic life was serene and happy, but in gloomy contrast his public life
was stormy and full of anxiety and danger. He was the acknowledged prince
of living poets, and was planning the completion of his mighty epic of the
private virtues in twelve books, to be followed by twelve more on the civic
virtues. The native Irish had steadily withstood his claim to the estate,
and continually harassed him with lawsuits. They detested their foreign
oppressors and awaited a favorable opportunity to rise. Discord and riot
increased on all sides. The ever growing murmurs of discontent gave place
to cries for vengeance and unrepressed acts of hostility. Finally, in the
fall of 1598, there occurred a fearful uprising known as Tyrone's
Rebellion, in which the outraged peasants fiercely attacked the castle,
plundering and burning. Spenser and his family barely escaped with their
lives. According to one old tradition, an infant child was left behind in
the hurried flight and perished in the flames; but this has been shown to
be but one of the wild rumors repeated to exaggerate the horror of the
uprising. Long after Spenser's death, it was also rumored that the last six
books of the _Faerie Queene_ had been lost in the flight; but the story is
now utterly discredited.

Spenser once more arrived in London, but he was now in dire distress and
prostrated by the hardships which he had suffered. There on January 16,
1599, at a tavern in King Street, Westminster, the great poet died
broken-hearted and in poverty. Drummond of Hawthornden states that Ben
Jonson told him that Spenser "died for lack of bread in King Street, and
refused 20 pieces sent to him by my Lord of Essex, and said He was sorrie
he had no time to spend them." The story is probably a bit of exaggerated
gossip. He was buried close to the tomb of Chaucer in the Poets' Corner in
Westminster Abbey, his fellow-poets bearing the pall, and the Earl of Essex
defraying the expenses of the funeral. Referring to the death of Spenser's
great contemporary, Basse wrote:--

  "Renownèd Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
  To learnèd Chaucer, and rare Beaumont, lie
  A little nearer Spenser, to make room
  For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb."

"Thus," says Mr. Stopford Brooke, appropriately, "London, 'his most kindly
nurse,' takes care also of his dust, and England keeps him in her love."

Spenser's influence on English poetry can hardly be overestimated. Keats
called him "the poets' poet," a title which has been universally approved.
"He is the poet of all others," says Mr. Saintsbury, "for those who seek in
poetry only poetical qualities." His work has appealed most strongly to
those who have been poets themselves, for with him the poetical attraction
is supreme. Many of the greatest poets have delighted to call him master,
and have shown him the same loving reverence which he gave to Chaucer.
Minor poets like Sidney, Drayton, and Daniel paid tribute to his
inspiration; Milton was deeply indebted to him, especially in _Lycidas_;
and many of the pensive poets of the seventeenth century show traces of his
influence. "Spenser delighted Shakespeare," says Mr. Church; "he was the
poetical master of Cowley, and then of Milton, and in a sense of Dryden,
and even Pope." Giles and Phineas Fletcher, William Browne, Sir William
Alexander, Shenstone, Collins, Cowley, Gray, and James Thomson were all
direct followers of Spenser. His influence upon the poets of the romantic
revival of the nineteenth century is even more marked. "Spenser begot
Keats," says Mr. Saintsbury, "and Keats begot Tennyson, and Tennyson begot
all the rest." Among this notable company of disciples should be mentioned
especially Rossetti, Morris, and Swinburne. If we include within the sphere
of Spenser's influence also those who have made use of the stanza which he
invented, we must add the names of Burns, Shelley, Byron, Beattie,
Campbell, Scott, and Wordsworth. When we consider the large number of poets
in whom Spenser awakened the poetic gift, or those to whose powers he gave
direction, we may safely pronounce him the most seminal poet in the
language.

III. STUDY OF THE _FAERIE QUEENE_

1. A ROMANTIC EPIC.--The _Faerie Queene_ is the most perfect type which we
have in English of the purely _romantic poem_. Four elements enter into its
composition: "it is pastoral by association, chivalrous by temper, ethical
by tendency, and allegorical by treatment" (Renton). Its subject was taken
from the old cycle of Arthurian legends, which were brightened with the
terrorless magic of Ariosto and Tasso. The scene of the adventures is laid
in the enchanted forests and castles of the far away and unreal fairyland
of mediæval chivalry, and the incidents themselves are either highly
improbable or frankly impossible. The language is frequently archaic and
designedly unfamiliar. Much of the machinery and properties used in
carrying on the story, such as speaking myrtles, magic mirrors, swords,
rings, impenetrable armor, and healing fountains, is supernatural. All the
characters--the knights, ladies, dwarfs, magicians, dragons, nymphs,
satyrs, and giants--are the conventional figures of pastoral romance.

The framework of the plot of the _Faerie Queene_ is vast and loosely put
together. There are six main stories, or legends, and each contains several
digressions and involved episodes. The plan of the entire work, which the
author only half completed, is outlined in his letter to Sir Walter
Raleigh. This letter serves as an admirable introduction to the poem, and
should be read attentively by the student. Gloriana, the Queen of
Fairyland, holds at her court a solemn feudal festival, lasting twelve
days, during which she sends forth twelve of her greatest knights on as
many separate adventures. The knights are commissioned to champion the
cause of persons in distress and redress their wrongs. The ideal knight,
Prince Arthur, is the central male figure of the poem. He is enamoured of
Gloriana, having seen her in a wondrous vision, and is represented as
journeying in quest of her. He appears in all of the legends at opportune
moments to succor the knights when they are hard beset or in the power of
their enemies. The six extant books contain respectively the legends of (I)
the Knight of the Redcrosse, or Holiness, (II) Sir Guyon, the Knight of
Temperance, (III) Britomart, the female Knight of Chastity, (IV) Sir
Campbell and Sir Triamond, the Knights of Friendship, (V) Sir Artegall, the
Knight of Justice, and (VI) Sir Caledore, the Knight of Courtesy. Book I is
an allegory of man's relation to God, Book II, of man's relation to
himself, Books III, IV, V, and VI, of man's relation to his fellow-man.
Prince Arthur, the personification of Magnificence, by which Spenser means
Magnanimity (Aristotle's [Greek: megalopsychía]), is the ideal of a perfect
character, in which all the private virtues are united. It is a poem of
culture, inculcating the moral ideals of Aristotle and the teachings of
Christianity.

2. INFLUENCE OF THE NEW LEARNING.--Like Milton, Gray, and other English
poets, Spenser was a scholar familiar with the best in ancient and modern
literature. As to Spenser's specific indebtedness, though he owed much in
incident and diction to Chaucer's version of the _Romance of the Rose_ and
to Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, the great epic poets, Tasso and Ariosto,
should be given first place. The resemblance of passages in the _Faerie
Queene_ to others in the _Orlando Furioso_ and the _Jerusalem Delivered_ is
so striking that some have accused the English poet of paraphrasing and
slavishly borrowing from the two Italians. Many of these parallels are
pointed out in the notes. To this criticism, Mr. Saintsbury remarks: "Not,
perhaps, till the _Orlando_ has been carefully read, and read in the
original, is Spenser's real greatness understood. He has often, and
evidently of purpose, challenged comparison; but in every instance it will
be found that his beauties are emphatically his own. He has followed
Ariosto only as Vergil has followed Homer, and much less slavishly."

The influence of the New Learning is clearly evident in Spenser's use of
_classical mythology_. Greek myths are placed side by side with Christian
imagery and legends. Like Dante, the poet did not consider the Hellenic
doctrine of sensuous beauty to be antagonistic to the truths of religion.
There is sometimes an incongruous confusion of classicism and mediævalism,
as when a magician is seen in the house of Morpheus, and a sorcerer goes to
the realm of Pluto. Spenser was guided by a higher and truer sense of
beauty than the classical purists know.

A very attractive element of his classicism is his _worship of beauty_. The
Greek conception of beauty included two forms--the sensuous and the
spiritual. So richly colored and voluptuous are his descriptions that he
has been called the painters' poet, "the Rubens," and "the Raphael of the
poets." As with Plato, Spenser's idea of the spiritually beautiful includes
the true and the good. Sensuous beauty is seen in the forms of external
nature, like the morning mist and sunshine, the rose gardens, the green
elders, and the quiet streams. His ideal of perfect sensuous and spiritual
beauty combined is found in womanhood. Such a one is Una, the dream of the
poet's young manhood, and we recognize in her one whose soul is as fair as
her face--an idealized type of a woman in real life who calls forth all our
love and reverence.

3. INTERPRETATION OF THE ALLEGORY.--In the sixteenth century it was the
opinion of Puritan England that every literary masterpiece should not only
give entertainment, but should also teach some moral or spiritual lesson.
"No one," says Mr. Patee, "after reading Spenser's letter to Raleigh, can
wander far into Spenser's poem without the conviction that the author's
central purpose was didactic, almost as much as was Bunyan's in _Pilgrim's
Progress._" Milton doubtless had this feature of the _Faerie Queene_ in
mind when he wrote in _Il Penseroso_:--

  "And if aught else great bards beside
  In sage and solemn tunes have sung
  Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
  Of forests and enchantments drear,
  _Where more is meant than meets the ear_."

That the allegory of the poem is closely connected with its aim and ethical
tendency is evident from the statement of the author that "the generall end
therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in
vertuous and gentle discipline. Which for that I conceived should be most
plausible and pleasing, being coloured with an historical fiction, the
which the most part of men delight to read, rather for varietie of matter
then for profite of the ensample." The _Faerie Queene_ is, therefore,
according to the avowed purpose of its author, a poem of culture. Though it
is one of the most highly artistic works in the language, it is at the same
time one of the most didactic. "It professes," says Mr. Church, "to be a
veiled exposition of moral philosophy."

The allegory is threefold,--moral, religious, and personal.

(a) _Moral Allegory._--The characters all represent various virtues and
vices, whose intrigues and warfare against each other symbolize the
struggle of the human soul after perfection. The Redcross Knight, for
example, personifies the single private virtue of holiness, while Prince
Arthur stands for that perfect manhood which combines all the moral
qualities; Una represents abstract truth, while Gloriana symbolizes the
union of all the virtues in perfect womanhood.

(b) _Religious or Spiritual Allegory._--Under this interpretation the
Redcross Knight is a personification of Protestant England, or the church
militant, while Una represents the true religion of the Reformed Church. On
the other hand, Archimago symbolizes the deceptions of the Jesuits and
Duessa the false Church of Rome masquerading as true religion.

(c) _Personal and Political Allegory._--Here we find a concrete
presentation of many of Spenser's chief contemporaries. One of Spenser's
prime objects in composing his epic was to please certain powerful persons
at court, and above all to win praise and patronage from the vain and
flattery loving queen, whom he celebrates as Gloriana. Prince Arthur is a
character that similarly pays homage to Lord Leicester. In the Redcross
Knight he compliments, no doubt, some gentleman like Sir Philip Sidney or
Sir Walter Raleigh, as if he were a second St. George, the patron saint of
England, while in Una we may see idealized some fair lady of the court. In
Archimago he satirizes the odious King Philip II of Spain, and in false
Duessa the fascinating intriguer, Mary Queen of Scots, who was undeserving
so hard a blow.

KEY TO THE ALLEGORY IN BOOK I

 _Characters_           _Moral_       _Religious and      _Personal and
                                         Spirtual_           Political_

 Redcross Knight        Holiness       Reformed England       St George

      Una                Truth           True Religion

 Prince Arthur      Magnificence, or   Protestantism, or    Lord Leicester
                     Private Virtue   the Church Militant

    Gloriana             Glory         Spirtual Beauty    Queen Elizabeth

    Archimago          Hypocrisy         The Jesuits    Phillip II of Spain

     Duessa             Falsehood      False Religion  Mary Queen of Scots,
                                                           Church of Rome

    Orgoglio          Carnal Pride        Antichrist       Pope Sixtus V

    The Lion            Reason,      Reformation by Force    Henry VIII,
                     Natural Honor                        Civil Government

   The Dragon             Sin          The Devil, Satan    Rome and Spain

  Sir Satyrane       Natural Courage     Law and Order    Sir John Perrott
                                          in Ireland

   The Monster          Avarice       Greed of Romanism   Romish Priesthood

     Corceca        Blind Devotion,    Catholic Penance      Irish Nuns
                     Superstition

     Abessa           Flagrant Sin       Immorality          Irish Nuns

    Kirkrapine      Church Robbery      Religious State     Irish Clergy
                                          of Ireland          and Laity

     Sansfoy           Infidelity

     Sansjoy          Joylessness       Pagan Religion     The Sultan and
                                                            the Saracens

     Sansloy          Lawlessness

    The Dwarf          Prudence,
                      Common Sense

  Sir Trevisan           Fear

   The Squire           Purity        The Anglican Clergy

    The Horn             Truth        The English Bible

    Lucifera         Pride, Vanity     Woman of Babylon    Church of Rome


4. THE SPENSERIAN STANZA.--The _Faerie Queene_ is written in the Spenserian
Stanza, a form which the poet himself invented as a suitable vehicle for a
long narrative poem. Suggestions for its construction were taken from three
Italian metres--the Ottava Rima, the Terza Rima, the Sonnet--and the
Ballade stanza. There are eight lines in the iambic pentameter measure
(five accents); e.g.--

v -/- |  v   -/-   |  v   -/-  |  v -/- |  v   -/-
a gen | tle knight | was prick | ing on | the plaine
followed by one iambic hexameter, or Alexandrine (six accents); e.g.--

v  -/- |  v   -/-   |  v   -/-  |  v   -/-   | v  -/-  | v   -/-
as one | for knight | ly giusts | and fierce | encount | ers fitt
The rhymes are arranged in the following order: _ab ab bc bcc_. It will be
observed that the two quatrains are bound together by the first two b
rhymes, and the Alexandrine, which rhymes with the eighth line, draws out
the harmony with a peculiar lingering effect. In scanning and reading it is
necessary to observe the laws of accentuation and pronunciation prevailing
in Spenser's day; e.g. in _learned_ (I, i), _undeserved_ (I, ii), and
_woundes_ (V, xvii) the final syllable is sounded, _patience_ (X, xxix) is
trisyllabic, _devotion_ (X, xl) is four syllables, and _entertainment_ (X,
xxxvii) is accented on the second and fourth syllables. Frequently there is
in the line a cæsural pause, which may occur anywhere; e.g.--

  "And quite dismembred hath; | the thirsty land
  Dronke up his life; | his corse left on the strand." (III, xx.)

The rhythm of the meter is also varied by the alternating of end-stopped
and run-on lines, as in the last quotation. An end-stopped line has a pause
at the end, usually indicated by some mark of punctuation. A run-on line
should be read closely with the following line with only a slight pause to
indicate the line-unit. Monotony is prevented by the occasional use of a
light or feminine ending--a syllable on which the voice does not or cannot
rest; e.g.--

  "Then choosing out few words most horrible." (I, xxxvii.)
  "That for his love refused deity." (III, xxi.)
  "His ship far come from watrie wilderness." (III, xxxii.)

The use of alliteration, i.e. having several words in a line beginning with
the same letter, is another device frequently employed by Spenser for
musical effect; e.g.--

  "In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare." (I, xxxvi.)
  "Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes." (I, xxxvi.)

5. VERSIFICATION.--In the handling of his stanza, Spenser revealed a
harmony, sweetness, and color never before dreamed of in the English. Its
compass, which admitted of an almost endless variety of cadence, harmonized
well with the necessity for continuous narration. It appeals to the eye as
well as to the ear, with its now languid, now vigorous, but always graceful
turn of phrase. Its movement has been compared to the smooth, steady,
irresistible sweep of water in a mighty river. Like Lyly, Marlowe, and
Shakespeare, Spenser felt the new delight in the pictorial and musical
qualities of words, and invented new melodies and word pictures. He aimed
rather at finish, exactness, and fastidious neatness than at ease, freedom,
and irregularity; and if his versification has any fault, it is that of
monotony. The atmosphere is always perfectly adapted to the theme.

6. DICTION AND STYLE.--The peculiar diction of the _Faerie Queene_ should
receive the careful attention of the student. As a romantic poet, Spenser
often preferred archaic and semi-obsolete language to more modern forms. He
uses four classes of words that were recognized as the proper and
conventional language of pastoral and romantic poetry; viz. (a)
_archaisms_, (b) _dialect_, (c) _classicisms_, and (d) _gallicisms_. He did
not hesitate to adopt from Chaucer many obsolete words and grammatical
forms. Examples are: the double negative with _ne_; _eyen_, _lenger_,
_doen_, _ycladd_, _harrowd_, _purchas_, _raught_, _seely_, _stowre_,
_swinge_, _owch_, and _withouten_. He also employs many old words from
Layamon, Wiclif, and Langland, like _swelt_, _younglings_, _noye_, _kest_,
_hurtle_, and _loft_. His dialectic forms are taken from the vernacular of
the North Lancashire folk with which he was familiar. Some are still a part
of the spoken language of that region, such as, _brent_, _cruddled_,
_forswat_, _fearen_, _forray_, _pight_, _sithen_, _carle_, and _carke_.

Examples of his use of classical constructions are: the ablative absolute,
as, _which doen_ (IV, xliii); the relative construction with _when_, as,
_which when_ (I, xvii), _that when_ (VII, xi); the comparative of the
adjective in the sense of "too," as, _weaker_ (I, xlv), harder (II, xxxvi);
the participial construction after _till_, as, _till further tryall made_
(I, xii); the superlative of location, as, _middest_ (IV, xv); and the old
gerundive, as, _wandering wood_ (I, xiii). Most of the gallicisms found are
anglicized loan words from the French _romans d'aventure_, such as,
_disseized_, _cheare_, _chappell_, _assoiled_, _guerdon_, _palfrey_,
_recreaunt_, _trenchand_, _syre_, and _trusse_. Notwithstanding Spenser's
use of foreign words and constructions, his language is as thoroughly
English in its idiom as that of any of our great poets.

"I think that if he had not been a great poet," says Leigh Hunt, "he would
have been a great painter."

"After reading," says Pope, "a canto of Spenser two or three days ago to an
old lady, between seventy and eighty years of age, she said that I had been
showing her a gallery of pictures. I do not know how it is, but she said
very right. There is something in Spenser that pleases one as strongly in
old age as it did in youth. I read the _Faerie Queene_ when I was about
twelve, with infinite delight; and I think it gave me as much, when I read
it over about a year or two ago."

The imperishable charm of the poem lies in its appeal to the pure sense of
beauty. "A beautiful pagan dream," says Taine, "carries on a beautiful
dream of chivalry." The reader hears in its lines a stately and undulating
rhythm that intoxicates the ear and carries him on with an irresistible
fascination, he sees the unsubstantial forms of fairyland go sweeping by in
a gorgeous and dreamlike pageantry, and he feels pulsing in its luxuriant
and enchanted atmosphere the warm and beauty-loving temper of the Italian
Renaissance. "Spenser is superior to his subject," says Taine, "comprehends
it fully, frames it with a view to the end, in order to impress upon it the
proper mark of his soul and his genius. Each story is modified with respect
to another, and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked
out. Thus a beauty issues from this harmony,--the beauty in the poet's
heart,--which his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a laughing
beauty, made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in
sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its
perfection, representing a unique and admirable epoch, the appearance of
paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination of
the North."

                          CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE

EVENTS IN SPENSER'S LIFE        A.D.    CONTEMPORARY EVENTS

Birth of Edmund Spenser (about)   1552  Birth of Sir Walter Raleigh
                                  1553  Death of Edward VI; Mary crowned.
                                  1554  Mary marries Philip of Spain.
                                  1558  Death of Mary; Elizabeth crowned.
                                  1560  Charles IX, king of France.
                                  1568  Council of Trent.
_Visions of Bellay_, published,   1569
_Sonnets of Petrarch_, published, 1569
Enters Pembroke Hall, Cambridge,  1569
                                  1572  Gregory XIII, Pope of Rome.
                                  1572  Massacre of St. Batholomew.
                                  1574  Henry III, king of France.
Received M.A., leaves Cambridge,  1576  Rudolph II, emperor.
Leaves Lancashire,                1578  Elizabeth aids the Netherlands.
Visits Lord Leicester,            1579
_The Shepheards Calender_,        1579
Goes to Ireland,                  1580  Massacre of Smerwick.
                                  1581  Tasso's _Jersalem Delivered_.
Lord Grey's return to England,    1582
                                  1584  Assassination of William the
                                          Silent.
                                  1585  Sixtus V, Pope. Drake's voyage.
                                  1585  Leicester goes to the Netherlands.
                                  1586  Death of Sir Philip Sidney.
First marriage (before)           1587  Execution of Mary Queen of Scots.
Clerk to the Council of
  Munster,                        1588  Defeat of Spanish Armada.
                                          Death of Leicester.
Visits England with Raleigh,      1589  Assassination of Henry III;
                                          Henry IV crowned.
_The Faerie Queene_, Books I,     1590  Shakespeare's _Love's
  II, III,                                Labour's Lost_.
_Mother Hubberds Tale, Tears of   1591  Shakespeare's _Comedy of Errors,
  the Muses, Ruines of Time,              Henry VI_.
  Daphnaida, The Visions_         1591  Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, trans.
                                  1593  Shakespeare's _Midsummer
                                          Night's Dream_.
                                  1593  _Richard III._
Second marriage,                  1594  Shakespeare's _Richard II_.
_Colin Clout's Come Home Again_,  1595  Shakespeare's _King John_.
_Amoretti, Epithalamion, Hymns_   1595  Johnston's _Seven Champions
                                          of Christendom._
_Astrophel, Prothalamion,_        1596  Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_.
_The Faerie Queene_, Books I-VI   1596  Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his
                                          Humour._
_Vision of the Present State of   1598  Edict of Nantes,
  Ireland_                                Philip III crowned.
Death of Spenser,                 1599  Revolt of Irish. Expedition
                                          of Essex to Ireland.


       *       *       *       *       *

               THE FAERIE QUEENE

       *       *       *       *       *

         LETTER TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH

A LETTER of the Authors expounding his whole intention in the course of
this worke;[1] which, for that it giveth great light to the reader, for the
better understanding is hereunto annexed.

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND VALOROUS

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, KNIGHT.

_Lo: Wardein of the Stanneries, and her majesties lieutenaunt of the
countie of Cornewayll._

SIR,

Knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be constructed, and this booke of
mine, which I have entituled _The Faery Queene_, being a continued
Allegorie, or darke conceit, I have thought good, as well for avoyding of
jealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in
reading thereof, (being so, by you commanded) to discover unto you the
generall intention and meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have
fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes, or by-accidents
therein occasioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke, is to
fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline.
Which for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, beeing
coloured with an historicall fiction, the which the most part of men
delight to read, rather for varietie of matter than for profit of the
ensample: I chose the historie of king Arthure, as most fit for the
excellencie of his person, beeing made famous by many mens former workes,
and also furthest from the danger of envie, and suspicion of present time.
In which I have followed all the antique poets historicall: first Homer,
who in the persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governour
and a vertuous man, the one in his _Ilias_, the other in his _Odysseis_:
then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person of _Æneas_:
after him Ariosto comprised them both in his _Orlando_: and lately Tasso
dissevered them againe, and formed both parts in two persons, namely, that
part which they in philosophy call _Ethice_, or vertues of a private man,
coloured in his _Rinaldo_: the other named _Politice_, in his _Godfredo_.
By ensample of which excellent Poets, I laboure to pourtraict in Arthure,
before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve
private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath devised: which if I find to be
well accepted, I may be perhaps encoraged to frame the other part of
pollitike vertues in his person, after he came to bee king.

To some I know this Methode will seem displeasant, which had rather have
good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large,
as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in Allegoricall devises. But
such, mee seeme, should be satisfied with the use of these dayes, seeing
all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not
delightfull and pleasing to common sense. For this cause is Xenophon
preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his
judgement, formed a Commune-wealth, such as it should be; but the other, in
the person of Cyrus and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as might
best be: So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by ensample then
by rule. So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure: whom I
conceive, after his long education by Timon (to whom he was by Merlin
delivered to be brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne)
to have seen in a dreame or vision the Faerie Queene, with whose excellent
beautie ravished, hee awaking, resolved to seek her out: and so, being by
Merlin armed, and by Timon throughly instructed, he went to seeke her forth
in Faery land. In that Faery Queene I mean _Glory_ in my generall
intention: but in my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious
person of our soveraine the Queene, and her kingdome in Faery land. And
yet, in some places else, I doe otherwise shadow her. For considering shee
beareth two persons, the one of a most royall Queene or Empresse, the other
of a most vertuous and beautifull lady, this latter part in some places I
doe expresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your owne
excellent conceipt of Cynthia,[2] (Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of
Diana). So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth magnificence in
particular, which vertue, for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) it
is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in it them all, therefore
in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure appliable to the vertue,
which I write of in that booke. But of the twelve other vertues I make XII
other knights the patrons, for the more varietie of the historic: Of which
these three bookes containe three. The first, of the Knight of the Red
crosse, in whom I expresse Holinesse: the second of Sir Guyon, in whome I
set foorth Temperance: the third of Britomartis, a Lady knight, in whom I
picture Chastitie. But because the beginning of the whole worke seemeth
abrupt and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs that yee know the
occasion of these three knights severall adventures. For the Methode of a
Poet historicall is not such as of an Historiographer. For an
Historiographer discourseth of affaires orderly as they were done,
accounting as well the times as the actions; but a Poet thrusteth into the
middest, even where it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the
things forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleasing analysis
of all. The beginning therefore of my historie, if it were to be told by an
Historiographer, should be the twelfth booke, which is the last; where I
devise that the Faery Queene kept her annuall feast twelve daies; uppon
which twelve severall dayes, the occasions of the twelve severall
adventures hapned, which being undertaken by XII severall knights, are in
these twelve books severally handled and discoursed.

The first was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented him
selfe a tall clownish younge man, who falling before the Queene of Faeries
desired a boone (as the manner then was) which during that feast she might
not refuse: which was that hee might have the atchievement of any
adventure, which during that feast should happen; that being granted, he
rested him selfe on the fioore, unfit through his rusticitie for a better
place. Soone after entred a faire Ladie in mourning weedes, riding on a
white Asse, with a dwarfe behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the
Armes of a knight, and his speare in the dwarfes hand. She falling before
the Queene of Faeries, complayned that her father and mother, an ancient
King and Queene, had bene by an huge dragon many yeers shut up in a brazen
Castle, who thence suffered them not to issew: and therefore besought the
Faery Queene to assigne her some one of her knights to take on him that
exployt. Presently that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure;
whereat the Queene much wondering, and the Lady much gaine-saying, yet he
earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unlesse
that armour which she brought would serve him (that is, the armour of a
Christian man specified by Saint Paul, V. Ephes.) that he could not succeed
in that enterprise: which being forth with put upon him with due furnitures
thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was well
liked of the Lady. And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and mounting on
that straunge Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure: where
beginneth the first booke, viz.

  A gentle knight was pricking on the playne, etc.

The second day there came in a Palmer bearing an Infant with bloody hands,
whose Parents he complained to have bene slaine by an enchauntresse called
Acrasia: and therefore craved of the Faery Queene, to appoint him some
knight to performe that adventure, which being assigned to Sir Guyon, he
presently went foorth with the same Palmer: which is the beginning of the
second booke and the whole subject thereof. The third day there came in a
Groome, who complained before the Faery Queene, that a vile Enchaunter,
called Busirane, had in hand a most faire Lady, called Amoretta, whom he
kept in most grevious torment. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that
Lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But beeing unable to performe
it by reason of the hard Enchauntments, after long sorrow, in the end met
with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed his love.

But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled; but rather
as accidents then intendments. As the love of Britomart, the overthrow of
Marinell, the miserie of Florimell, the vertuousness of Belphoebe; and many
the like.

Thus much, Sir, I have briefly-over-run to direct your understanding to the
wel-head of the History, that from thence gathering the whole intention of
the conceit, ye may as in a handfull gripe all the discourse, which
otherwise may happely seem tedious and confused. So humbly craving the
continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th' eternall
establishment of your happines, I humbly take leave.

Yours most humbly affectionate,

EDM. SPENSER.

23 Januarie, 1589.

  [1] The letter served as an introduction to the first three books of the
  _Faerie Queene_.

  [2] An allusion to Sir Walter Raleigh's poem _Cynthia_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To the Right Noble and Valorous Knight_,

SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

_Lord Wardein of the Stanneryes, and Lieftenaunt of Cornewaile_,

  To thee that art the sommers Nightingale,
    Thy soveraigne Goddesses most deare delight,
    Why doe I send this rustick Madrigale,
    That may thy tunefull eare unseason quite?
  Thou onely fit this argument to write
    In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bowre,
    And dainty Love learnd sweetly to endite.
    My rimes I know unsavory and sowre,
  To taste the streames, that, like a golden showre,
    Flow from thy fruitfull head, of thy Loves praise;
    Fitter perhaps to thunder martiall stowre,
    When so thee list thy loftie Muse to raise:
  Yet, till that thou thy poeme wilt make knowne,
  Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus rudely showne.

                  E.S.

       *       *       *       *       *

                         TO
       THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTIE, AND MAGNIFICENT
                      EMPERESSE
RENOWNED FOR PIETIE, VERTVE, AND ALL GRATIOVS GOVERNMENT

                      ELIZABETH

                 BY THE GRACE OF GOD
Queen of England, Fraunce and Ireland, and of Virginia,
              Defender of the Faith etc.

               HER MOST HUMBLE SERVAUNT
                    EDMVND SPENSER
                 DOTH IN ALL HUMILITIE
   DEDICATE, PRESENT, AND CONSECRATE THESE HIS LABOVRS
        TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITIE OF HER FAME.


       *       *       *       *       *

             THE FIRST BOOKE OF
             THE FAERIE QUEENE

                 CONTAINING

    THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED
          CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE


       *       *       *       *       *

                    I

Lo I the man,° whose Muse whilome did maske,
  As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds,
  Am now enforst a far unfitter taske,
  For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,
  And sing of Knights and Ladies° gentle deeds;                      5
  Whose prayses having slept in silence long,
  Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds
  To blazon broade emongst her learned throng:
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

                    II

Helpe then, O holy Virgin chiefe of nine,°                          10
  Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will;
  Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne
  The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,
  Of Faerie knights° and fairest Tanaquill,°
  Whom that most noble Briton Prince° so long                       15
  Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill,
  That I must rue his undeserved wrong:
O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.

                    III

And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,°
  Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart                      20
  At that good knight so cunningly didst rove,
  That glorious fire it kindled in his hart,
  Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart,
  And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde;
  Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,°                   25
  In loves and gentle jollities arrayd,
After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.

                    IV

And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,°
  Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine,
  Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light                      30
  Like Phoebus lampe° throughout the world doth shine,
  Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne,
  And raise my thoughts, too humble and too vile,
  To thinke of that true glorious type of thine,°
  The argument of mine afflicted stile:°                            35
The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dred,° a-while.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO I

        The Patron of true Holinesse
          foule Errour doth defeate;
        Hypocrisie him to entrappe
          doth to his home entreate.

                    I

A GENTLE Knight° was pricking on the plaine,
  Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,
  Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine,
  The cruel markes of many'a bloudy fielde;
  Yet armes till that time did he never wield:                       5
  His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
  As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
  Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

                    II

And on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore,                          10
  The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
  For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
  And dead as living ever him ador'd:
  Upon his shield the like was also scor'd,
  For soveraine hope,° which in his helpe he had:                   15
  Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,
  But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.

                    III

Upon a great adventure he was bond,
  That greatest Gloriana° to him gave,                              20
  That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond,
  To winne him worship, and her grace to have,
  Which of all earthly things he most did crave;
  And ever as he rode, his hart did earne
  To prove his puissance in battell brave                           25
  Upon his foe, and his new force to learne;
Upon his foe, a Dragon° horrible and stearne.

                    IV

A lovely Ladie° rode him faire beside,
  Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow,
  Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide                        30
  Under a vele, that wimpled was full low,
  And over all a blacke stole she did throw,
  As one that inly mournd: so was she sad,
  And heavie sat upon her palfrey slow;
  Seemed in heart some hidden care she had,                         35
And by her in a line a milke white lambe she lad.

                    V

So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,
  She was in life and every vertuous lore,
  And by descent from Royall lynage came
  Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of yore                    40
  Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore,
  And all the world in their subjection held;
  Till that infernall feend with foule uprore
  Forwasted all their land, and them expeld:
Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld.               45

                    VI

Behind her farre away a Dwarfe° did lag,
  That lasie seemd in being ever last,
  Or wearied with bearing of her bag
  Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past,
  The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,                       50
  And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine
  Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast,
  That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain,
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

                    VII

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand,                          55
  A shadie grove° not far away they spide,
  That promist ayde the tempest to withstand:
  Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride
  Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide,
  Not perceable with power of any starre:                           60
  And all within were pathes and alleies wide,
  With footing worne, and leading inward farre:
Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred arre.

                    VIII

And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led,
  Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony,                        65
  Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred,
  Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky.
  Much can they prayse the trees so straight and hy,
  The sayling Pine,° the Cedar proud and tall,
  The vine-prop Elme, the Poplar never dry,°                        70
  The builder Oake,° sole king of forrests all,
The Aspine good for staves, the Cypresse funerall.°

                    IX

The Laurell,° meed of mightie Conquerours
  And Poets sage, the firre that weepeth still,°
  The Willow° worne of forlorne Paramours,                          75
  The Eugh° obedient to the benders will,
  The Birch for shaftes, the Sallow for the mill,
  The Mirrhe° sweete bleeding in the bitter wound,
  The warlike Beech,° the Ash for nothing ill,°
  The fruitfull Olive, and the Platane round,                       80
The carver Holme,° the Maple seeldom inward sound.

                    X

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,
  Untill the blustring storme is overblowne;
  When weening to returne, whence they did stray,
  They cannot finde that path, which first was showne,              85
  But wander too and fro in wayes unknowne,
  Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene,
  That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne:
  So many pathes, so many turnings seene,
That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been.             90

                    XI

At last resolving forward still to fare,
  Till that some end they finde or in or out,
  That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare,
  And like to lead the labyrinth about;
  Which when by tract they hunted had throughout,                   95
  At length it brought them to a hollow cave
  Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout
  Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave,
And to the Dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave.

                    XII

Be well aware, quoth then that Ladie milde,                        100
  Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke:
  The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde,
  Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke,
  And perill without show: therefore your stroke,
  Sir Knight, with-hold, till further triall made.                 105
  Ah Ladie, (said he) shame were to revoke°
  The forward footing for an hidden shade:
Vertue gives her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade.

                    XIII

Yea but (quoth she) the perill of this place
  I better wot then you, though now too late                       110
  To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace,
  Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate,
  To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
  This is the wandring wood,° this Errours den,
  A monster vile, whom God and man does hate:                      115
  Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then
The fearefull Dwarfe) this is no place for living men.

                    XIV

But full of fire and greedy hardiment,
  The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide,
  But forth unto the darksome hole he went,                        120
  And looked in: his glistring armor made
  A litle glooming light, much like a shade,
  By which he saw the ugly monster° plaine,
  Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide,
  But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine,                     125
Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine.°

                    XV

And as she lay upon the durtie ground,
  Her huge long taile her den all overspred,
  Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound,
  Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred°                   130
  A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed,
  Sucking upon her poisnous dugs, eachone
  Of sundry shapes, yet all ill favored:
  Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone,
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone.              135

                    XVI

Their dam upstart, out of her den effraide,
  And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile
  About her cursed head, whose folds displaid
  Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile.
  She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle                         140
  Armed to point,° sought backe to turne againe;
  For light she hated as the deadly bale,
  Ay wont in desert darknesse to remaine,
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine.

                    XVII

Which when the valiant Elfe° perceiv'd, he lept                    145
  As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray,
  And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept
  From turning backe, and forced her to stay:
  Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray,
  And turning fierce, her speckled taile advaunst,                 150
  Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay:
  Who nought aghast his mightie hand enhaunst:
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst.

                    XVIII

Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd,
  Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round,                 155
  And all attonce her beastly body raizd
  With doubled forces high above the ground:
  Tho wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd,
  Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine
  All suddenly about his body wound,                               160
  That hand or foot to stirre he strove in vaine:
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine.

                    XIX

His Lady sad to see his sore constraint,
  Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee,
  Add faith unto your force, and be not faint:                     165
  Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee.
  That when he heard, in great perplexitie,
  His gall did grate for griefe° and high disdaine,
  And knitting all his force got one hand free,
  Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine,                170
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine.

                    XX

Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw
  A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
  Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw,
  Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke                 175
  His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe:
  Her vomit full of bookes° and papers was,
  With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke,
  And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:
Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has.                    180

                    XXI

As when old father Nilus° gins to swell
  With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale,
  His fattie waves do fertile slime outwell,
  And overflow each plaine and lowly dale:
  But when his later spring gins to avale,                         185
  Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed
  Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male
  And partly female of his fruitful seed;
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed.

                    XXII

The same so sore annoyed has the knight,                           190
  That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke,
  His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight.
  Whose corage when the feend perceiv'd to shrinke,
  She poured forth out of her hellish sinke
  Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small,                   195
  Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,
  With swarming all about his legs did crall,
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.

                    XXIII

As gentle Shepheard° in sweete even-tide,
  When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west,                        200
  High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide,
  Markes which do byte their hasty supper best,
  A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest,
  All striving to infixe their feeble stings,
  That from their noyance he no where can rest,                    205
  But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.

                    XXIV

Thus ill bestedd,° and fearefull more of shame,
  Then of the certeine perill he stood in,
  Halfe furious unto his foe he came,                              210
  Resolv'd in minde all suddenly to win,
  Or soone to lose, before he once would lin
  And strooke at her with more then manly force,
  That from her body full of filthie sin
  He raft her hatefull head without remorse;                       215
A streame of cole black bloud forth gushed from her corse.

                    XXV

Her scattred brood,° soone as their Parent deare
  They saw so rudely falling to the ground,
  Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare,
  Gathred themselves about her body round,                         220
  Weening their wonted entrance to have found
  At her wide mouth: but being there withstood
  They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
  And sucked up their dying mothers blood,
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.          225

                    XXVI

That detestable sight him much amazde,
  To see th' unkindly Impes, of heaven accurst,
  Devoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd,
  Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst,
  Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst,                 230
  And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end
  Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst;°
  Now needeth him no lenger labour spend,
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should contend.°

                    XXVII

His Ladie seeing all that chaunst, from farre                      235
  Approcht in hast to greet his victorie,
  And said, Faire knight, borne under happy starre,°
  Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye:
  Well worthie be you of that Armorie,°
  Wherin ye have great glory wonne this day,                       240
  And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie,
  Your first adventure: many such I pray,
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.°

                    XXVIII

Then mounted he upon his Steede againe,
  And with the Lady backward sought to wend;                       245
  That path he kept which beaten was most plaine,
  Ne ever would to any by-way bend,
  But still did follow one unto the end,
  The which at last out of the wood them brought.
  So forward on his way (with God to frend)°                       250
  He passed forth, and new adventure sought;
Long way he travelled, before he heard of ought.

                    XXIX

At length they chaunst to meet upon the way
  An aged Sire,° in long blacke weedes yclad,
  His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray                    255
  And by his belt his booke he hanging had;
  Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,
  And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
  Simple in shew, and voyde of malice bad,
  And all the way he prayed, as he went,                           260
And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.

                    XXX

He faire the knight saluted, louting low,
  Who faire him quited, as that courteous was:
  And after asked him, if he did know
  Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas.                    265
  Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas,
  Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
  Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,
  Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell?
With holy father sits not with such things to mell.                270

                    XXXI

But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell,
  And homebred evil ye desire to heare,
  Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,
  That wasteth all this countrey farre and neare.
  Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere,                          275
  And shall you well reward to shew the place,
  In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare:
  For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace,
That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.

                    XXXII

Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse                       280
  His dwelling is, by which no living wight
  May ever passe, but thorough great distresse.
  Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night,
  And well I wote, that of your later fight
  Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,                        285
  But wanting rest will also want of might?
  The Sunne that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waves emong.

                    XXXIII

Then with the Sunne take Sir, your timely rest,
  And with new day new worke at once begin:                        290
  Untroubled night they say gives counsell best.
  Right well Sir knight ye have advised bin,
  (Quoth then that aged man;) the way to win
  Is wisely to advise: now day is spent;
  Therefore with me ye may take up your In°                        295
  For this same night. The knight was well content:
So with that godly father to his home they went.

                    XXXIV

A little lowly Hermitage it was,
  Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side,
  Far from resort of people, that did pas                          300
  In travell to and froe: a little wyde°
  There was an holy Chappell edifyde,
  Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say
  His holy things each morne and eventyde:
  Thereby a Christall streame did gently play,                     305
Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.

                    XXXV

Arrived there, the little house they fill,
  Ne looke for entertainement, where none was:
  Rest is their feast, and all things at their will:
  The noblest mind the best contentment has.                       310
  With faire discourse the evening so they pas:
  For that old man of pleasing wordes had store,
  And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas,
  He told of Saintes and Popes, and evermore
He strowd an _Ave-Mary_° after and before.                         315

                    XXXVI

The drouping Night thus creepeth on them fast,
  And the sad humour° loading their eye liddes,
  As messenger of Morpheus° on them cast
  Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleepe them biddes.
  Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes:                  320
  Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes,
  He to this study goes, and there amiddes
  His Magick bookes and artes° of sundry kindes,
He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy mindes.

                    XXXVII

Then choosing out few words most horrible,                         325
  (Let none them read) thereof did verses frame,
  With which and other spelles like terrible,
  He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame,°
  And cursed heaven and spake reprochfull shame
  Of highest God, the Lord of life and light;                      330
  A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name
  Great Gorgon,° Prince of darknesse and dead night,
At which Cocytus° quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

                    XXXVIII

And forth he cald out of deepe darknesse dred
  Legions of Sprights,° the which like little flyes                335
  Fluttring about his ever damned hed,
  Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
  To aide his friends, or fray his enimies:
  Of those he chose° out two, the falsest twoo,
  And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;                      340
  The one of them he gave a message too,
The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo.

                    XXXIX

He making speedy way through spersed ayre,
  And through the world of waters wide and deepe,
  To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.                          345
  Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
  And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
  His dwelling is; there Tethys° his wet bed
  Doth ever wash, and Cynthia° still doth steepe
  In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,                            350
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.

                    XL

Whose double gates° he findeth locked fast,
  The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yvory,
  The other all with silver overcast;
  And wakeful dogges before them farre do lye,                     355
  Watching to banish Care their enimy,
  Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
  By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly,
  And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe.               360

                    XLI

And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft,°
  A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
  And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,
  Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
  Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne:                      365
  No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
  As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
  Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes,
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemyes.

                    XLII

The messenger approching to him spake,                             370
  But his wast wordes returnd to him in vaine:
  So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.
  Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine
  Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe
  Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.                   375
  As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine°
  Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all° his silence breake.

                    XLIII

The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
  And threatned unto him the dreaded name                          380
  Of Hecate°: whereat he gan to quake,
  And lifting up his lumpish head, with blame
  Halfe angry asked him, for what he came.
  Hither (quoth he) me Archimago sent,
  He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame,                   385
  He bids thee to him send for his intent
A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.°

                    XLIV

The God obayde, and, calling forth straightway
  A diverse dreame out of his prison darke,
  Delivered it to him, and downe did lay                           390
  His heavie head, devoide of carefull carke,
  Whose sences all were straight benumbed and starke.
  He backe returning by the Yvorie dore,
  Remounted up as light as chearefull Larke,
  And on his litle winges the dreame he bore                       395
In hast unto his Lord, where he him left afore.

                    XLV

Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes,
  Had made a Lady of that other Spright,
  And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes
  So lively, and so like in all mens sight,                        400
  That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight:
  The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,
  Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight:
  Her all in white he clad, and over it
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme° for Una fit.               405

                    XLVI

Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought,
  Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly,
  Where he slept soundly void of evill thought,
  And with false shewes abuse his fantasy,
  In sort as he him schooled privily:                              410
  And that new creature, borne without her dew,°
  Full of the makers guile, with usage sly
  He taught to imitate that Lady trew,
Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew.

                    XLVII

Thus well instructed, to their worke they hast,                    415
  And coming where the knight in slomber lay,
  The one upon his hardy head him plast
  And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play,
  That nigh his manly hart did melt away,
  Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy:                            420
  Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,
  And to him playnd, how that false winged boy,
Her chast hart had subdewd, to learne Dame Pleasures toy.

                    XLVIII

And she herselfe of beautie soveraigne Queene,
  Fayre Venus° seemde unto his bed to bring                        425
  Her, whom he waking evermore did weene,
  To bee the chastest flowre, that ay did spring
  On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king,
  Now a loose Leman to vile service bound:
  And eke the Graces° seemed all to sing,                          430
  _Hymen Iö Hymen_° dauncing all around,
Whilst freshest Flora° her with Yvie girlond crownd.

                    XLIX

In this great passion of unwonted lust,
  Or wonted feare of doing ought amis,
  He started up, as seeming to mistrust                            435
  Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his:
  Lo there before his face his Lady is,
  Under blake stole hyding her bayted hooke;
  And as halfe blushing offred him to kis,
  With gentle blandishment and lovely looke,                       440
Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took.

                    L

All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight,
  And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,
  He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight:
  But hasty heat tempring with suffrance wise,                     445
  He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe advise
  To prove his sense,° and tempt her faigned truth.
  Wringing her hands in womans pitteous wise,
  Tho can she weepe,° to stirre up gentle ruth,
Both for her noble bloud, and for her tender youth.                450

                    LI

And said, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my love,
  Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate,
  And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,
  Or the blind God,° that doth me thus amate,
  For hoped love to winne me certaine hate?                        455
  Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
  Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state
  You, whom my hard avenging destinie
Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.

                    LII

Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave                    460
  My Fathers kingdome--There she stopt with teares;
  Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave,
  And then againe begun; My weaker yeares
  Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares,
  Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde:                     465
  Let me not dye in languor and long teares.
  Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd?
What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?

                    LIII

Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint,
  Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night                    470
  In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,
  Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight.
  Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight
  Suspect her truth: yet since no' untruth he knew,
  Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight                  475
  He would not shend; but said, Deare dame I rew,
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.

                    LIV

Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;°
  For all so deare as life is to my hart,
  I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound:                     480
  Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,
  Where cause is none, but to your rest depart.
  Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
  Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
  And fed with words that could not chuse but please,              485
So slyding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.

                    LV

Long after lay he musing at her mood,
  Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light,
  For whose defence he was to shed his blood.
  At last, dull wearinesse of former fight                         490
  Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,
  That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine,
  With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight:
  But when he saw his labour all was vaine,
With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.               495

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO II

        The guilefull great Enchaunter parts
          the Redcrosse Knight from truth,
        Into whose stead faire Falshood steps,
          and workes him wofull ruth.

                    I

By this the Northerne wagoner° had set
  His sevenfold teme° behind the stedfast starre,°
  That was in Ocean waves yet never wet,
  But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre
  To all that in the wide deepe wandring arre:                       5
  And chearefull Chaunticlere° with his note shrill
  Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre°
  In hast was climbing up the Easterne hill,
Full envious that night so long his roome did fill.

                    II

When those accursed messengers of hell,                             10
  That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged Spright°
  Came to their wicked maister, and gan tell
  Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night:
  Who all in rage to see his skilfull might
  Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine                            15
  And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright.
  But when he saw his threatning was but vaine,
He cast about, and searcht his baleful bookes againe.

                    III

Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire,
  And that false other Spright, on whom he spred                    20
  A seeming body of the subtile aire,
  Like a young Squire, in loves and lustybed
  His wanton dayes that ever loosely led,
  Without regard of armes and dreaded fight:
  Those two he tooke, and in a secret bed,                          25
  Coverd with darknesse and misdeeming night,
Them both together laid, to joy in vaine delight.

                    IV

Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast
  Unto his guest, who after troublous sights
  And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast,                   30
  Whom suddenly he wakes with fearfull frights,
  As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,
  And to him cals, Rise, rise, unhappy Swaine
  That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights
  Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine,                    35
Come see where your false Lady doth her honour staine.

                    V

All in amaze he suddenly upstart
  With sword in hand, and with the old man went
  Who soone him brought into a secret part
  Where that false couple were full closely ment                    40
  In wanton lust and leud embracement:
  Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire,
  The eye of reason was with rage yblent,
  And would have slaine them in his furious ire,
But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.                        45

                    VI

Returning to his bed in torment great,
  And bitter anguish of his guiltie sight,
  He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat,
  And wast his inward gall with deepe despight,
  Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night.                    50
  At last faire Hesperus° in highest skie
  Had spent his lampe and brought forth dawning light,
  Then up he rose, and clad him hastily;
The Dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away do fly.

                    VII

Now when the rosy-fingred Morning° faire,                           55
  Weary of aged Tithones° saffron bed,
  Had spread her purple robe through deawy aire,
  And the high hils Titan° discovered,
  The royall virgin shooke off drowsy-hed;
  And rising forth out of her baser bowre,                          60
  Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled,
  And for her Dwarfe, that wont to wait each houre:
Then gan she waile and weepe, to see that woefull stowre.

                    VIII

And after him she rode with so much speede
  As her slow beast could make; but all in vaine:                   65
  For him so far had borne his light-foot steede,
  Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine,
  That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine;
  Yet she her weary limbes would never rest,
  But every hill and dale, each wood and plaine,                    70
  Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest,
He so ungently left her, whom she loved best.

                    IX

But subtill Archimago, when his guests
  He saw divided into double parts,
  And Una wandring in woods and forrests,                           75
  Th' end of his drift, he praisd his divelish arts,
  That had such might over true meaning harts:
  Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make,
  How he may worke unto her further smarts:
  For her he hated as the hissing snake,                            80
And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

                    X

He then devisde himselfe how to disguise;
  For by his mightie science he could take
  As many formes and shapes in seeming wise,
  As ever Proteus° to himselfe could make:                          85
  Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake,
  Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell,
  That of himselfe he ofte for feare would quake,
  And oft would flie away. O who can tell
The hidden power of herbes° and might of Magicke spell?             90

                    XI

But now seemde best the person to put on
  Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:
  In mighty armes he was yclad anon:
  And silver shield, upon his coward brest
  A bloudy crosse, and on his craven crest                          95
  A bounch of haires discolourd diversly:
  Full jolly knight he seemde, and well addrest,
  And when he sate upon his courser free,
Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.

                    XII

But he the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare,                   100
  The true Saint George, was wandred far away,
  Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare;
  Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray.
  At last him chaunst to meete upon the way
  A faithless Sarazin° all arm'd to point,                         105
  In whose great shield was writ with letters gay
  _Sans foy:_ full large of limbe and every joint
He was, and cared not for God or man a point.

                    XIII

He had a faire companion° of his way,
  A goodly Lady clad in scarlot red,                               110
  Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay,
  And like a Persian mitre on her hed
  She wore, with crowns and owches garnished,
  The which her lavish lovers to her gave;
  Her wanton palfrey all was overspred                             115
  With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.

                    XIV

With faire disport and courting dalliaunce
  She intertainde her lover all the way:
  But when she saw the knight his speare advaunce,                 120
  She soone left off her mirth and wanton play,
  And bade her knight addresse him to the fray:
  His foe was nigh at hand. He prickt with pride
  And hope to winne his Ladies heart that day,
  Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers side                     125
The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did ride.

                    XV

The knight of the Redcrosse when him he spide,
  Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous,
  Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride:
  Soone meete they both, both fell and furious,                    130
  That daunted with their forces hideous,
  Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand,
  And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,
  Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand
Doe backe rebut, and each to other yeeldeth land.                  135

                    XVI

As when two rams° stird with ambitious pride,
  Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke,
  Their horned fronts so fierce on either side
  Do meete, that with the terrour of the shocke
  Astonied both, stand sencelesse as a blocke,                     140
  Forgetfull of the hanging victory:°
  So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke,
  Both staring fierce, and holding idely
The broken reliques° of their former cruelty.

                    XVII

The Sarazin sore daunted with the buffe                            145
  Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
  Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff:
  Each others equall puissaunce envies,°
  And through their iron sides° with cruell spies
  Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields                     150
  No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies
  As from a forge out of their burning shields,
And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields.

                    XVIII

Curse on that Crosse (quoth then the Sarazin),
  That keepes thy body from the bitter fit;°                       155
  Dead long ygoe I wote thou haddest bin,
  Had not that charme from thee forwarned it:
  But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,°
  And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest
  With rigour so outrageous° he smitt,                             160
  That a large share° it hewd out of the rest,
And glauncing down his shield from blame him fairly blest.°

                    XIX

Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark
  Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive,
  And at his haughtie helmet making mark,                          165
  So hugely stroke, that it the steele did rive,
  And cleft his head. He tumbling downe alive,
  With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis.
  Greeting his grave: his grudging° ghost did strive
  With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is,                    170
Whither the soules do fly of men that live amis.

                    XX

The Lady when she saw her champion fall,
  Like the old ruines of a broken towre,
  Staid not to waile his woefull funerall,
  But from him fled away with all her powre;                       175
  Who after her as hastily gan scowre,
  Bidding the Dwarfe with him to bring away
  The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure.
  Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay,
For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.                 180

                    XXI

She turning backe with ruefull countenaunce,
  Cride, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show
  On silly Dame, subject to hard mischaunce,
  And to your mighty will. Her humblesse low
  In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show,                    185
  Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart,
  And said, Deare dame, your suddin overthrow
  Much rueth me; but now put feare apart,
And tell, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part.

                    XXII

Melting in teares, then gan she thus lament;                       190
  The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre
  Hath now made thrall to your commandement,
  Before that angry heavens list to lowre,
  And fortune false betraide me to your powre,
  Was, (O what now availeth that I was!)                           195
  Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour,°
  He that the wide West under his rule has,
And high hath set his throne, where Tiberis doth pas.

                    XXIII

He in the first flowre of my freshest age,
  Betrothed me unto the onely haire°                               200
  Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
  Was never Prince so faithfull and so faire,
  Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire;
  But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,
  My dearest Lord fell from high honours staire                    205
  Into the hands of his accursed fone,
And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever mone.

                    XXIV

His blessed body spoild of lively breath,
  Was afterward, I know not how, convaid
  And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death                     210
  When tidings came to me, unhappy maid,
  O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid.
  Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,
  And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
  A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind                         215
With love long time did languish as the striken hind.

                    XXV

At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
  To meete me wandring, who perforce me led
  With him away, but yet could never win
  The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread;                  220
  There lies he now with foule dishonour dead,
  Who whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy,
  The eldest of three brethren, all three bred
  Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy;
And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy.              225

                    XXVI

In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,
  Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,
  Craving of you in pitty of my state,
  To do none ill, if please ye not do well.
  He in great passion all this while did dwell,                    230
  More busying his quicke eyes, her face to view,
  Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell;
  And said, Faire Lady hart of flint would rew
The undeserved woes and sorrowes which ye shew.

                    XXVII

Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest,                         235
  Having both found a new friend you to aid,
  And lost an old foe that did you molest:
  Better new friend then an old foe is said.
  With chaunge of cheare the seeming simple maid
  Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth,                    240
  And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said,
  So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,
And she coy lookes: so dainty they say maketh derth.°

                    XXVIII

Long time they thus together traveiled,
  Till weary of their way, they came at last                       245
  Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred
  Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast,
  And their greene leaves trembling with every blast,
  Made a calme shadow far in compasse round:
  The fearfull Shepheard often there aghast                        250
  Under them never sat, ne wont there sound°
His mery oaten pipe, but shund th' unlucky ground.

                    XXIX

But this good knight soone as he them can spie,
  For the cool shade° him thither hastly got:
  For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie,                             255
  From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot
  Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
  That living creature mote it not abide;
  And his new Lady it endured not.
  There they alight, in hope themselves to hide                    260
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.

                    XXX

Faire seemely pleasaunce° each to other makes,
  With goodly purposes° there as they sit:
  And in his falsed fancy he her takes
  To be the fairest wight that lived yit;                          265
  Which to expresse he bends his gentle wit,
  And thinking of those braunches greene to frame
  A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,
  He pluckt a bough;° out of whose rift there came
Small drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the same.            270

                    XXXI

Therewith a piteous yelling voyce was heard,
  Crying, O spare with guilty hands° to teare
  My tender sides in this rough rynd embard,
  But fly, ah fly far hence away, for feare
  Least to you hap, that happened to me heare,                     275
  And to this wretched Lady, my deare love,
  O too deare love, love bought with death too deare.
  Astond he stood, and up his haire did hove,
And with that suddein horror could no member move.

                    XXXII

At last whenas the dreadfull passion                               280
  Was overpast, and manhood well awake,
  Yet musing at the straunge occasion,
  And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake;
  What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,°
  Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire,                     285
  Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake,
  Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare,
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse bloud to spare?

                    XXXIII

Then groning deepe, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth he,)
  Nor guileful sprite to thee these wordes doth speake,            290
  But once a man Fradubio,° now a tree,
  Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake
  A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake,
  Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines,
  Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake,                       295
  And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines:
For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.

                    XXXIV

Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree,
  Quoth then the knight, by whose mischievous arts
  Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see?                           300
  He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts;
  But double griefs afflict concealing harts,
  As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.
  The author then (said he) of all my smarts,
  Is one Duessa a false sorceresse,                                305
That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse.

                    XXXV

In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hot
  The fire of love and joy of chevalree
  First kindled in my brest, it was my lot
  To love this gentle Lady, whom ye see,                           310
  Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree;
  With whom as once I rode accompanyde,
  Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee,
  That had a like faire Lady by his syde,
Like a faire Lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde.                      315

                    XXXVI

Whose forged beauty he did take in hand,
  All other Dames to have exceeded farre;
  I in defence of mine did likewise stand,
  Mine, that did then shine as the Morning starre.
  So both to battell fierce arraunged arre,                        320
  In which his harder fortune was to fall
  Under my speare: such is the dye of warre:
  His Lady left as a prise martiall,
Did yield her comely person to be at my call.

                    XXXVII

So doubly lov'd of Ladies unlike faire,                            325
  Th' one seeming such, the other such indeede,
  One day in doubt I cast for to compare,
  Whether in beauties glorie did exceede;
  A Rosy girlond was the victors meede:
  Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to bee,                  330
  So hard the discord was to be agreede.
  Fraelissa was as faire, as faire mote bee,
And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee.

                    XXXVIII

The wicked witch now seeing all this while
  The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway,                         335
  What not by right, she cast to win by guile,
  And by her hellish science raisd streightway
  A foggy mist, that overcast the day,
  And a dull blast, that breathing on her face,
  Dimmed her former beauties shining ray,                          340
  And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace:
Then was she faire alone, when none was faire in place.°

                    XXXIX

Then cride she out, Fye, fye, deformed wight,
  Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine
  To have before bewitched all mens sight;                         345
  O leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine.
  Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,
  Eftsoones I thought her such, as she me told,
  And would have kild her; but with faigned paine
  The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold;                 350
So left her, where she now is turnd to treen mould.°

                    XL

Then forth I tooke Duessa for my Dame,
  And in the witch unweeting joyd long time,
  Ne ever wist but that she was the same,°
  Till on a day (that day is every Prime,                          355
  When Witches wont do penance for their crime)
  I chaunst to see her in her proper hew,°
  Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme:
  A filthy foule old woman I did vew,
That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew.                     360

                    XLI

Her neather parts misshapen, monstruous,
  Were hidd in water, that I could not see.
  But they did seeme more foule and hideous,
  Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.
  Thensforth from her most beastly companie                        365
  I gan refraine, in minde to slip away,
  Soone as appeard safe opportunitie:
  For danger great, if not assur'd decay,
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray.

                    XLII

The divelish hag by chaunges of my cheare°                         370
  Perceiv'd my thought, and drownd in sleepie night,°
  With wicked herbs and ointments did besmeare
  My body all, through charms and magicke might,
  That all my senses were bereaved quight:
  Then brought she me into this desert waste,                      375
  And by my wretched lovers side me pight,
  Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste,
Banisht from living wights, our wearie dayes we waste.

                    XLIII

But how long time, said then the Elfin knight,
  Are you in this misformed house to dwell?                        380
  We may not chaunge (quoth he) this evil plight,
  Till we be bathed in a living well;°
  That is the terme prescribed by the spell.
  O how, said he, mote I that well out find,
  That may restore you to your wonted well?                        385
  Time and suffised fates to former kynd
Shall us restore, none else from hence may us unbynd.

                    XLIV

The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,
  Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,
  And knew well all was true. But the good knight                  390
  Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment,
  When all this speech the living tree had spent,
  The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,
  That from the bloud he might be innocent,
  And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound:                  395
Then turning to his Lady, dead with feare her found.

                    XLV

Her seeming dead he found with feigned feare,
  As all unweeting of that well she knew,
  And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare
  Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew                    400
  And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew
  At last she up gan lift: with trembling cheare
  Her up he tooke, too simple and too trew,
  And oft her kist. At length all passed feare,°
He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare.             405

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO III

        Forsaken Truth long seekes her love,
          and makes the Lyon mylde,
        Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals
          in hand of leachour vylde.

                    I

Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse,
  That moves more deare compassion of mind,
  Then beautie brought t' unworthy wretchednesse
  Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind.
  I, whether lately through her brightnesse blind,                   5
  Or through alleageance and fast fealtie,
  Which I do owe unto all woman kind,
  Feele my hart perst with so great agonie,
When such I see, that all for pittie I could die.

                    II

And now it is empassioned so deepe,                                 10
  For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing,
  That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe,
  To thinke how she through guilefull handeling,
  Though true as touch,° though daughter of a king,
  Though faire as ever living wight was faire,                      15
  Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting,
  Is from her knight divorced in despaire,
And her due loves° deriv'd to that vile witches share.

                    III

Yet she most faithfull Ladie all this while
  Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd                                  20
  Far from all peoples prease, as in exile,
  In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd,
  To seeke her knight; who subtilly betrayd
  Through that late vision, which th' Enchaunter wrought,
  Had her abandond. She of nought affrayd,                          25
  Through woods and wastnesse wide him daily sought;
Yet wished tydings° none of him unto her brought.

                    IV

One day nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,
  From her unhastie beast she did alight,
  And on the grasse her daintie limbes did lay                      30
  In secret shadow, farre from all mens sight:
  From her faire head her fillet she undight,
  And laid her stole aside. Her angels face
  As the great eye of heaven° shyned bright,
  And made a sunshine in the shadie place;                          35
Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.

                    V

It fortuned out of the thickest wood
  A ramping Lyon° rushed suddainly,
  Hunting full greedy after salvage blood;
  Soone as the royall virgin he did spy,                            40
  With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
  To have attonce devourd her tender corse:
  But to the pray when as he drew more ny,
  His bloody rage asswaged with remorse,
And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse.                 45

                    VI

In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
  And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong,
  As he her wronged innocence did weet.
  O how can beautie maister the most strong,
  And simple truth subdue avenging wrong?                           50
  Whose yeelded pride° and proud submission,
  Still dreading death, when she had marked long,
  Her hart gan melt in great compassion,
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.

                    VII

The Lyon Lord of every beast in field,                              55
  Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate,
  And mightie proud to humble weake does yield,
  Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late
  Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate:
  But he my Lyon, and my noble Lord,                                60
  How does he find in cruell hart to hate,
  Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord,
As the God of my life? why hath he me abhord?

                    VIII

Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint,
  Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood;                     65
  And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint
  The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;
  With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.
  At last in close hart shutting up her paine,
  Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood,                         70
  And to her snowy Palfrey got againe,
To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine.

                    IX

The Lyon would not leave her desolate,
  But with her went along, as a strong gard
  Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate                         75
  Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
  Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,°
  And when she wakt, he waited diligent,
  With humble service to her will prepard:
  From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement,                       80
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

                    X

Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde,
  By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas,
  Yet never shew of living wight espyde;
  Till that at length she found the troden gras,                    85
  In which the tract of peoples footing was,
  Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore;
  The same she followes, till at last she has
  A damzell spyde° slow footing her before,
That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.                      90

                    XI

To whom approching she to her gan call,
  To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand;
  But the rude wench her answerd nought at all;
  She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand;
  Till seeing by her side the Lyon stand,                           95
  With suddaine feare her pitcher downe she threw,
  And fled away: for never in that land
  Face of faire Ladie she before did vew,
And that dread Lyons looke her cast in deadly hew.°

                    XII

Full fast she fled, ne never lookt behynd,                         100
  As if her life upon the wager lay,°
  And home she came, whereas her mother blynd°
  Sate in eternall night: nought could she say,
  But suddaine catching hold, did her dismay
  With quaking hands, and other signes of feare;                   105
  Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray,
  Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there
Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere.

                    XIII

Which when none yeelded, her unruly Page°
  With his rude claws the wicket open rent,                        110
  And let her in; where of his cruell rage
  Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,
  She found them both in darkesome corner pent;
  Where that old woman day and night did pray
  Upon her beads devoutly penitent;                                115
  Nine hundred _Pater nosters_° every day,
And thrise nine hundred _Aves_ she was wont to say.

                    XIV

And to augment her painefull pennance more,
  Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit,
  And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore,                 120
  And thrise three times did fast from any bit:
  But now for feare her beads she did forget.
  Whose needlesse dread for to remove away,
  Faire Una framed words and count'nance fit:
  Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray,                  125
That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.

                    XV

The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,
  When every creature shrowded is in sleepe;
  Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight,
  And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe:                      130
  In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe
  For the late losse of her deare loved knight,
  And sighes, and grones, and ever more does steepe
  Her tender brest in bitter teares all night,
All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.         135

                    XVI

Now when Aldeboran° was mounted hie
  Above the shynie Cassiopeias chaire,°
  And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie,
  One knocked at the dore,° and in would fare;
  He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware,                     140
  That readie entrance was not at his call:
  For on his backe a heavy load he bare
  Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall,
Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall.

                    XVII

He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe,                       145
  Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments,
  And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe,
  Which given was to them for good intents;
  The holy Saints of their rich vestiments
  He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept,                    150
  And spoild the Priests of their habiliments,
  Whiles none the holy things in safety kept;
Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept.

                    XVIII

And all that he by right or wrong could find,
  Unto this house he brought, and did bestow                       155
  Upon the daughter of this woman blind,
  Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow,
  With whom he whoredome usd, that few did know,
  And fed her fat with feast of offerings,
  And plentie, which in all the land did grow;                     160
  Ne spared he to give her gold and rings:
And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

                    XIX

Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet,
  Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize,
  The Lyon frayed them, him in to let:                             165
  He would no longer stay him to advize,°
  But open breakes the dore in furious wize,
  And entring is; when that disdainfull beast
  Encountring fierce, him suddaine doth surprize,
  And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest,                    170
Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

                    XX

Him booteth not resist,° nor succour call,
  His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand,
  Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small,
  And quite dismembred hath: the thirsty land                      175
  Drunke up his life; his corse left on the strand.
  His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night,
  Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand
  The heavie hap, which on them is alight,
Affraid, least to themselves the like mishappen might.             180

                    XXI

Now when broad day the world discovered has,
  Up Una rose, up rose the Lyon eke,
  And on their former journey forward pas,
  In wayes unknowne, her wandring knight to seeke,
  With paines farre passing that long wandring Greeke,°            185
  That for his love refused deitie;
  Such were the labours of his Lady meeke,
  Still seeking him, that from her still did flie;
Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie.

                    XXII

Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull twaine,                   190
  That blind old woman and her daughter deare,°
  Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slaine,
  For anguish great they gan to rend their heare,
  And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare.
  And when they both had wept and wayld their fill,                195
  Then forth they ran like two amazed deare,
  Halfe mad through malice, and revenging will,
To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.

                    XXIII

Whom overtaking, they gan loudly bray,
  With hollow howling, and lamenting cry,                          200
  Shamefully at her rayling all the way,
  And her accusing of dishonesty,
  That was the flowre of faith and chastity;
  And still amidst her rayling, she did pray,
  That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery                     205
  Might fall on her, and follow all the way,
And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.

                    XXIV

But when she saw her prayers nought prevaile,
  She backe returned with some labour lost;
  And in the way as shee did weepe and waile,                      210
  A knight her met in mighty armes embost,
  Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost,
  But subtill Archimag, that Una sought
  By traynes into new troubles to have tost:
  Of that old woman tidings he besought,                           215
If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought.

                    XXV

Therewith she gan her passion to renew,
  And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare,
  Saying, that harlot she too lately knew,
  That caused her shed so many a bitter teare,                     220
  And so forth told the story of her feare:
  Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce,
  And after for that Ladie did inquere;
  Which being taught, he forward gan advaunce
His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce.             225

                    XXVI

Ere long he came where Una traveild slow,
  And that wilde Champion wayting her besyde:
  Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show
  Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde
  Unto an hill; from whence when she him spyde,                    230
  By his like seeming shield, her knight by name
  She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde:
  Approaching nigh, she wist it was the same,
And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came:

                    XXVII

And weeping said, Ah my long lacked Lord,                          235
  Where have ye bene thus long out of my sight?
  Much feared I to have bene quite abhord,
  Or ought have done,° that ye displeasen might,
  That should as death° unto my deare heart light:
  For since mine eye your joyous sight did mis,                    240
  My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night,
  And eke my night of death the shadow is;
But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis.

                    XXVIII

He thereto meeting said, My dearest Dame,
  Farre be it from your thought, and fro my will,                  245
  To thinke that knighthood I so much should shame,
  As you to leave, that have me loved still,
  And chose in Faery court° of meere goodwill,
  Where noblest knights were to be found on earth:
  The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill,°                  250
  To bring forth fruit, and make eternall derth,
Then I leave you, my liefe, yborne of heavenly berth.

                    XXIX

And sooth to say, why I left you so long,
  Was for to seeke adventure in strange place,
  Where Archimago said a felon strong                              255
  To many knights did daily worke disgrace;
  But knight he now shall never more deface:
  Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please
  Well to accept, and evermore embrace
  My faithfull service, that by land and seas                      260
Have vowd you to defend: now then your plaint appease.

                    XXX

His lovely words her seemd due recompence
  Of all her passed paines: one loving howre
  For many yeares of sorrow can dispence:
  A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre:                       265
  She has forgot, how many a woful stowre
  For him she late endurd; she speakes no more
  Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre
  To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before.
Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.          270

                    XXXI

Much like, as when the beaten marinere,
  That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide,
  Oft soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare,
  And long time having tand his tawney hide
  With blustring breath of heaven, that none can bide,             275
  And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound,°
  Soone as the port from farre he has espide,
  His chearefull whistle merrily doth sound,
And Nereus crownes with cups°; his mates him pledg around.

                    XXXII

Such joy made Una, when her knight she found;                      280
  And eke th' enchaunter joyous seemd no lesse,
  Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground°
  His ship farre come from watrie wildernesse,
  He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse:
  So forth they past, and all the way they spent                   285
  Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse,
  In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment:
Who told her all that fell in journey as she went.

                    XXXIII

They had not ridden farre, when they might see
  One pricking towards them with hastie heat,                      290
  Full strongly armd, and on a courser free,
  That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat,
  And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,
  When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side;
  His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat                 295
  Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde,
And on his shield _Sans loy_° in bloudie lines was dyde.

                    XXXIV

When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre
  And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare,
  He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare                      300
  Himselfe to battell with his couched speare.
  Loth was that other, and did faint through feare,
  To taste th' untryed dint of deadly steele;
  But yet his Lady did so well him cheare,
  That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele;                        305
So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with yron heele.

                    XXXV

But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce,
  And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare,
  Through vainly crossed shield° he quite did pierce,
  And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare,             310
  Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare:
  Yet so great was the puissance of his push,
  That from his saddle quite he did him beare:
  He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush,
And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.                 315

                    XXXVI

Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed,
  He to him lept, in mind to reave his life,
  And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed
  Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife;
  Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife,                 320
  In peace may passen over Lethe lake,°
  When mourning altars purgd with enemies life,
  The blacke infernall Furies° doen aslake:
Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.

                    XXXVII

Therewith in haste his helmet gan unlace,°                         325
  Till Una cried, O hold that heavie hand,
  Deare Sir, what ever that thou be in place:
  Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand
  Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand:
  For he is one the truest knight alive,                           330
  Though conquered now he lie on lowly land,
  And whilest him fortune favourd, faire did thrive
In bloudie field: therefore of life him not deprive.

                    XXXVIII

Her piteous words might not abate his rage,
  But rudely rending up his helmet, would                          335
  Have slaine him straight: but when he sees his age,
  And hoarie head of Archimago old,
  His hasty hand he doth amazed hold,
  And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight:
  For that old man well knew he, though untold,                    340
  In charmes and magicke to have wondrous might,
Ne ever wont in field,° ne in round lists to fight;

                    XXXIX

And said, Why Archimago, lucklesse syre,
  What doe I see? what hard mishap is this,
  That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre?                 345
  Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,
  Instead of foe to wound my friend amis?
  He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay,
  And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his
  The cloude of death did sit. Which doen away,                    350
He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay:

                    XL

But to the virgin comes, who all this while
  Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see
  By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,
  For so misfeigning her true knight to bee:                       355
  Yet is she now in more perplexitie,
  Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,
  From whom her booteth not at all to flie;
  Who, by her cleanly garment catching hold,
Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold.                 360

                    XLI

But her fierce servant, full of kingly awe
  And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame
  So rudely handled by her foe he sawe,
  With gaping jawes full greedy at him came,
  And ramping on his shield, did weene the same                    365
  Have reft away with his sharpe rending clawes:
  But he was stout, and lust did now inflame
  His corage more, that from his griping pawes
He hath his shield redeem'd, and foorth his swerd he drawes.

                    XLII

O then too weake and feeble was the forse                          370
  Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand:
  For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,
  As ever wielded speare in warlike hand,
  And feates of armes did wisely understand.
  Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest                    375
  With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,
  And launcht his Lordly hart: with death opprest
He roar'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne brest.

                    XLIII

Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid
  From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?                     380
  Her faithfull gard remov'd, her hope dismaid,
  Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill.
  He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill,
  With foule reproches, and disdainfull spight
  Her vildly entertaines, and will or nill,                        385
  Beares her away upon his courser light:
Her prayers nought prevaile, his rage is more of might.°

                    XLIV

And all the way, with great lamenting paine,
  And piteous plaints she filleth his dull eares,
  That stony hart could riven have in twaine,                      390
  And all the way she wets with flowing teares:
  But he enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares.
  Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,
  But followes her farre off, ne ought he feares,
  To be partaker of her wandring woe,                              395
More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO IV

        To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa
          guides the faithfull knight,
        Where brother's death to wreak Sansjoy
          doth chalenge him to fight.

                    I

Young knight whatever that dost armes professe,
  And through long labours huntest after fame,
  Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse,
  In choice, and change of thy deare loved Dame,
  Least thou of her beleeve too lightly blame,                       5
  And rash misweening doe thy hart remove:
  For unto knight there is no greater shame,
  Then lightnesse and inconstancie in love;
That doth this Redcrosse knights ensample plainly prove.

                    II

Who after that he had faire Una lorne,                              10
  Through light misdeeming of her loialtie,
  And false Duessa in her sted had borne,
  Called Fidess', and so supposd to bee;
  Long with her traveild, till at last they see
  A goodly building, bravely garnished,                             15
  The house of mightie Prince it seemd to bee:
  And towards it a broad high way that led,
All bare through peoples feet, which thither traveiled.

                    III

Great troupes of people traveild thitherward
  Both day and night, of each degree and place,°                    20
  But few returned, having scaped hard,°
  With balefull beggerie, or foule disgrace;
  Which ever after in most wretched case,
  Like loathsome lazars,° by the hedges lay.
  Thither Duessa bad him bend his pace:                             25
  For she is wearie of the toilesome way,
And also nigh consumed is the lingring day.

                    IV

A stately Pallace built of squared bricke,
  Which cunningly was without morter laid,
  Whose wals were high, but nothing strong, nor thick,              30
  And golden foile all over them displaid,
  That purest skye with brightnesse they dismaid:
  High lifted up were many loftie towres,
  And goodly galleries farre over laid,
  Full of faire windowes and delightful bowres;                     35
And on the top a Diall told the timely howres.

                    V

It was a goodly heape for to behould,
  And spake the praises of the workmans wit;
  But full great pittie, that so faire a mould
  Did on so weake foundation ever sit:                              40
  For on a sandie hill, that still did flit
  And fall away, it mounted was full hie,
  That every breath of heaven shaked it:
  And all the hinder parts, that few could spie,
Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly.                        45

                    VI

Arrived there, they passed in forth right;
  For still to all the gates stood open wide:
  Yet charge of them was to a Porter hight
  Cald Malvenù,° who entrance none denide:
  Thence to the hall, which was on every side                       50
  With rich array and costly arras dight:
  Infinite sorts of people did abide
  There waiting long, to win the wished sight
Of her that was the Lady of that Pallace bright.

                    VII

By them they passe, all gazing on them round,                       55
  And to the Presence mount; whose glorious vew
  Their frayle amazed senses did confound:
  In living Princes court none ever knew
  Such endlesse richesse, and so sumptuous shew;
  Ne Persia selfe, the nourse of pompous pride                      60
  Like ever saw. And there a noble crew
  Of Lordes and Ladies stood on every side,
Which with their presence faire the place much beautifide.

                    VIII

High above all a cloth of State was spred,
  And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day,                        65
  On which there sate most brave embellished
  With royall robes and gorgeous array,
  A mayden Queene, that shone as Titans ray,
  In glistring gold, and peerelesse pretious stone:
  Yet her bright blazing beautie did assay                          70
  To dim the brightnesse of her glorious throne,
As envying her selfe, that too exceeding shone.

                    IX

Exceeding shone, like Phoebus fairest childe,°
  That did presume his fathers firie wayne,
  And flaming mouthes of steedes unwonted wilde                     75
  Through highest heaven with weaker hand to rayne;
  Proud of such glory and advancement vaine,
  While flashing beames do daze his feeble eyen,
  He leaves the welkin way most beaten plaine,
  And rapt with whirling wheeles, inflames the skyen,               80
With fire not made to burne, but fairely for to shyne.

                    X

So proud she shyned in her Princely state,
  Looking to heaven; for earth she did disdayne:
  And sitting high; for lowly she did hate:
  Lo underneath her scornefull feete was layne                      85
  A dreadfull Dragon° with an hideous trayne,
  And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright,
  Wherein her face she often vewed fayne,
  And in her selfe-lov'd semblance tooke delight;
For she was wondrous faire, as any living wight.                    90

                    XI

Of griesly Pluto she the daughter was,
  And sad Proserpina the Queene of hell;
  Yet did she thinke her pearlesse worth to pas
  That parentage,° with pride so did she swell;
  And thundring Jove, that high in heaven doth dwell,               95
  And wield the world, she claymed for her syre,
  Or if that any else did Jove excell:
  For to the highest she did still aspyre,
Or if ought higher were then that, did it desyre.

                    XII

And proud Lucifera men did her call,                               100
  That made her selfe a Queene, and crownd to be,
  Yet rightfull kingdome she had none at all,
  Ne heritage of native soveraintie,
  But did usurpe with wrong and tyrannie
  Upon the scepter, which she now did hold:                        105
  Ne ruld her Realmes with lawes, but pollicie,
  And strong advizement of six wisards old,°
That with their counsels bad her kingdome did uphold.

                    XIII

Soone as the Elfin knight in presence came,
  And false Duessa seeming Lady faire,                             110
  A gentle Husher, Vanitie by name
  Made rowme, and passage for them did prepaire:
  So goodly brought them to the lowest staire
  Of her high throne, where they on humble knee
  Making obeyssance, did the cause declare,                        115
  Why they were come, her royall state to see,
To prove the wide report of her great Majestee.

                    XIV

With loftie eyes, halfe loth to looke so low,
  She thanked them in her disdainefull wise;
  Ne other grace vouchsafed them to show                           120
  Of Princesse worthy, scarse them bad arise.
  Her Lordes and Ladies all this while devise
  Themselves to setten forth to straungers sight:
  Some frounce their curled haire in courtly guise,
  Some prancke their ruffes, and others trimly dight               125
Their gay attire: each others greater pride does spight.

                    XV

Goodly they all that knight do entertaine,
  Right glad with him to have increast their crew:
  But to Duess' each one himselfe did paine
  All kindnesse and faire courtesie to shew;                       130
  For in that court whylome her well they knew:
  Yet the stout Faerie mongst the middest crowd
  Thought all their glorie vaine in knightly vew,
  And that great Princesse too exceeding prowd,
That to strange knight no better countenance allowd.               135

                    XVI

Suddein upriseth from her stately place
  The royall Dame, and for her coche did call:
  All hurtlen forth, and she with Princely pace,
  As faire Aurora in her purple pall,
  Out of the east the dawning day doth call:                       140
  So forth she comes: her brightnesse brode doth blaze;
  The heapes of people thronging in the hall,
  Do ride each other, upon her to gaze:
Her glorious glitterand light doth all mens eyes amaze.

                    XVII

So forth she comes, and to her coche° does clyme,                  145
  Adorned all with gold, and girlonds gay,
  That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime,
  And strove to match, in royall rich array,
  Great Junoes golden chaire, the which they say
  The Gods stand gazing on, when she does ride                     150
  To Joves high house through heavens bras-paved way
  Drawne of faire Pecocks, that excell in pride,
And full of Argus eyes their tailes dispredden wide.

                    XVIII

But this was drawne of six unequall beasts,
  On which her six sage Counsellours did ryde,                     155
  Taught to obay their bestiall beheasts,
  With like conditions° to their kinds applyde:
  Of which the first, that all the rest did guyde,
  Was sluggish Idlenesse the nourse of sin;
  Upon a slouthful Asse he chose to ryde,                          160
  Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin,
Like to an holy Monck, the service to begin.

                    XIX

And in his hand his Portesse still he bare,
  That much was worne, but therein little red,
  For of devotion he had little care,                              165
  Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his dayes ded;
  Scarse could he once uphold his heavie hed,
  To looken, whether it were night or day:
  May seeme the wayne was very evill led,
  When such an one had guiding of the way,                         170
That knew not, whether right he went, or else astray.

                    XX

From worldly cares himselfe he did esloyne,
  And greatly shunned manly exercise,
  From every worke he chalenged essoyne,°
  For contemplation sake: yet otherwise,                           175
  His life he led in lawlesse riotise;
  By which he grew to grievous malady;
  For in his lustlesse limbs through evill guise
  A shaking fever raignd continually:
Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company.                     180

                    XXI

And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony,
  Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne;
  His belly was up-blowne with luxury,
  And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne,
  And like a Crane° his necke was long and fyne,                   185
  With which he swallowed up excessive feast,
  For want whereof poore people oft did pyne;
  And all the way, most like a brutish beast,
He spued up his gorge, that all did him deteast.

                    XXII

In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad;                     190
  For other clothes he could not weare for heat,
  And on his head an yvie girland had,
  From under which fast trickled downe the sweat:
  Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat,
  And in his hand did beare a bouzing can,                         195
  Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat
  His dronken corse he scarse upholden can,
In shape and life more like a monster, then a man.

                    XXIII

Unfit he was for any worldly thing,
  And eke unhable once to stirre or go,                            200
  Not meet to be of counsell to a king,
  Whose mind in meat and drinke was drowned so,
  That from his friend he seldome knew his fo:
  Full of diseases was his carcas blew,
  And a dry dropsie° through his flesh did flow:                   205
  Which by misdiet daily greater grew:
Such one was Gluttony, the second of that crew.

                    XXIV

And next to him rode lustfull Lechery,
  Upon a bearded Goat, whose rugged haire,
  And whally eyes (the signe of gelosy),                           210
  Was like the person selfe, whom he did beare:
  Who rough, and blacke, and filthy did appeare,
  Unseemely man to please faire Ladies eye;
  Yet he of Ladies oft was loved deare,
  When fairer faces were bid standen by:                           215
O who does know the bent of womens fantasy?

                    XXV

In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire,
  Which underneath did hide his filthinesse,
  And in his hand a burning hart he bare,
  Full of vaine follies, and new fanglenesse,                      220
  For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse;
  And learned had to love with secret lookes;
  And well could daunce, and sing with ruefulnesse,
  And fortunes tell, and read in loving bookes,
And thousand other wayes, to bait his fleshly hookes.              225

                    XXVI

Inconstant man, that loved all he saw,
  And lusted after all that he did love;
  Ne would his looser life be tide to law,
  But joyd weak wemens hearts to tempt and prove,
  If from their loyall loves he might them move;                   230
  Which lewdnesse fild him with reprochfull paine
  Of that fowle evill, which all men reprove,
  That rots the marrow and consumes the braine:
Such one was Lecherie, the third of all this traine.

                    XXVII

And greedy Avarice by him did ride,                                235
  Upon a Camell° loaden all with gold;
  Two iron coffers hong on either side,
  With precious mettall full as they might hold;
  And in his lap an heape of coine he told;
  For of his wicked pelfe his God he made,                         240
  And unto hell him selfe for money sold;
  Accursed usurie was all his trade,
And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce waide.

                    XXVIII

His life was nigh unto deaths doore yplast,
  And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes he ware,                   245
  Ne scarse good morsell all his life did tast,
  But both from backe and belly still did spare,
  To fill his bags, and richesse to compare;
  Yet chylde ne kinsman living had he none
  To leave them to; but thorough daily care                        250
  To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne,
He led a wretched life unto him selfe unknowne.°

                    XXIX

Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suffise,
  Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store,
  Whose need had end, but no end covetise,                         255
  Whose wealth was want, whose plenty made him pore,
  Who had enough, yet wished ever more;
  A vile disease, and eke in foote and hand
  A grievous gout tormented him full sore,
  That well he could not touch, nor go, nor stand;                 260
Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this faire band.

                    XXX

And next to him malicious Envie rode,
  Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw
  Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode,
  That all the poison ran about his chaw;                          265
  But inwardly he chawed his owne maw
  At neighbours wealth, that made him ever sad;
  For death it was when any good he saw,
  And wept, that cause of weeping none he had,
But when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad.                270

                    XXXI

All in a kirtle of discolourd say
  He clothed was, ypainted full of eyes;
  And in his bosome secretly there lay
  An hatefull Snake, the which his taile uptyes
  In many folds, and mortall sting implyes.                        275
  Still as he rode, he gnasht his teeth, to see
  Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse;
  And grudged at the great felicitie
Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companie.

                    XXXII

He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds,                       280
  And him no lesse, that any like did use,
  And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds,
  His almes for want of faith he doth accuse;
  So every good to bad he doth abuse:
  And eke the verse of famous Poets witt                           285
  He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues
  From leprous mouth on all that ever writt:
Such one vile Envie was, that fifte in row did sitt.

                    XXXIII

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,
  Upon a Lion, loth for to be led;                                 290
  And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
  The which he brandisheth about his hed;
  His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red,
  And stared sterne on all that him beheld,
  As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded;                            295
  And on his dagger still his hand he held,
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld.

                    XXXIV

His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood,
  Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent,
  Through unadvized rashnesse woxen wood;                          300
  For of his hands he had no governement,
  Ne car'd for bloud in his avengement:
  But when the furious fit was overpast,
  His cruell facts he often would repent;
  Yet wilfull man he never would forecast,                         305
How many mischieves should ensue his heedlesse hast.

                    XXXV

Full many mischiefes follow cruell Wrath;
  Abhorred bloodshed and tumultuous strife,
  Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scath,°
  Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife,                      310
  And fretting griefe the enemy of life;
  All these, and many evils moe haunt ire,
  The swelling Splene,° and Frenzy raging rife,
  The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire:°
Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire.                 315

                    XXXVI

And after all, upon the wagon beame
  Rode Sathan, with a smarting whip in hand,
  With which he forward lasht the laesie teme,
  So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand.
  Hugh routs of people did about them band,                        320
  Showting for joy, and still before their way
  A foggy mist had covered all the land;
  And underneath their feet, all scattered lay
Dead sculs and bones of men, whose life had gone astray.

                    XXXVII

So forth they marchen in this goodly sort,                         325
  To take the solace of the open aire,
  And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport;
  Emongst the rest rode that false Lady faire,
  The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire
  Of proud Lucifera, as one of the traine:                         330
  But that good knight would not so nigh repaire,
  Him selfe estraunging from their joyaunce vaine,
Whose fellowship seemd far unfit for warlike swaine.

                    XXXVIII

So having solaced themselves a space
  With pleasaunce° of the breathing fields yfed,                   335
  They backe retourned to the Princely Place;
  Whereas an errant knight in armes ycled,
  And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red
  Was writ _Sans joy_, they new arrived find:
  Enflam'd with fury and fiers hardy-hed                           340
  He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts unkind,
And nourish bloudy vengeaunce in his bitter mind.

                    XXXIX

Who when the shamed shield of slaine Sansfoy
  He spide with that same Faery champions page,
  Bewraying him, that did of late destroy                          345
  His eldest brother, burning all with rage
  He to him leapt, and that same envious gage
  Of victors glory from him snatcht away:
  But th' Elfin knight, which ought that warlike wage
  Disdaind to loose the meed he wonne in fray,                     350
And him rencountring fierce, reskewd the noble pray.

                    XL

Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily,
  Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne,
  And clash their shields, and shake their swords on hy,
  That with their sturre they troubled all the traine;             355
  Till that great Queene upon eternall paine
  Of high displeasure that ensewen might,
  Commaunded them their fury to refraine,
  And if that either to that shield had right,
In equall lists they should the morrow next it fight.              360

                    XLI

Ah dearest Dame, (quoth then the Paynim bold,)
  Pardon the error of enraged wight,
  Whom great griefe made forget the raines to hold
  Of reasons rule, to see this recreant knight,
  No knight, but treachour full of false despight                  365
  And shamefull treason, who through guile hath slayn
  The prowest knight that ever field did fight,
  Even stout Sansfoy (O who can then refrayn?)
Whose shield he beares renverst, the more to heape disdayn.

                    XLII

And to augment the glorie of his guile,                            370
  His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe
  Is there possessed of the traytour vile,
  Who reapes the harvest sowen by his foe,
  Sowen in bloudy field, and bought with woe:
  That brothers hand shall dearely well requight,                  375
  So be, O Queene, you equall favour showe.
  Him litle answerd th' angry Elfin knight;
He never meant with words, but swords to plead his right.

                    XLIII

But threw his gauntlet as a sacred pledge,
  His cause in combat the next day to try:                         380
  So been they parted both, with harts on edge
  To be aveng'd each on his enimy.
  That night they pas in joy and jollity,
  Feasting and courting both in bowre and hall;
  For Steward was excessive Gluttonie,                             385
  That of his plenty poured forth to all;
Which doen, the Chamberlain Slowth did to rest them call.

                    XLIV

Now whenas darkesome night had all displayed
  Her coleblacke curtein over brightest skye,
  The warlike youthes on dayntie couches layd,                     390
  Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish eye,
  To muse on meanes of hoped victory.
  But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace
  Arrested all that courtly company,
  Up-rose Duessa from her resting place,                           395
And to the Paynims lodging comes with silent pace.

                    XLV

Whom broad awake she finds, in troublous fit,
  Forecasting, how his foe he might annoy,
  And him amoves with speaches seeming fit:
  Ah deare Sansjoy, next dearest to Sansfoy,                       400
  Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new joy,
  Joyous, to see his ymage in mine eye,
  And greev'd, to thinke how foe did him destroy,
  That was the flowre of grace and chevalrye;
Lo his Fidessa to thy secret faith I flye.                         405

                    XLVI

With gentle wordes he can her fairely greet,
  And bad say on the secret of her hart.
  Then sighing soft, I learne that litle sweet
  Oft tempred is (quoth she) with muchell smart:
  For since my brest was launcht with lovely dart                  410
  Of deare Sans foy, I never joyed howre,
  But in eternall woes my weaker hart
  Have wasted, loving him with all my powre,
And for his sake have felt full many an heavie stowre.

                    XLVII

At last when perils all I weened past,                             415
  And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care,
  Into new woes unweeting I was cast,
  By this false faytor, who unworthy ware
  His worthy shield, whom he with guilefull snare
  Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull grave.                  420
  Me silly maid away with him he bare,
  And ever since hath kept in darksome cave,
For that I would not yeeld, that to Sans foy I gave.

                    XLVIII

But since faire Sunne hath sperst that lowring clowd,
  And to my loathed life now shewes some light,                    425
  Under your beames I will me safely shrowd,
  From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight:
  To you th' inheritance belongs by right
  Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his love.
  Let not his love, let not his restlesse spright,                 430
  Be unreveng'd, that calles to you above
From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth endlesse move.

                    XLIX

Thereto said he, Faire Dame, be nought dismaid
  For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone:
  Ne yet of present perill be affraid;                             435
  For needlesse feare did never vantage none
  And helplesse hap° it booteth not to mone.
  Dead is Sansfoy, his vitall paines are past,
  Though greeved ghost for vengeance deepe do grone:
  He lives, that shall him pay his dewties last,°                  440
And guiltie Elfin blood shall sacrifice in hast.

                    L

O but I feare the fickle freakes (quoth shee)
  Of fortune false, and oddes of armes° in field.
  Why Dame (quoth he) what oddes can ever bee,
  Where both do fight alike, to win or yield?                      445
  Yea but (quoth she) he beares a charmed shield,
  And eke enchaunted armes, that none can perce,
  Ne none can wound the man that does them wield.
  Charmd or enchaunted (answerd he then ferce)
I no whit reck, ne you the like need to reherce.                   450

                    LI

But faire Fidessa, sithens fortunes guile,
  Or enimies powre, hath now captived you,
  Returne from whence ye came, and rest a while
  Till morrow next, that I the Elfe subdew,
  And with Sansfoyes dead dowry you endew.                         455
  Ay me, that is a double death (she said)
  With proud foes sight my sorrow to renew:
  Where ever yet I be, my secret aid
Shall follow you. So passing forth she him obaid.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO V

        The faithfull knight in equall field
          subdewes his faithlesse foe,
        Whom false Duessa saves, and for
          his cure to hell does goe.

                    I

THE noble hart, that harbours vertuous thought,
  And is with child of glorious great intent,
  Can never rest, untill it forth have brought
  Th' eternall brood of glorie excellent.
  Such restlesse passion did all night torment                       5
  The flaming corage of that Faery knight,
  Devizing, how that doughtie turnament
  With greatest honour he atchieven might;
Still did he wake, and still did watch for dawning light.

                    II

At last the golden Orientall gate,                                  10
  Of greatest heaven gan to open faire,
  And Phoebus fresh, as bridegrome to his mate,
  Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie haire:
  And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy aire.
  Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv'd, streightway                15
  He started up, and did him selfe prepaire,
  In sunbright armes, and battailous array:
For with that Pagan proud he combat will that day.

                    III

And forth he comes into the commune hall,
  Where earely waite him many a gazing eye,                         20
  To weet what end to straunger knights may fall.
  There many Minstrales maken melody,
  To drive away the dull melancholy,
  And many Bardes, that to the trembling chord
  Can tune their timely voyces° cunningly,                          25
  And many Chroniclers that can record
Old loves,° and warres for Ladies doen by many a Lord.

                    IV

Soone after comes the cruell Sarazin,
  In woven maile° all armed warily,
  And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin                          30
  Does care for looke of living creatures eye.
  They bring them wines of Greece and Araby,°
  And daintie spices fetcht from furthest Ynd,°
  To kindle heat of corage privily:
  And in the wine a solemne oth they bynd                           35
T' observe the sacred lawes of armes, that are assynd.

                    V

At last forth comes that far renowmed Queene,
  With royall pomp and Princely majestie;
  She is ybrought unto a paled greene,°
  And placed under stately canapee,                                 40
  The warlike feates of both those knights to see.
  On th' other side in all mens open vew
  Duessa placed is, and on a tree
  Sans-foy his° shield is hangd with bloody hew:
Both those° the lawrell girlonds to the victor dew.                 45

                    VI

A shrilling trompet sownded from on hye,
  And unto battaill bad them selves addresse:
  Their shining shieldes about their wrestes they tye,
  And burning blades about their heads do blesse,
  The instruments of wrath and heavinesse:                          50
  With greedy force each other doth assayle,
  And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse
  Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred mayle;
The yron walles to ward their blowes are weak and fraile.

                    VII

The Sarazin was stout, and wondrous strong,                         55
  And heaped blowes like yron hammers great;
  For after bloud and vengeance he did long.
  The knight was fiers, and full of youthly heat,
  And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders threat:
  For all for prayse and honour he did fight.                       60
  Both stricken strike, and beaten both do beat,
  That from their shields forth flyeth firie light,
And helmets hewen deepe show marks of eithers might.

                    VIII

So th' one for wrong, the other strives for right;
  As when a Gryfon° seized of his pray,                             65
  A Dragon fiers encountreth in his flight,
  Through widest ayre making his ydle way,
  That would his rightfull ravine rend away;
  With hideous horror both together smight,
  And souce so sore that they the heavens affray:                   70
  The wise Soothsayer seeing so sad sight,
Th' amazed vulgar tels of warres and mortall fight.

                    IX

So th' one for wrong, the other strives for right,
  And each to deadly shame would drive his foe:
  The cruell steele so greedily doth bight                          75
  In tender flesh that streames of bloud down flow,
  With which the armes, that earst so bright did show,
  Into a pure vermillion now are dyde:
  Great ruth in all the gazers harts did grow,
  Seeing the gored woundes to gape so wyde,                         80
That victory they dare not wish to either side.

                    X

At last the Paynim chaunst to cast his eye,
  His suddein eye, flaming with wrathful fyre,
  Upon his brothers shield, which hong thereby:
  Therewith redoubled was his raging yre,                           85
  And said, Ah wretched sonne of wofull syre,
  Doest thou sit wayling by blacke Stygian lake,
  Whilest here thy shield is hangd for victors hyre,
  And sluggish german° doest thy forces slake
To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?                       90

                    XI

Goe caytive Elfe, him quickly overtake,
  And soone redeeme from his long wandring woe;
  Goe guiltie ghost, to him my message make,
  That I his shield have quit from dying foe.
  Therewith upon his crest he stroke him so,                        95
  That twise he reeled, readie twise to fall;
  End of the doubtfull battell deemed tho
  The lookers on, and lowd to him gan call
The false Duessa, Thine the shield, and I, and all.

                    XII

Soone as the Faerie heard his Ladie speake,°                       100
  Out of his swowning dreame he gan awake,
  And quickning faith, that earst was woxen weake,
  The creeping deadly cold away did shake:
  Tho mov'd with wrath, and shame, and Ladies sake,
  Of all attonce he cast avengd to bee,                            105
  And with so' exceeding furie at him strake,
  That forced him to stoupe upon his knee;
Had he not stouped so, he should have cloven bee.

                    XIII

And to him said, Goe now proud Miscreant,
  Thy selfe thy message do to german deare;                        110
  Alone he wandring thee too long doth want:
  Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth beare.
  Therewith his heavie hand he high gan reare,
  Him to have slaine; when loe a darkesome clowd°
  Upon him fell: he no where doth appeare,                         115
  But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls alowd,
But answer none receives: the darkness him does shrowd.

                    XIV

In haste Duessa from her place arose,
  And to him running said, O prowest knight,
  That ever Ladie to her love did chose,                           120
  Let now abate the terror of your might,
  And quench the flame of furious despight,
  And bloudie vengeance; lo th' infernall powres,
  Covering your foe with cloud of deadly night,
  Have borne him hence to Plutoes balefull bowres.                 125
The conquest yours, I yours, the shield, the glory yours.

                    XV

Not all so satisfide, with greedie eye
  He sought all round about, his thristie blade
  To bath in bloud of faithlesse enemy;
  Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:                      130
  He standes amazed, how he thence should fade.
  At last the trumpets Triumph sound on hie,
  And running Heralds humble homage made,
  Greeting him goodly with new victorie,
And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmitie.               135

                    XVI

Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine Queene,
  And falling her before on lowly knee,
  To her makes present of his service seene:
  Which she accepts, with thankes, and goodly gree,
  Greatly advauncing his gay chevalree.                            140
  So marcheth home, and by her takes the knight,
  Whom all the people follow with great glee,
  Shouting, and clapping all their hands on hight,
That all the aire it fils, and flyes to heaven bright.

                    XVII

Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed:                     145
  Where many skilfull leaches him abide,
  To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled.
  In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide,
  And softly can embalme on every side.
  And all the while, most heavenly melody                          150
  About the bed sweet musicke did divide,
  Him to beguile of griefe and agony:
And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.

                    XVIII

As when a wearie traveller that strayes
  By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,                      155
  Unweeting of the perillous wandring wayes,
  Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile,
  Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile,
  Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender teares:°
  The foolish man, that pitties all this while                     160
  His mournefull plight, is swallowed up unawares,
Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares.

                    XIX

So wept Duessa untill eventide,
  That shyning lampes in Joves high house were light:
  Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide,                      165
  But comes unto the place, where th' Hethen knight
  In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright,
  Lay cover'd with inchaunted cloud all day:
  Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,
  To wayle his woefull case she would not stay,                    170
But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way.

                    XX

Where griesly Night,° with visage deadly sad,
  That Phoebus chearefull face durst never vew,
  And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad,
  She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew,                 175
  Where she all day did hide her hated hew.
  Before the dore her yron charet stood,
  Alreadie harnessed for journey new;
  And coleblacke steedes yborne of hellish brood,
That on their rustie bits did champ, as they were wood.            180

                    XXI

Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,
  Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,
  She greatly grew amazed at the sight,
  And th' unacquainted light began to feare:
  For never did such brightnesse there appeare,                    185
  And would have backe retyred to her cave,
  Until the witches speech she gan to heare,
  Saying, Yet, O thou dreaded Dame, I crave
Abide, till I have told the message which I have.

                    XXII

She stayd, and foorth Duessa gan proceede                          190
  O thou most auncient Grandmother of all,
  More old then Jove, whom thou at first didst breede,
  Or that great house of Gods cælestiall,
  Which wast begot in Daemogorgons hall,
  And sawst the secrets of the world unmade,                       195
  Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare to fall
  With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade?
Lo where the stout Sansjoy doth sleepe in deadly shade.

                    XXIII

And him before, I saw with bitter eyes
  The bold Sansfoy shrinke underneath his speare;                  200
  And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,
  Nor wayld of friends, nor layd on groning beare,°
  That whylome was to me too dearely deare.
  O what of Gods° then boots it to be borne,
  If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare?                           205
  Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne,
When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne?

                    XXIV

Up then, up dreary Dame, of darknesse Queene,
  Go gather up the reliques of thy race,
  Or else goe them avenge, and let be seene,                       210
  That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,
  And can the children of faire light deface.
  Her feeling speeches some compassion moved
  In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face:
  Yet pittie in her hart was never proved                          215
Till then: for evermore she hated, never loved.

                    XXV

And said, Deare daughter rightly may I rew
  The fall of famous children borne of mee,
  And good successes,° which their foes ensew:
  But who can turne the streame of destinee,                       220
  Or breake the chayne° of strong necessitee,
  Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat?
  The sonnes of Day he favoureth, I see,
  And by my ruines thinkes to make them great:
To make one great by others losse, is bad excheat.°                225

                    XXVI

Yet shall they not escape so freely all;
  For some shall pay the price of others guilt:
  And he the man that made Sansfoy to fall,
  Shall with his owne bloud° price that he has spilt.
  But what art thou, that telst of Nephews kilt?                   230
  I that do seeme not I, Duessa am,
  (Quoth she) how ever now in garments gilt,
  And gorgeous gold arrayd I to thee came;
Duessa I, the daughter of Deceipt and Shame.

                    XXVII

Then bowing downe her aged backe, she kist                         235
  The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face
  The false resemblance of Deceipt I wist
  Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace
  It carried, that I scarce in darkesome place
  Could it discerne, though I the mother bee                       240
  Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race.
  O welcome child, whom I have longd to see,
And now have seene unwares. Lo now I go with thee.

                    XXVIII

Then to her yron wagon she betakes,
  And with her beares the fowle welfavourd witch:                  245
  Through mirkesome aire her readie way she makes.
  Her twyfold Teme, of which two blacke as pitch,
  And two were browne, yet each to each unlich,
  Did softly swim away, ne ever stampe,
  Unlesse she chaunst their stubborne mouths to twitch;            250
  Then foming tarre, their bridles they would champe,
And trampling the fine element would fiercely rampe.

                    XXIX

So well they sped, that they be come at length
  Unto the place, whereas the Paynim lay,
  Devoid of outward sense, and native strength,                    255
  Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of day
  And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray.
  His cruell wounds with cruddy bloud congeald
  They binden up so wisely, as they may,
  And handle softly, till they can be healed:                      260
So lay him in her charet close in night concealed.

                    XXX

And all the while she stood upon the ground,
  The wakefull dogs did never cease to bay,°
  As giving warning of th' unwonted sound,
  With which her yron wheeles did them affray,                     265
  And her darke griesly looke them much dismay:
  The messenger of death, the ghastly Owle°
  With drery shriekes did also her bewray;
  And hungry Wolves continually did howle,
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle.                      270

                    XXXI

Thence turning backe in silence soft they stole,
  And brought the heavie corse with easie pace
  To yawning gulfe of deepe Avernus hole.°
  By that same hole an entrance darke and bace
  With smoake and sulphure hiding all the place,                   275
  Descends to hell: there creature never past,
  That backe returned without heavenly grace;
  But dreadfull Furies which their chaines have brast,
And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast.

                    XXXII

By that same way the direfull dames doe drive                      280
  Their mournefull charet, fild with rusty blood,
  And downe to Plutoes house are come bilive:
  Which passing through, on every side them stood
  The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood,
  Chattring their yron teeth, and staring wide                     285
  With stonie eyes; and all the hellish brood
  Of feends infernall flockt on every side,
To gaze on earthly wight that with the Night durst ride.

                    XXXIII

They pas the bitter waves of Acheron,
  Where many soules sit wailing woefully,                          290
  And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,
  Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry,
  And with sharpe shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse cry,
  Cursing high Jove, the which them thither sent.
  The house of endlesse paine is built thereby,                    295
  In which ten thousand sorts of punishment
The cursed creatures doe eternally torment.

                    XXXIV

Before the threshold dreadfull Cerberus°
  His three deformed heads did lay along,
  Curled with thousand adders venemous,                            300
  And lilled forth his bloudie flaming tong:
  At them he gan to reare his bristles strong,
  And felly gnarre, until Dayes enemy
  Did him appease; then downe his taile he hong
  And suffred them to passen quietly:                              305
For she in hell and heaven had power equally.

                    XXXV

There was Ixion turned on a wheele,°
  For daring tempt the Queene of heaven to sin;
  And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele
  Against an hill, ne might from labour lin;                       310
  There thirsty Tantalus hong by the chin;
  And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw;
  Typhoeus joynts were stretched on a gin,
  Theseus condemnd to endlesse slouth by law,
And fifty sisters water in leake vessels draw.                     315

                    XXXVI

They all beholding worldly wights in place,
  Leave off their worke, unmindfull of their smart,
  To gaze on them; who forth by them doe pace,
  Till they be come unto the furthest part;
  Where was a Cave ywrought by wondrous art,                       320
  Deepe, darke, uneasie, dolefull, comfortlesse,
  In which sad Aesculapius° farre apart
  Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse,
For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse.

                    XXXVII

Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was                                    325
  That wont in charett chace the foming Bore:
  He all his Peeres in beauty did surpas,
  But Ladies love as losse of time forbore:
  His wanton stepdame loved him the more,
  But when she saw her offred sweets refused,                      330
  Her love she turnd to hate, and him before
  His father fierce of treason false accused,
And with her gealous termes his open eares abused.

                    XXXVIII

Who all in rage his Sea-god syre besought,
  Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to cast,                     335
  From surging gulf two monsters straight were brought,
  With dread whereof his chasing steedes aghast,
  Both charet swift and huntsman overcast.
  His goodly corps on ragged cliffs yrent,
  Was quite dismembred, and his members chast                      340
  Scattered on every mountaine, as he went,
That of Hippolytus was left no moniment.

                    XXXIX

His cruell step-dame seeing what was donne,
  Her wicked dayes with wretched knife did end,
  In death avowing th' innocence of her sonne,                     345
  Which hearing, his rash Syre began to rend
  His haire, and hastie tongue that did offend.
  Tho gathering up the relicks of his smart,
  By Dianes meanes, who was Hippolyts frend,
  Them brought to Æsculape, that by his art                        350
Did heale them all againe, and joyned every part.

                    XL

Such wondrous science in mans wit to raine
  When Jove avizd, that could the dead revive,
  And fates expired° could renew againe,
  Of endlesse life he might him not deprive,                       355
  But unto hell did thrust him downe alive,
  With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore:
  Where long remaining, he did alwaies strive
  Himselfe with salves to health for to restore,
And slake the heavenly fire, that raged evermore.                  360

                    XLI

There auncient Night arriving, did alight
  From her nigh wearie waine, and in her armes
  To Æsculapius brought the wounded knight:
  Whom having softly disarayd of armes,
  Tho gan to him discover all his harmes,                          365
  Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise,
  If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes
  A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise,
He would at her request prolong her nephews daies.

                    XLII

Ah Dame (quoth he) thou temptest me in vaine,                      370
  To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew,
  And the old cause of my continued paine
  With like attempt to like end to renew.
  Is not enough, that thrust from heaven dew
  Here endlesse penance for one fault I pay,                       375
  But that redoubled crime with vengeance new
  Thou biddest me to eeke? can Night defray
The wrath of thundring Jove that rules both night and day?

                    XLIII

Not so (quoth she) but sith that heavens king
  From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight,                   380
  Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing;
  And fearest not, that more thee hurten might,
  Now in the powre of everlasting Night?
  Goe to then, O thou farre renowmed sonne
  Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might                           385
  In medicine, that else hath to thee wonne
Great paines, and greater praise,° both never to be donne.

                    XLIV

Her words prevaild: And then the learned leach
  His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay,
  And all things else, the which his art did teach:                390
  Which having seene, from thence arose away
  The mother of dread darknesse, and let stay
  Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure,
  And backe returning tooke her wonted way,
  To runne her timely race, whilst Phoebus pure,                   395
In westerne waves his weary wagon did recure.

                    XLV

The false Duessa leaving noyous Night,
  Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pride;
  Where when she came, she found the Faery knight
  Departed thence, albe his woundes wide                           400
  Not throughly heald, unreadie were to ride.
  Good cause he had to hasten thence away;
  For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spide
  Where in a dongeon deepe huge numbers lay
Of caytive wretched thrals, that wayled night and day.             405

                    XLVI

A ruefull sight, as could be seene with eie;
  Of whom he learned had in secret wise
  The hidden cause of their captivitie,
  How mortgaging their lives to Covetise,
  Through wastfull Pride and wanton Riotise,                       410
  They were by law of that proud Tyrannesse,
  Provokt with Wrath, and Envies false surmise,
  Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse,
Where they should live in woe, and die in wretchednesse.

                    XLVII

There was that great proud king of Babylon,°                       415
  That would compell all nations to adore,
  And him as onely God to call upon,
  Till through celestiall doome throwne out of dore,
  Into an Oxe he was transform'd of yore:
  There also was king Croesus,° that enhaunst                      420
  His hart too high through his great riches store;
  And proud Antiochus,° the which advaunst
His cursed hand gainst God and on his altars daunst.

                    XLVIII

And them long time before, great Nimrod° was,
  That first the world with sword and fire warrayd;                425
  And after him old Ninus° farre did pas
  In princely pompe, of all the world obayd;
  There also was that mightie Monarch° layd
  Low under all, yet above all in pride,
  That name of native syre did fowle upbrayd,                      430
  And would as Ammons sonne be magnifide,
Till scornd of God and man a shamefull death he dide.

                    XLIX

All these together in one heape were throwne,
  Like carkases of beasts in butchers stall.
  And in another corner wide were strowne                          435
  The antique ruines of the Romaines fall:
  Great Romulus° the Grandsyre of them all,
  Proud Tarquin,° and too lordly Lentulus,°
  Stout Scipio,° and stubborne Hanniball,°
  Ambitious Sylla,° and sterne Marius,°                            440
High Caesar,° great Pompey,° and fierce Antonius.°

                    L

Amongst these mightie men were wemen mixt,
  Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their yoke:
  The bold Semiramis,° whose sides transfixt
  With sonnes own blade, her fowle reproches spoke;                445
  Faire Sthenoboea,° that her selfe did choke
  With wilfull cord, for wanting of her will;
  High minded Cleopatra,° that with stroke
  Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill:
And thousands moe the like, that did that dongeon fill;            450

                    LI

Besides the endlesse routs of wretched thralles,
  Which thither were assembled day by day,
  From all the world after their wofull falles
  Through wicked pride, and wasted wealthes decay.
  But most of all, which in the Dongeon lay,                       455
  Fell from high Princes courts, or Ladies bowres;
  Where they in idle pompe, or wanton play,
  Consumed had their goods, and thriftlesse howres,
And lastly throwne themselves into these heavy stowres.

                    LII

Whose case when as the carefull Dwarfe had tould,                  460
  And made ensample of their mournefull sight
  Unto his maister, he no lenger would
  There dwell in perill of like painefull plight,
  But early rose, and ere that dawning light
  Discovered had the world to heaven wyde,                         465
  He by a privie Posterne tooke his flight,
  That of no envious eyes he mote be spyde:
For doubtlesse death ensewd, if any him descryde.

                    LIII

Scarse could he footing find in that fowle way,
  For many corses, like a great Lay-stall,                         470
  Of murdred men which therein strowed lay,
  Without remorse, or decent funerall:
  Which all through that great Princesse pride did fall
  And came to shamefull end. And them beside
  Forth ryding underneath the castell wall,                        475
  A donghill of dead carkases he spide,
The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house of Pride.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO VI

        From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace
          fayre Una is releast:
        Whom salvage nation does adore,
          and learnes her wise beheast.

                    I

As when a ship, that flyes faire under saile,
  An hidden rocke escaped hath unwares,
  That lay in waite her wrack for to bewaile,
  The Marriner yet halfe amazed stares
  At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares                          5
  To joy at his foole-happie oversight:
  So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares
  The dreadlesse courage of this Elfin knight,
Having escapt so sad ensamples in his sight.

                    II

Yet sad he was that his too hastie speede                           10
  The faire Duess' had forst him leave behind;
  And yet more sad, that Una his deare dreed
  Her truth had staind with treason so unkind;
  Yet crime in her could never creature find,
  But for his love, and for her owne selfe sake,                    15
  She wandred had from one to other Ynd,°
  Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake,
Till her unwares the fiers Sansloy did overtake.

                    III

Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat,
  Led her away into a forest wilde,                                 20
  And turning wrathfull fyre to lustfull heat,
  With beastly sin thought her to have defilde,
  And made the vassal of his pleasures wilde.
  Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes,
  Her to persuade that stubborne fort to yilde:                     25
  For greater conquest of hard love he gaynes,
That workes it to his will, then he that it constraines.

                    IV

With fawning words he courted her awhile,
  And looking lovely, and oft sighing sore,
  Her constant hart did tempt with diverse guile,                   30
  But wordes and lookes, and sighes she did abhore;
  As rocke of Diamond steadfast evermore,
  Yet for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye,
  He snatcht the vele that hong her face before;
  Then gan her beautie shyne, as brightest skye                     35
And burnt his beastly hart t'efforce her chastitye.

                    V

So when he saw his flatt'ring artes to fayle,
  And subtile engines bett from batteree;
  With greedy force he gan the fort assayle,
  Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee,                          40
  And with rich spoile of ransackt chastitee.
  Ah heavens! that do this hideous act behold,
  And heavenly virgin thus outraged see,
  How can ye vengeance just so long withold
And hurle not flashing flames upon that Paynim bold?                45

                    VI

The pitteous maiden carefull comfortlesse,
  Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shrieking cryes,
  The last vaine helpe of womens great distresse,
  And with loud plaints importuneth the skyes,
  That molten starres do drop like weeping eyes;                    50
  And Phoebus flying so most shameful sight,
  His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,
  And hides for shame. What wit of mortall wight
Can now devise to quit a thrall from such a plight?

                    VII

Eternal providence exceeding thought,                               55
  Where none appeares can make herselfe a way:
  A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,
  From Lyons clawes to pluck the griped pray.
  Her shrill outcryes and shriekes so loud did bray,
  That all the woodes and forestes did resownd;                     60
  A troupe of Faunes and Satyres° far away
  Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,
Whiles old Sylvanus° slept in shady arber sownd:

                    VIII

Who when they heard that pitteous strained voice,
  In haste forsooke their rurall meriment,                          65
  And ran towards the far rebownded noyce,
  To weet, what wight so loudly did lament.
  Unto the place they come incontinent:
  Whom when the raging Sarazin espide,
  A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement,                            70
  Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide,
But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride.

                    IX

The wyld woodgods arrived in the place,
  There find the virgin dolefull desolate,
  With ruffled rayments, and faire blubbred face,                   75
  As her outrageous foe had left her late;
  And trembling yet through feare of former hate:
  All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,
  And gin to pittie her unhappie state;
  All stand astonied at her beautie bright,                         80
In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight.

                    X

She more amaz'd, in double dread doth dwell;
  And every tender part for feare doth shake:
  As when a greedie Wolfe, through hunger fell,
  A seely Lambe farre from the flocke does take,                    85
  Of whom he meanes his bloudie feast to make,
  A Lyon spyes fast running towards him,
  The innocent pray in hast he does forsake,
  Which quit from death yet quakes in every lim
With chaunge of feare,° to see the Lyon looke so grim.              90

                    XI

Such fearefull fit assaid her trembling hart,
  Ne word to speake, ne joynt to move she had:
  The salvage nation feele her secret smart,
  And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad;
  Their frowning forheads with rough hornes yclad,                  95
  And rustick horror° all a side doe lay;
  And gently grenning, show a semblance glad
  To comfort her, and feare to put away,
Their backward bent knees° teach her humbly to obay.

                    XII

The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet commit                          100
  Her single person to their barbarous truth;°
  But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sit,
  Late learnd° what harme to hasty trust ensu'th:
  They in compassion of her tender youth,
  And wonder of her beautie soveraine,                             105
  Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth,
  And all prostrate upon the lowly plaine,
Do kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count'nance faine.

                    XIII

Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,
  And yieldes her to extremitie of time;                           110
  So from the ground she fearlesse doth arise,
  And walketh forth without suspect of crime:°
  They all as glad, as birdes of joyous Prime,
  Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,
  Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme,                     115
  And with greene braunches strowing all the ground,
Do worship her, as Queene, with olive° girlond cround.

                    XIV

And all the way their merry pipes they sound,
  That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring,
  And with their horned feet° do weare the ground,                 120
  Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring.
  So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;
  Who with the noyse awaked commeth out
  To weet the cause, his weake steps governing,
  And aged limbs on Cypresse stadle stout;                         125
And with an yvie twyne his wast is girt about.

                    XV

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad,
  Or Bacchus merry fruit° they did invent,
  Or Cybeles franticke rites° have made them mad,
  They drawing nigh, unto their God present                        130
  That flowre of faith and beautie excellent.
  The God himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare,°
  Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent;
  His owne faire Dryope° now he thinkes not faire,
And Pholoe fowle when her to this he doth compaire.                135

                    XVI

The woodborne people fall before her flat,
  And worship her as Goddesse of the wood;
  And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what
  To thinke of wight so faire, but gazing stood,
  In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood;                    140
  Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see,
  But Venus never had so sober mood;
  Sometimes Diana he her takes to bee,
But misseth bow, and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.

                    XVII

By vew of her he ginneth to revive                                 145
  His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse,°
  And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,
  How faire he was, and yet not faire to this,°
  And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse
  A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy                          150
  Did love as life, above all worldly blisse;
  For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after joy,°
But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild annoy.°

                    XVIII

The wooddy Nymphes, faire Hamadryades,°
  Her to behold do thither runne apace,                            155
  And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades°
  Flocke all about to see her lovely face:
  But when they vewed have her heavenly grace,
  They envy her in their malitious mind,
  And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace:                        160
  But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind,°
And henceforth nothing faire but her on earth they find.

                    XIX

Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse° lucky maid,
  Did her content to please their feeble eyes,
  And long time with that salvage people staid,                    165
  To gather breath in many miseries.
  During which time her gentle wit she plyes,
  To teach them truth, which worshipt her in vaine,
  And made her th' Image of Idolatryes°;
  But when their bootlesse zeale she did restraine                 170
From her own worship, they her Asse would worship fayn.

                    XX

It fortuned a noble warlike knight°
  By just occasion° to that forrest came,
  To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right,
  From whence he tooke his well deserved name:                     175
  He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame,
  And fild far lands with glorie of his might,
  Plaine, faithfull, true, and enimy of shame,
  And ever lov'd to fight for Ladies right:
But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did delight.                 180

                    XXI

A Satyres sonne yborne in forrest wyld,
  By straunge adventure as it did betyde,
  And there begotten of a Lady myld,
  Faire Thyamis° the daughter of Labryde,
  That was in sacred bands of wedlocke tyde                        185
  To Therion, a loose unruly swayne;
  Who had more joy to raunge the forrest wyde,
  And chase the salvage beast with busie payne,
Then serve his Ladies love, and wast in pleasures vayne.

                    XXII

The forlorne mayd did with loves longing burne                     190
  And could not lacke her lovers company,
  But to the wood she goes, to serve her turne,
  And seeke her spouse that from her still does fly,
  And followes other game and venery:
  A Satyre chaunst her wandring for to finde,                      195
        *       *       *       *       *
And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind.

                    XXIII

So long in secret cabin there he held
        *       *       *       *       *
  Then home he suffred her for to retyre,
  For ransome leaving him the late borne childe;
  Whom till to ryper yeares he gan aspire,                         200
  He noursled up in life and manners wilde,
Emongst wild beasts and woods, from lawes of men exilde.

                    XXIV

For all he taught the tender ymp, was but°
  To banish cowardize and bastard feare;
  His trembling hand he would him force to put                     205
  Upon the Lyon and the rugged Beare;
  And from the she Beares teats her whelps to teare;
  And eke wyld roaring Buls he would him make
  To tame, and ryde their backes not made to beare;
  And the Robuckes in flight to overtake,                          210
That every beast for feare of him did fly and quake.

                    XXV

Thereby so fearlesse, and so fell he grew,
  That his owne sire and maister of his guise°
  Did often tremble at his horrid vew,°
  And oft for dread of hurt would him advise,                      215
  The angry beasts not rashly to despise,
  Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne
  The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise,
  (A lesson hard) and make the Libbard sterne
Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.              220

                    XXVI

And for to make his powre approved more,
  Wyld beasts in yron yokes he would compell;
  The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore,
  The Pardale swift, and the tigre cruell,
  The Antelope, and Wolfe both fierce and fell;                    225
  And them constraine in equall teme to draw.
  Such joy he had, their stubborne harts to quell,
  And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull aw,
That his beheast they feared, as a tyrans law.

                    XXVII

His loving mother came upon a day                                  230
  Unto the woods, to see her little sonne;
  And chaunst unwares to meet him in the way,
  After his sportes, and cruell pastime donne;
  When after him a Lyonesse did runne,
  That roaring all with rage, did lowd requere                     235
  Her children deare, whom he away had wonne:
  The Lyon whelpes she saw how he did beare,
And lull in rugged armes, withouten childish feare.

                    XXVIII

The fearefull Dame all quaked at the sight,
  And turning backe, gan fast to fly away,                         240
  Untill with love revokt from vaine affright,
  She hardly yet perswaded was to stay,
  And then to him these womanish words gan say;
  Ah Satyrane, my dearling, and my joy,
  For love of me leave off this dreadfull play;                    245
  To dally thus with death is no fit toy,
Go find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy.

                    XXIX

In these and like delights of bloudy game
  He trayned was, till ryper yeares he raught;
  And there abode, whilst any beast of name                        250
  Walkt in that forest, whom he had not taught
  To feare his force: and then his courage haught
  Desird of forreine foemen to be knowne,
  And far abroad for straunge adventures sought;
  In which his might was never overthrowne;                        255
But through all Faery lond his famous worth was blown.°

                    XXX

Yet evermore it was his manner faire,
  After long labours and adventures spent,
  Unto those native woods for to repaire,
  To see his sire and offspring auncient.                          260
  And now he thither came for like intent;
  Where he unwares the fairest Una found,
  Straunge Lady, in so straunge habiliment,
  Teaching the Satyres, which her sat around,
Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound.           265

                    XXXI

He wondred at her wisedome heavenly rare,
  Whose like in womens wit he never knew;
  And when her curteous deeds he did compare,
  Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew,
  Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw,                   270
  And joyd to make proofe of her crueltie,
  On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse, and so trew:
  Thenceforth he kept her goodly company,
And learnd her discipline of faith and veritie.

                    XXXII

But she all vowd unto the Redcrosse knight,                        275
  His wandring perill closely did lament,
  Ne in this new acquaintaunce could delight,
  But her deare heart with anguish did torment,
  And all her wit in secret counsels spent,
  How to escape. At last in privie wise                            280
  To Satyrane she shewed her intent;
  Who glad to gain such favour, gan devise
How with that pensive Maid he best might thence arise.

                    XXXIII

So on a day when Satyres all were gone
  To do their service to Sylvanus old,                             285
  The gentle virgin left behind alone
  He led away with courage stout and bold.
  Too late it was, to Satyres to be told,
  Or ever hope recover her againe:
  In vaine he seekes that having cannot hold.                      290
  So fast he carried her with carefull paine,
That they the woods are past, and come now to the plaine.

                    XXXIV

The better part now of the lingring day,
  They traveild had, whenas they farre espide
  A weary wight forwandring by the way,                            295
  And towards him they gan in haste to ride,
  To weete of newes, that did abroad betide,
  Or tydings of her knight of the Redcrosse.
  But he them spying, gan to turne aside,
  For feare as seemd, or for some feigned losse;                   300
More greedy they of newes, fast towards him do crosse.

                    XXXV

A silly man, in simple weedes forworne,
  And soild with dust of the long dried way;
  His sandales were with toilsome travell torne,
  And face all tand with scorching sunny ray,                      305
  As he had traveild many a sommers day,
  Through boyling sands of Arabie and Ynde;
  And in his hand a Jacobs staffe,° to stay
  His wearie limbes upon: and eke behind,
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.            310

                    XXXVI

The knight approaching nigh, of him inquerd
  Tidings of warre, and of adventures new;
  But warres, nor new adventures none he herd.
  Then Una gan to aske, if ought he knew,
  Or heard abroad of that her champion trew,                       315
  That in his armour bare a croslet red.
  Aye me, Deare dame (quoth he) well may I rew
  To tell the sad sight which mine eies have red.
These eies did see that knight both living and eke ded.

                    XXXVII

That cruell word her tender hart so thrild,                        320
  That suddein cold did runne through every vaine,
  And stony horrour all her sences fild
  With dying fit, that downe she fell for paine.
  The knight her lightly reared up againe,
  And comforted with curteous kind reliefe:                        325
  Then, wonne from death, she bad him tellen plaine
  The further processe of her hidden griefe:
The lesser pangs can beare, who hath endur'd the chiefe.

                    XXXVIII

Then gan the Pilgrim thus, I chaunst this day,
  This fatall day, that shall I ever rew,                          330
  To see two knights in travell on my way
  (A sory sight) arraung'd in battell new,
  Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew:
  My fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife,
  To see their blades so greedily imbrew,                          335
  That drunke with bloud, yet thristed after life:
What more? the Redcrosse knight was slaine with Paynim knife.

                    XXXIX

Ah dearest Lord (quoth she) how might that bee,
  And he the stoughtest knight, that ever wonne?
  Ah dearest dame (quoth he) how might I see                       340
  The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne?
  Where is (said Satyrane) that Paynims sonne,
  That him of life, and us of joy hath reft?
  Not far away (quoth he) he hence doth wonne
  Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left                        345
Washing his bloudy wounds, that through the steele were cleft.

                    XL

Therewith the knight thence marched forth in hast,
  Whiles Una with huge heavinesse opprest,
  Could not for sorrow follow him so fast;
  And soone he came, as he the place had ghest,                    350
  Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did rest,
  In secret shadow by a fountaine side:
  Even he it was, that earst would have supprest
  Faire Una: whom when Satyrane espide,
With fowle reprochfull words he boldly him defide.                 355

                    XLI

And said, Arise thou cursed Miscreaunt,
  That hast with knightlesse guile and trecherous train
  Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest vaunt
  That good knight of the Redcrosse to have slain:
  Arise, and with like treason now maintain                        360
  Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield.
  The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain,
  And catching up in hast his three-square shield,
And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field.

                    XLII

And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborne Elfe,                       365
  In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent,
  Anothers wrongs to wreake upon thy selfe:
  Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blent
  My name with guile and traiterous intent:
  That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew,                     370
  But had he beene, where earst his arms were lent,°
  Th' enchaunter vaine° his errour should not rew:
But thou his errour shalt,° I hope, now proven trew.

                    XLIII

Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,
  To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile                        375
  Each other bent his enimy to quell,
  That with their force they perst both plate and maile,
  And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile,
  That it would pitty any living eie.
  Large floods of bloud adowne their sides did raile;              380
  But floods of bloud could not them satisfie:
Both hungred after death: both chose to win, or die.

                    XLIV

So long they fight, and fell revenge pursue,
  That fainting each, themselves to breathen let,
  And oft refreshed, battell oft renue:                            385
  As when two Bores with rancling malice met,°
  Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret,
  Til breathlesse both them selves aside retire,
  Where foming wrath, their cruell tuskes they whet,
  And trample th' earth, the whiles they may respire;              390
Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire.

                    XLV

So fiersly, when these knights had breathed once,
  They gan to fight returne, increasing more
  Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce.
  With heaped strokes more hugely then before,                     395
  That with their drerie wounds and bloudy gore
  They both deformed, scarsely could be known.
  By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore,
  Led with their noise, which through the aire was thrown:
Arriv'd, wher they in erth their fruitles bloud had sown.          400

                    XLVI

Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin
  Espide, he gan revive the memory
  Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin,
  And left the doubtfull battell hastily,
  To catch her, newly offred to his eie:                           405
  But Satyrane with strokes him turning, staid,
  And sternely bad him other businesse plie,
  Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid:
Wherewith he all enrag'd, these bitter speaches said.

                    XLVII

O foolish faeries son, what fury mad                               410
  Hath thee incenst, to hast thy doefull fate?
  Were it not better I that Lady had,
  Then that thou hadst repented it too late?
  Most senseless man he, that himselfe doth hate
  To love another. Lo then for thine ayd                           415
  Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.°
  So they two fight; the whiles the royall Mayd
Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afrayd.

                    XLVIII

But that false Pilgrim, which that leasing told,
  Being in deed old Archimage, did stay                            420
  In secret shadow, all this to behold,
  And much rejoiced in their bloudy fray:
  But when he saw the Damsell passe away,
  He left his stond, and her pursewd apace,
  In hope to bring her to her last decay,°                         425
  But for to tell her lamentable cace,°
And eke this battels end, will need another place.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO VII

        The Redcrosse knight is captive made
          by Gyaunt proud opprest,
        Prince Arthur meets with Una great-
          ly with those newes distrest.

                    I

What man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,
  As to discry the crafty cunning traine,
  By which deceipt doth maske in visour faire,
  And cast her colours dyed deepe in graine,
  To seeme like Truth, whose shape she well can faine,              5
  And fitting gestures to her purpose frame;
  The guiltlesse man with guile to entertaine?
  Great maistresse of her art was that false Dame,
The false Duessa, cloked with Fidessaes name.

                    II

Who when returning from the drery Night,                            10
  She fownd not in that perilous house of Pryde,
  Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse knight,
  Her hoped pray; she would no lenger bide,
  But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide.
  Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate                        15
  To rest him selfe, foreby a fountaine side,
  Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,
And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.

                    III

He feedes upon° the cooling shade, and bayes
  His sweatie forehead in the breathing wind,                       20
  Which through the trembling leaves full gently playes,
  Wherein the cherefull birds of sundry kind
  Do chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mind:
  The Witch approaching gan him fairely greet,
  And with reproch of carelesnesse unkind                           25
  Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet,
With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet.

                    IV

Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,
  And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous shade,
  Which shielded them against the boyling heat,                     30
  And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade,
  About the fountaine like a girlond made;
  Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,
  Ne ever would through fervent sommer fade:
  The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell,                    35
Was out of Dianes favour, as it then befell.

                    V

The cause was this: One day, when Phoebe° fayre
  With all her band was following the chace,
  This Nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of scorching ayre,
  Sat downe to rest in middest of the race:                         40
  The goddesse wroth gan fowly her disgrace,
  And bad the waters, which from her did flow,
  Be such as she her selfe was then in place.
  Thenceforth her waters waxed dull and slow,
And all that drinke thereof do faint and feeble grow.°                  45

                    VI

Hereof this gentle knight unweeting was,
  And lying downe upon the sandie graile,
  Drunke of the streame, as cleare as cristall glas:
  Eftsoones his manly forces gan to faile,
  And mightie strong was turned to feeble fraile.                   50
  His chaunged powres at first them selves not felt,
  Till crudled cold his corage gan assaile,
  And cheareful bloud in faintnesse chill did melt,
Which like a fever fit through all his body swelt.

                    VII

Yet goodly court he made still to his Dame,                         55
  Pourd° out in loosnesse on the grassy grownd,
  Both carelesse of his health, and of his fame:
  Till at the last he heard a dreadfull sownd,
  Which through the wood loud bellowing did rebownd,
  That all the earth for terrour seemd to shake,                    60
  And trees did tremble. Th' Elfe therewith astownd,
  Upstarted lightly from his looser make,°
And his unready weapons gan in hand to take.

                    VIII

But ere he could his armour on him dight,
  Or get his shield, his monstrous enimy                            65
  With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight,
  An hideous Geant,° horrible and hye,
  That with his tallnesse seemd to threat the skye,
  The ground eke groned under him for dreed;
  His living like saw never living eye,                             70
  Ne durst behold: his stature did exceed
The hight of three the tallest sonnes of mortall seed.

                    IX

The greatest Earth his uncouth mother was,
  And blustering Æolus his boasted syre,
        *       *       *       *       *
  Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slime               75
Puft up with emptie wind, and fild with sinfull crime.

                    X

So growen great through arrogant delight
  Of th' high descent, whereof he was yborne,
  And through presumption of his matchlesse might,
  All other powres and knighthood he did scorne.                    80
  Such now he marcheth to this man forlorne,
  And left to losse: his stalking steps are stayde
  Upon a snaggy Oke, which he had torne
  Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made
His mortall mace, wherewith his foeman he dismayde.                 85

                    XI

That when the knight he spide, he gan advance
  With huge force and insupportable mayne,
  And towardes him with dreadfull fury praunce;
  Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in vaine
  Did to him pace, sad battaile to darrayne,                        90
  Disarmd, disgrast, and inwardly dismayde,
  And eke so faint in every joynt and vaine,
  Through that fraile fountaine, which him feeble made,
That scarsely could he weeld his bootlesse single blade.

                    XII

The Geaunt strooke so maynly mercilesse,                            95
  That could have overthrowne a stony towre,
  And were not heavenly grace, that did him blesse,
  He had beene pouldred all, as thin as flowre:
  But he was wary of that deadly stowre,
  And lightly lept from underneath the blow:                       100
  Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre,
  That with the wind it did him overthrow,
And all his sences stound, that still he lay full low.

                    XIII

As when that divelish yron Engin° wrought
  In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies skill,                      105
  With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught,
  And ramd with bullet round, ordaind to kill,
  Conceiveth fire, the heavens it doth fill
  With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth choke,
  That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will,                110
  Through smouldry cloud of duskish stincking smoke,
That th' onely breath° him daunts, who hath escapt the stroke.

                    XIV

So daunted when the Geaunt saw the knight,
  His heavie hand he heaved up on hye,
  And him to dust thought to have battred quight,                  115
  Untill Duessa loud to him gan crye;
  O great Orgoglio, greatest under skye,
  O hold thy mortall hand for Ladies sake,
  Hold for my sake, and do him not to dye,°
  But vanquisht thine eternall bondslave make,                     120
And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy Leman take.

                    XV

He hearkned, and did stay from further harmes,
  To gayne so goodly guerdon, as she spake:
  So willingly she came into his armes,
  Who her as willingly to grace did take,                          125
  And was possessed of his new found make.
  Then up he tooke the slombred sencelesse corse,
  And ere he could out of his swowne awake,
  Him to his castle brought with hastie forse,
And in a Dongeon deepe him threw without remorse.                  130

                    XVI

From that day forth Duessa was his deare,
  And highly honourd in his haughtie eye,
  He gave her gold and purple pall to weare,
  And triple crowne set on her head full hye,
  And her endowd with royall majestye:                             135
  Then for to make her dreaded more of men,
  And peoples harts with awfull terrour tye,
  A monstrous beast° ybred in filthy fen
He chose, which he had kept long time in darksome den.°

                    XVII

Such one it was, as that renowmed Snake°                           140
  Which great Alcides in Stremona slew,
  Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake,
  Whose many heads out budding ever new
  Did breed him endlesse labour to subdew:
  But this same Monster much more ugly was;                        145
  For seven great heads out of his body grew,
  An yron brest, and back of scaly bras,°
And all embrewd in bloud, his eyes did shine as glas.

                    XVIII

His tayle was stretched out in wondrous length,
  That to the house of heavenly gods it raught,°                   150
  And with extorted powre, and borrow'd strength,
  The ever-burning lamps from thence it braught,
  And prowdly threw to ground, as things of naught;
  And underneath his filthy feet did tread
  The sacred things, and holy heasts foretaught.°                  155
  Upon this dreadfull Beast with sevenfold head
He sett the false Duessa, for more aw and dread.

                    XIX

The wofull Dwarfe, which saw his maisters fall,
  Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed,
  And valiant knight become a caytive thrall,                      160
  When all was past, tooke up his forlorne weed,°
  His mightie armour, missing most at need;
  His silver shield, now idle maisterlesse;
  His poynant speare, that many made to bleed,
  The rueful moniments° of heavinesse,                             165
And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse.

                    XX

He had not travaild long, when on the way
  He wofull Ladie, wofull Una met,
  Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,
  Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let:                       170
  Who when her eyes she on the Dwarfe had set,
  And saw the signes, that deadly tydings spake,
  She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret,
  And lively breath her sad brest did forsake,
Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake.            175

                    XXI

The messenger of so unhappie newes,
  Would faine have dyde: dead was his hart within,
  Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes:
  At last recovering hart, he does begin
  To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin,                      180
  And everie tender part does tosse and turne.
  So hardly° he the flitted life does win,
  Unto her native prison to retourne:
Then gins her grieved ghost thus to lament and mourne.

                    XXII

Ye dreary instruments of dolefull sight,                           185
  That doe this deadly spectacle behold,
  Why do ye lenger feed on loathed light,
  Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,
  Sith cruell fates the carefull threeds unfould,
  The which my life and love together tyde?                        190
  Now let the stony dart of senselesse cold
  Perce to my hart, and pas through every side,
And let eternall night so sad sight fro me hide.

                    XXIII

O lightsome day, the lampe of highest Jove,
  First made by him, mens wandring wayes to guyde,                 195
  When darkenesse he in deepest dongeon drove,
  Henceforth thy hated face for ever hyde,
  And shut up heavens windowes shyning wyde:
  For earthly sight can nought but sorrow breed,
  And late repentance, which shall long abyde.                     200
  Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed,
But seeled up with death,° shall have their deadly meed.

                    XXIV

Then downe againe she fell unto the ground;
  But he her quickly reared up againe:
  Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd                     205
  And thrise he her reviv'd with busie paine,
  At last when life recover'd had the raine,
  And over-wrestled his strong enemie,
  With foltring tong, and trembling every vaine,
  Tell on (quoth she) the wofull Tragedie,                         210
The which these reliques sad present unto mine eie.

                    XXV

Tempestuous fortune hath spent all her spight,
  And thrilling sorrow throwne his utmost dart;
  Thy sad tongue cannot tell more heavy plight,
  Then that I feele, and harbour in mine hart:                     215
  Who hath endur'd the whole, can beare each part.
  If death it be, it is not the first wound,
  That launched hath my brest with bleeding smart.
  Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound;°
If lesse then that I feare,° more favour I have found.             220

                    XXVI

Then gan the Dwarfe the whole discourse declare,
  The subtill traines of Archimago old;
  The wanton loves of false Fidessa faire,
  Bought with the blood of vanquisht Paynim bold;
  The wretched payre transformed to treen mould;                   225
  The house of Pride, and perils round about;
  The combat, which he with Sansjoy did hould;
  The lucklesse conflict with the Gyant stout,
Wherein captiv'd, of life or death he stood in doubt.

                    XXVII

She heard with patience all unto the end,                          230
  And strove to maister sorrowfull assay,°
  Which greater grew, the more she did contend,
  And almost rent her tender hart in tway;
  And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay:
  For greater love, the greater is the losse.                      235
  Was never Lady° loved dearer day,
  Then she did love the knight of the Redcrosse;
For whose deare sake so many troubles her did tosse.

                    XXVIII

At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,
  She up arose, resolving him to find                              240
  Alive or dead: and forward forth doth pas,
  All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd:
  And evermore, in constant carefull mind,
  She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale;
  Long tost with stormes, and bet with bitter wind,                245
  High over hills, and low adowne the dale,
She wandred many a wood, and measurd many a vale.

                    XXIX

At last she chaunced by good hap to meet
  A goodly knight,° faire marching by the way
  Together with his Squire, arrayed meet:                          250
  His glitterand armour shined farre away,
  Like glauncing light of Phoebus brightest ray;
  From top to toe no place appeared bare,
  That deadly dint of steele endanger may:
  Athwart his brest a bauldrick brave he ware,                     255
That shynd, like twinkling stars, with stons most pretious rare.

                    XXX

And in the midst thereof one pretious stone
  Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous mights,
  Shapt like a Ladies head,° exceeding shone,
  Like Hesperus° emongst the lesser lights,                        260
  And strove for to amaze the weaker sights:
  Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong
  In yvory sheath, ycarv'd with curious slights;
  Whose hilts were burnisht gold, and handle strong
Of mother pearle, and buckled with a golden tong.                  265

                    XXXI

His haughtie helmet, horrid all with gold,
  Both glorious brightnesse, and great terrour bred;
  For all the crest a Dragon° did enfold
  With greedie pawes, and over all did spred
  His golden wings: his dreadfull hideous hed                      270
  Close couched on the bever, seem'd to throw
  From flaming mouth bright sparkles fierie red,
  That suddeine horror to faint harts did show,
And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his backe full low.

                    XXXII

Upon the top of all his loftie crest,                              275
  A bunch of haires discolourd diversly,
  With sprincled pearle, and gold full richly drest,
  Did shake, and seemd to daunce for jollity,
  Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye
  On top of greene Selinis° all alone,                             280
  With blossoms brave bedecked daintily;
  Whose tender locks do tremble every one
At every little breath that under heaven is blowne.

                    XXXIII

His warlike shield° all closely cover'd was,
  Ne might of mortall eye be ever seene;                           285
  Not made of steele, nor of enduring bras,
  Such earthly mettals soone consumed beene;
  But all of Diamond perfect pure and cleene
  It framed was, one massie entire mould,
  Hewen out of Adamant rocke with engines keene,                   290
  That point of speare it never percen could,
Ne dint of direfull sword divide the substance would.

                    XXXIV

The same to wight he never wont disclose,
  But when as monsters huge he would dismay,
  Or daunt unequall armies of his foes,                            295
  Or when the flying heavens he would affray;
  For so exceeding shone his glistring ray,
  That Phoebus golden face it did attaint,
  As when a cloud his beames doth over-lay;
  And silver Cynthia° wexed pale and faint,                        300
As when her face is staynd with magicke arts constraint.

                    XXXV

No magicke arts hereof had any might,
  Nor bloudie wordes of bold Enchaunters call;
  But all that was not such as seemd in sight,°
  Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall;                  305
  And, when him list° the raskall routes appall,
  Men into stones therewith he could transmew,
  And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all;
  And when him list the prouder lookes subdew,
He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew.                 310

                    XXXVI

Ne let it seeme, that credence this exceedes,
  For he that made the same, was knowne right well
  To have done much more admirable deedes.
  It Merlin° was, which whylome did excell
  All living wightes in might of magicke spell:                    315
  Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought
  For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell;
  But when he dyde, the Faerie Queene it brought
To Faerie lond, where yet it may be seene, if sought.

                    XXXVII

A gentle youth, his dearely loved Squire,                          320
  His speare of heben wood behind him bare,
  Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire,
  Had riven many a brest with pikehead square:
  A goodly person, and could menage faire
  His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit,                       325
  Who under him did trample° as the aire,
  And chauft, that any on his backe should sit;
The yron rowels into frothy fome he bit.

                    XXXVIII

When as this knight nigh to the Ladie drew,
  With lovely court he gan her entertaine;                         330
  But when he heard her answeres loth, he knew
  Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine:
  Which to allay, and calme her storming paine,
  Faire feeling words he wisely gan display,
  And for her humour° fitting purpose faine,                       335
  To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray;
Wherewith emmov'd, these bleeding words she gan to say.

                    XXXIX

What worlds delight, or joy of living speach
  Can heart, so plung'd in sea of sorrowes deep,
  And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach?                      340
  The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe,
  And in my heart his yron arrow steepe,
  Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale:
  Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe,
  Then rip up griefe, where it may not availe,                     345
My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile.

                    XL

Ah Ladie deare, quoth then the gentle knight,
  Well may I weene your griefe is wondrous great;
  For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright,
  Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat.                  350
  But wofull Ladie, let me you intrete
  For to unfold the anguish of your hart:
  Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete,
  And counsell mittigates the greatest smart;
Found° never helpe who never would his hurts impart.               355

                    XLI

O but (quoth she) great griefe will not be tould,°
  And can more easily be thought then said.
  Right so (quoth he), but he that never would,
  Could never: will to might gives greatest aid.
  But griefe (quoth she) does greater grow displaid,               360
  If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire.
  Despaire breedes not (quoth he) where faith is staid.
  No faith° so fast (quoth she) but flesh does paire.
Flesh may empaire (quoth he) but reason can repaire.

                    XLII

His goodly reason, and well guided speach,                         365
  So deepe did settle in her gracious thought,
  That her perswaded to disclose the breach,
  Which love and fortune in her heart had wrought,
  And said; Faire Sir, I hope good hap hath brought
  You to inquire the secrets of my griefe,                         370
  Or that your wisedome will direct my thought,
  Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe:
Then heare the storie sad, which I shall tell you briefe.

                    XLIII

The forlorne Maiden, whom your eyes have seene
  The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries,                       375
  Am th' only daughter° of a King and Queene,
  Whose parents deare, whilest equal destinies°
  Did runne about, and their felicities
  The favourable heavens did not envy,
  Did spread their rule through all the territories,               380
  Which Phison° and Euphrates floweth by,
And Gehons golden waves doe wash continually.

                    XLIV

Till that their cruell cursed enemy,
  An huge great Dragon horrible in sight,
  Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary,°                           385
  With murdrous ravine, and devouring might
  Their kingdome spoild, and countrey wasted quight:
  Themselves, for feare into his jawes to fall,
  He forst to castle strong to take their flight,
  Where fast embard in mighty brasen wall,                         390
He has them now foure yeres besiegd to make them thrall.°

                    XLV

Full many knights adventurous and stout
  Have enterpriz'd that Monster to subdew;
  From every coast that heaven walks about,°
  Have thither come the noble Martiall crew,                       395
  That famous hard atchievements still pursew;
  Yet never any could that girlond win,
  But all still shronke, and still he greater grew:
  All they for want of faith, or guilt of sin,
The pitteous pray of his fierce crueltie have bin.                 400

                    XLVI

At last yledd with farre reported praise,
  Which flying fame throughout the world had spred,
  Of doughty knights, whom Faery land did raise,
  That noble order° hight of Maidenhed,
  Forthwith to court of Gloriane° I sped                           405
  Of Gloriane great Queene of glory bright,
  Whose Kingdomes seat Cleopolis° is red,
  There to obtaine some such redoubted knight,
The Parents deare from tyrants powre deliver might.

                    XLVII

It was my chance (my chance was faire and good)                    410
  There for to find a fresh unproved knight,
  Whose manly hands imbrew'd in guiltie blood
  Had never bene, ne ever by his might
  Had throwne to ground the unregarded right:
  Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath made                    415
  (I witnesse am) in many a cruell fight;
  The groning ghosts of many one dismaide
Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging blade.

                    XLVIII

And ye the forlorne reliques of his powre,
  His byting sword, and his devouring speare,                      420
  Which have endured many a dreadfull stowre,
  Can speake his prowesse, that did earst you beare,
  And well could rule: now he hath left you heare
  To be the record of his ruefull losse,
  And of my dolefull disaventurous deare:°                         425
  O heavie record of the good Redcrosse,
Where have you left your Lord, that could so well you tosse?

                    XLIX

Well hoped I, and faire beginnings had,
  That he my captive languor° should redeeme,
  Till all unweeting, an Enchaunter bad                            430
  His sence abusd, and made him to misdeeme
  My loyalty,° not such as it did seeme;
  That rather death desire, then such despight.
  Be judge ye heavens, that all things right esteeme,
  How I him lov'd, and love with all my might,                     435
So thought I eke of him, and thinke I thought aright.

                    L

Thenceforth me desolate he quite forsooke,
  To wander, where wilde fortune would me lead,
  And other bywaies he himselfe betooke,
  Where never foot of living wight did tread,                      440
  That brought° not backe the balefull body dead;
  In which him chaunced false Duessa meete,
  Mine onely foe, mine onely deadly dread,
  Who with her witchcraft, and misseeming sweete,
Inveigled him to follow her desires unmeete.                       445

                    LI

At last by subtill sleights she him betraid
  Unto his foe, a Gyant huge and tall,
  Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid,
  Unwares surprised, and with mighty mall
  The monster mercilesse him made to fall,                         450
  Whose fall did never foe before behold;
  And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched thrall,
  Remedilesse, for aie he doth him hold;
This is my cause of griefe, more great then may be told.

                    LII

Ere she had ended all, she gan to faint:                           455
  But he her comforted and faire bespake,
  Certes, Madame, ye have great cause of plaint,
  The stoutest heart, I weene, could cause to quake.
  But be of cheare, and comfort to you take:
  For till I have acquit your captive knight,                      460
  Assure your selfe, I will you not forsake.
  His chearefull wordes reviv'd her chearelesse spright,
So forth they went, the Dwarfe them guiding ever right.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO VIII

        Faire virgin, to redeeme her deare
          brings Arthur to the fight:
        Who slayes that Gyant, woundes the beast,
          and strips Duessa quight.

                    I

Ay me, how many perils doe enfold
  The righteous man, to make him daily fall,
  Were not that heavenly grace doth him uphold,
  And stedfast truth acquite him out of all.
  Her love is firme, her care continuall,                            5
  So oft as he through his owne foolish pride,
  Or weaknesse is to sinfull bands made thrall:
  Else should this Redcrosse knight in bands have dydd
For whose deliverance she this Prince doth thither guide.

                    II

They sadly traveild thus, until they came                           10
  Nigh to a castle builded strong and hie:
  Then cryde the Dwarfe, Lo yonder is the same,
  In which my Lord my liege doth lucklesse lie,
  Thrall to that Gyants hateful tyrannie:
  Therefore, deare Sir, your mightie powres assay.                  15
  The noble knight alighted by and by
  From loftie steede, and bad the Ladie stay,
To see what end of fight should him befall that day.

                    III

So with the Squire, th' admirer of his might,
  He marched forth towards that castle wall;                        20
  Whose gates he found fast shut, ne living wight
  To ward the same, nor answere commers call.
  Then tooke that Squire an horne° of bugle small.
  Which hong adowne his side in twisted gold
  And tassels gay. Wyde wonders over all                            25
  Of that same hornes great vertues weren told,
Which had approved bene in uses manifold.

                    IV

Was never wight that heard that shrilling sownd,
  But trembling feare did feel in every vaine;
  Three miles it might be easie heard around,                       30
  And Ecchoes three answerd it selfe againe:
  No false enchauntment, nor deceiptfull traine,
  Might once abide the terror of that blast,
  But presently was voide and wholly vaine:
  No gate so strong, no locke so firme and fast,                    35
But with that percing noise flew open quite, or brast.

                    V

The same before the Geants gate he blew,
  That all the castle quaked from the ground,
  And every dore of freewill open flew.
  The Gyant selfe dismaied with that sownd,                         40
  Where he with his Duessa dalliance fownd,
  In hast came rushing forth from inner bowre,
  With staring countenance sterne, as one astownd,
  And staggering steps, to weet, what suddein stowre,
Had wrought that horror strange, and dar'd his dreaded powre.       45

                    VI

And after him the proud Duessa came
  High mounted on her many-headed beast;
  And every head with fyrie tongue did flame,
  And every head was crowned on his creast,
  And bloody mouthed with late cruell feast.°                       50
  That when the knight beheld, his mightie shild
  Upon his manly arme he soone addrest,
  And at him fiercely flew, with courage fild,
And eger greedinesse through every member thrild.

                    VII

Therewith the Gyant buckled him to fight,                           55
  Inflam'd with scornefull wrath and high disdaine,
  And lifting up his dreadfull club on hight,
  All arm'd with ragged snubbes and knottie graine,
  Him thought at first encounter to have slaine.
  But wise and wary was that noble Pere,                            60
  And lightly leaping from so monstrous maine,
  Did faire avoide the violence him nere;
It booted nought to thinke such thunderbolts to beare.

                    VIII

Ne shame he thought to shunne so hideous might:
  The idle stroke, enforcing furious way,                           65
  Missing the marke of his misaymed sight
  Did fall to ground, and with his heavie sway
  So deepely dinted in the driven clay,
  That three yardes deepe a furrow up did throw:
  The sad earth wounded with so sore assay,                         70
  Did grone full grievous underneath the blow,
And trembling with strange feare, did like an earthquake show.

                    IX

As when almightie Jove, in wrathfull mood,°
  To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent,
  Hurles forth his thundring dart with deadly food,                 75
  Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment,
  Through riven cloudes and molten firmament;
  The fierce threeforked engin making way
  Both loftie towres and highest trees hath rent,
  And all that might his angry passage stay,                        80
And shooting in the earth, casts up a mount of clay.

                    X

His boystrous club, so buried in the ground,
  He could not rearen up againe so light,
  But that the knight him at avantage found,
  And whiles he strove his combred clubbe to quight                 85
  Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright
  He smote off his left arme, which like a blocke
  Did fall to ground, depriv'd of native might;
  Large streames of bloud out of the truncked stocke
Forth gushed, like fresh water streame from riven rocke.             90

                    XI

Dismayed with so desperate deadly wound,
  And eke impatient of unwonted paine,
  He lowdly brayd with beastly yelling sound,
  That all the fields rebellowed againe;
  As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian plaine°                     95
  An heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage° doth sting,
  Do for the milkie mothers want complaine,
  And fill the fields with troublous bellowing,
The neighbour woods around with hollow murmur ring.

                    XII

That when his deare Duessa heard, and saw                          100
  The evil stownd, that daungerd her estate,
  Unto his aide she hastily did draw
  Her dreadfull beast, who swolne with blood of late
  Came ramping forth with proud presumpteous gate,
  And threatned all his heads like flaming brands.°                105
  But him the Squire made quickly to retrate,
  Encountring fierce with single sword in hand,
And twixt him and his Lord did like a bulwarke stand.

                    XIII

The proud Duessa, full of wrathfull spight,
  And fierce disdaine, to be affronted so,                         110
  Enforst her purple beast with all her might
  That stop out of the way to overthroe,
  Scorning the let of so unequall foe:
  But nathemore would that courageous swayne
  To her yeeld passage, gainst his Lord to goe,                    115
  But with outrageous strokes did him restraine,
And with his bodie bard the way atwixt them twaine.

                    XIV

Then tooke the angrie witch her golden cup,°
  Which still she bore, replete with magick artes;
  Death and despeyre did many thereof sup,                         120
  And secret poyson through their inner parts,
  Th' eternall bale of heavie wounded harts;
  Which after charmes and some enchauntments said
  She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts;
  Therewith his sturdie courage soone was quayd,                   125
And all his senses were with suddeine dread dismayd.

                    XV

So downe he fell before the cruell beast,
  Who on his neck his bloody clawes did seize,
  That life nigh crusht out of his panting brest:
  No powre he had to stirre, nor will to rize.                     130
  That when the carefull knight gan well avise,
  He lightly left the foe, with whom he fought,
  And to the beast gan turne his enterprise;
  For wondrous anguish in his hart it wrought,
To see his loved Squire into such thraldome brought.               135

                    XVI

And high advauncing his blood-thirstie blade,
  Stroke one of those deformed heads so sore,
  That of his puissance proud ensample made;
  His monstrous scalpe downe to his teeth it tore,
  And that misformed shape mis-shaped more:                        140
  A sea of blood gusht from the gaping wound,
  That her gay garments staynd with filthy gore,
  And overflowed all the field around;
That over shoes in bloud he waded on the ground.

                    XVII

Thereat he roared for exceeding paine,                             145
  That to have heard great horror would have bred,
  And scourging th' emptie ayre with his long traine,
  Through great impatience° of his grieved hed
  His gorgeous ryder from her loftie sted
  Would have cast downe, and trod in durtie myre,                  150
  Had not the Gyant soone her succoured;
  Who all enrag'd with smart and franticke yre,
Came hurtling in full fierce, and forst the knight retyre.

                    XVIII

The force which wont in two to be disperst,
  In one alone left hand° he now unites,                           155
  Which is through rage more strong than both were erst;
  With which his hideous club aloft he dites,
  And at his foe with furious rigour smites,
  That strongest Oake might seeme to overthrow:
  The stroke upon his shield so heavie lites,                      160
  That to the ground it doubleth him full low:
What mortall wight could ever beare so monstrous blow?

                    XIX

And in his fall his shield,° that covered was,
  Did loose his vele by chaunce, and open flew:
  The light whereof, that heavens light did pas,                   165
  Such blazing brightnesse through the aier threw,
  That eye mote not the same endure to vew.
  Which when the Gyaunt spyde with staring eye,
  He downe let fall his arme, and soft withdrew
  His weapon huge, that heaved was on hye                          170
For to have slaine the man, that on the ground did lye.

                    XX

And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, amazd
  At flashing beames of that sunshiny shield,
  Became starke blind, and all his sences daz'd,
  That downe he tumbled on the durtie field,                       175
  And seem'd himselfe as conquered to yield.
  Whom when his maistresse proud perceiv'd to fall,
  Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintnesse reeld,
  Unto the Gyant loudly she gan call,
O helpe Orgoglio, helpe, or else we perish all.                    180

                    XXI

At her so pitteous cry was much amoov'd
  Her champion stout, and for to ayde his frend,
  Againe his wonted angry weapon proov'd:
  But all in vaine: for he has read his end
  In that bright shield, and all their forces spend                185
  Themselves in vaine: for since that glauncing sight,
  He had no powre to hurt, nor to defend;
  As where th' Almighties lightning brond does light,
It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the senses quight.

                    XXII

Whom when the Prince, to battell new addrest,                      190
  And threatning high his dreadfull stroke did see,
  His sparkling blade about his head he blest,
  And smote off quite his right leg by the knee,
  That downe he tombled; as an aged tree,
  High growing on the top of rocky clift,                          195
  Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh hewen be,
  The mightie trunck halfe rent, with ragged rift
Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift.

                    XXIII

Or as a Castle reared high and round,
  By subtile engins and malitious slight                           200
  Is undermined from the lowest ground,
  And her foundation forst, and feebled quight,
  At last downe falles, and with her heaped hight
  Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,
  And yields it selfe unto the victours might;                     205
  Such was this Gyants fall, that seemd to shake
The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake.

                    XXIV

The knight then lightly leaping to the pray,
  With mortall steele him smot againe so sore,
  That headlesse his unweldy bodie lay,                            210
  All wallowd in his owne fowle bloudy gore,
  Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.
  But soone as breath out of his breast did pas,
  That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore,
  Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas                     215
Was nothing left, but like an emptie bladder was.

                    XXV

Whose grievous fall, when false Duessa spide,
  Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,
  And crowned mitre rudely threw aside;
  Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound,                220
  That she could not endure that dolefull stound,
  But leaving all behind her, fled away;
  The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around,
  And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,
So brought unto his Lord, as his deserved pray.                    225

                    XXVI

The royall Virgin which beheld from farre,
  In pensive plight, and sad perplexitie,
  The whole atchievement of this doubtfull warre,
  Came running fast to greet his victorie,
  With sober gladnesse, and myld modestie,                         230
  And with sweet joyous cheare him thus bespake:
  Faire braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,
  That with your worth the world amazed make,
How shall I quite the paines ye suffer for my sake?

                    XXVII

And you fresh budd of vertue springing fast,                       235
  Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto deaths dore,
  What hath poore Virgin for such perill past
  Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore
  My simple selfe, and service evermore;
  And he that high does sit, and all things see                    240
  With equall eyes, their merites to restore,
  Behold what ye this day have done for mee,
And what I cannot quite, requite with usuree.

                    XXVIII

But sith the heavens, and your faire handeling
  Have made you master of the field this day,                      245
  Your fortune maister° eke with governing,
  And well begun end all so well, I pray.
  Ne let that wicked woman scape away;
  For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall,
  My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay,                       250
  Where he his better dayes hath wasted all.
O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call.

                    XXIX

Forthwith he gave in charge unto his Squire,
  That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;
  Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire                     255
  Into the Castle entred forcibly,
  Where living creature none he did espye;
  Then gan he lowdly through the house to call:
  But no man car'd to answere to his crye.
  There raignd a solemne silence over all,                         260
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall.

                    XXX

At last with creeping crooked pace forth came
  An old old man, with beard as white as snow,
  That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,
  And guide his wearie gate both to and fro:                       265
  For his eye sight him failed long ygo,
  And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,
  The which unused rust° did overgrow:
  Those were the keyes of every inner dore,
But he could not them use, but kept them still in store.           270

                    XXXI

But very uncouth sight was to behold,
  How he did fashion his untoward pace,
  For as he forward moov'd his footing old,
  So backward still was turnd his wrincled face,
  Unlike to men, who ever as they trace,                           275
  Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.
  This was the auncient keeper of that place,
  And foster father of the Gyant dead;
His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.

                    XXXII

His reverend haires and holy gravitie                              280
  The knight much honord, as beseemed well,
  And gently askt, where all the people bee,
  Which in that stately building wont to dwell.
  Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell.
  Again he askt, where that same knight was layd,                  285
  Whom great Orgoglio with his puissance fell
  Had made his caytive thrall, againe he sayde,
He could not tell: ne ever other answere made.

                    XXXIII

Then asked he, which way he in might pas:
  He could not tell, againe he answered.                           290
  Thereat the curteous knight displeased was,
  And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red
  How ill it sits with that same silver hed,
  In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:
  But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed                           295
  With natures pen,° in ages grave degree,
Aread in graver wise, what I demaund of thee.

                    XXXIV

His answere likewise was, he could not tell.
  Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance
  When as the noble Prince had marked well,                        300
  He ghest his nature by his countenance,
  And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.
  Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach
  Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance.
  Each dore he opened without any breach;                          305
There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach.

                    XXXV

There all within full rich arrayd he found,
  With royall arras and resplendent gold.
  And did with store of every thing abound,
  That greatest Princes° presence might behold.                    310
  But all the floore (too filthy to be told)
  With bloud of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew,°
  Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold,
  Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew,
And sacred ashes over it was strowed new.°                         315

                    XXXVI

And there beside of marble stone was built
  An Altare,° carv'd with cunning ymagery,
  On which true Christians bloud was often spilt,
  And holy Martyrs often doen to dye,
  With cruell malice and strong tyranny:                           320
  Whose blessed sprites from underneath the stone
  To God for vengeance cryde continually,
  And with great griefe were often heard to grone,
That hardest heart would bleede, to hear their piteous mone.

                    XXXVII

Through every rowme he sought, and every bowr,                     325
  But no where could he find that woful thrall:
  At last he came unto an yron doore,
  That fast was lockt, but key found not at all
  Emongst that bounch, to open it withall;
  But in the same a little grate was pight,                        330
  Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call
  With all his powre, to weet, if living wight
Were housed there within, whom he enlargen might.

                    XXXVIII

Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
  These pitteous plaints and dolours did resound;                  335
  O who is that, which brings me happy choyce
  Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
  Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?
  For now three Moones have changed thrice their hew,
  And have been thrice hid underneath the ground,                  340
  Since I the heavens chearfull face did vew,
O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew.

                    XXXIX

Which when that Champion heard, with percing point
  Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore,
  And trembling horrour ran through every joynt                    345
  For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore:
  Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore,
  With furious force, and indignation fell;
  Where entred in, his foot could find no flore,
  But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell,                       350
That breathed ever forth a filthie banefull smell.

                    XL

But neither darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands,
  Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold,
  (Entire affection hateth nicer hands)
  But that with constant zeale, and courage bold,                  355
  After long paines and labours manifold,
  He found the meanes that Prisoner up to reare;
  Whose feeble thighes, unhable to uphold
  His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare.
A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere.                    360

                    XLI

His sad dull eyes deepe sunck in hollow pits,
  Could not endure th' unwonted sunne to view;
  His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits,
  And empty sides deceived of their dew,
  Could make a stony hart his hap to rew;                          365
  His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs°
  Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets hew,
  Were cleane consum'd, and all his vitall powres
Decayd, and all his flesh shronk up like withered flowres.

                    XLII

Whom when his Lady saw, to him she ran                             370
  With hasty joy: to see him made her glad,
  And sad to view his visage pale and wan,
  Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad.
  Tho when her well of teares she wasted had,
  She said, Ah dearest Lord, what evill starre°                    375
  On you hath fround, and pourd his influence bad,
  That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre,
And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre?

                    XLIII

But welcome now my Lord, in wele or woe,
  Whose presence I have lackt too long a day;                      380
  And fie on Fortune mine avowed foe,°
  Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe now alay.
  And for these wrongs shall treble penaunce pay
  Of treble good: good growes of evils priefe.°
  The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay,                     385
  Had no delight to treaten of his griefe;
His long endured famine needed more reliefe.

                    XLIV

Faire Lady, then said that victorious knight,
  The things, that grievous were to do, or beare,
  Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight;                        390
  Best musicke breeds delight° in loathing eare:
  But th' onely good, that growes of passed feare,
  Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.
  This dayes ensample hath this lesson deare
  Deepe written in my heart with yron pen,                         395
That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men.

                    XLV

Henceforth sir knight, take to you wonted strength,
  And maister these mishaps with patient might;
  Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length,
  And loe that wicked woman in your sight,                         400
  The roote of all your care, and wretched plight,
  Now in your powre, to let her live, or dye.
  To do her dye (quoth Una) were despight,
  And shame t'avenge so weake an enimy;
But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly.               405

                    XLVI

So as she bad, that witch they disaraid,°
  And robd of royall robes, and purple pall,
  And ornaments that richly were displaid;
  Ne spared they to strip her naked all.
  Then when they had despoiled her tire and call,                  410
  Such as she was, their eyes might her behold,
  That her misshaped parts did them appall,
  A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old,
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told.

       *       *       *       *       *

                    XLIX

Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were,                    415
  And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.
  Such then (said Una) as she seemeth here,
  Such is the face of falshood, such the sight
  Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light
  Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne.                        420
  Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight,
  And all her filthy feature open showne,
They let her goe at will, and wander wayes unknowne.

                    L

She flying fast from heavens hated face,
  And from the world that her discovered wide,                     425
  Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace,
  From living eyes her open shame to hide,
  And lurkt in rocks and caves long unespide.
  But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire
  Did in that castle afterwards abide,                             430
  To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire,
Where store they found of all that dainty was and rare.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO IX

        His loves and lignage Arthur tells:
          the Knights knit friendly hands:
        Sir Trevisan flies from Despayre,
          whom Redcrosse Knight withstands.

                    I

O goodly golden chaine,° wherewith yfere
  The vertues linked are in lovely wize:
  And noble mindes of yore allyed were,
  In brave poursuit of chevalrous emprize,
  That none did others safety despize,                               5
  Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands,
  But friendly each did others prayse devize,
  How to advaunce with favourable hands,
As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse knight from bands.

                    II

Who when their powres empaird through labour long,                  10
  With dew repast they had recured well,
  And that weake captive wight now wexed strong,
  Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,
  But forward fare, as their adventures fell,
  But ere they parted, Una faire besought                           15
  That straunger knight his name and nation tell;
  Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,
Should die unknown, and buried be in thanklesse° thought.

                    III

Faire virgin (said the Prince) ye me require
  A thing without the compas of my wit:                             20
  For both the lignage and the certain Sire,
  From which I sprong, from me are hidden yit.
  For all so soone as life did me admit
  Into this world, and shewed heavens light,
  From mothers pap I taken was unfit:                               25
  And streight deliver'd to a Faery knight,°
To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might.

                    IV

Unto old Timon he me brought bylive,
  Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene
  In warlike feates th'expertest man alive,                         30
  And is the wisest now on earth I weene;
  His dwelling is low in a valley greene,
  Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,°
  From whence the river Dee° as silver cleene,
  His tombling billowes roll with gentle rore:                      35
There all my dayes he traind me up in vertuous lore.

                    V

Thither the great magicien Merlin came,
  As was his use, ofttimes to visit me:
  For he had charge my discipline to frame,°
  And Tutours nouriture to oversee.                                 40
  Him oft and oft I askt in privitie,
  Of what loines and what lignage I did spring:
  Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee,
  That I was sonne and heire unto a king,
As time in her just terme° the truth to light should bring.         45

                    VI

Well worthy impe, said then the Lady gent,
  And pupill fit for such a Tutours hand.
  But what adventure, or what high intent
  Hath brought you hither into Faery land,
  Aread Prince Arthur, crowne of Martiall band?                     50
  Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright
  The course of heavenly cause, or understand
  The secret meaning of th' eternall might,
That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of living wight.

                    VII

For whether he through fatall deepe foresight                       55
  Me hither sent, for cause to me unghest,
  Or that fresh bleeding wound,° which day and night
  Whilome doth rancle in my riven brest,
  With forced fury° following his behest,
  Me hither brought by wayes yet never found;                       60
  You to have helpt I hold myself yet blest.
  Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound
Could ever find,° to grieve the gentlest hart on ground?

                    VIII

Deare dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparkes awake,°
  Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow,                  65
  Ne ever will their fervent fury slake,
  Till living moysture into smoke do flow,
  And wasted life do lye in ashes low.
  Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire,
  But told° it flames, and hidden it does glow;                     70
  I will revele what ye so much desire:
Ah Love, lay down thy bow, the whiles I may respire.

                    IX

It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares,
  When courage first does creepe in manly chest,
  Then first the coale of kindly heat appeares                      75
  To kindle love in every living brest;
  But me had warnd old Timons wise behest,
  Those creeping flames by reason to subdew,
  Before their rage grew to so great unrest,
  As miserable lovers use to rew,                                   80
Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new.

                    X

That idle name of love, and lovers life,
  As losse of time, and vertues enimy,
  I ever scornd, and joyd to stirre up strife,
  In middest of their mournfull Tragedy,                            85
  Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,
  And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:
  Their God himselfe, griev'd at my libertie,
  Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent,
But I them warded all with wary government.                         90

                    XI

But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong,
  Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound,
  But will at last be wonne with battrie long,
  Or unawares at disadvantage found:
  Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground:                   95
  And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might,
  And boasts in beauties chaine not to be bound,
  Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight,
And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours most despight.

                    XII

Ensample make° of him your haplesse joy,                           100
  And of my selfe now mated, as ye see;
  Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy
  Did soone pluck downe and curbd my libertie.
  For on a day, prickt forth with jollitie
  Of looser life, and heat of hardiment,                           105
  Raunging the forest wide on courser free,
  The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent
Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine intent.

                    XIII

For-wearied with my sports, I did alight
  From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd;                  110
  The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight,
  And pillow was my helmet faire displayd:
  Whiles every sence° the humour sweet embayd,
  And slombring soft my hart did steale away,
  Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd                              115
  Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay:
So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day.

                    XIV

Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment
  She to me made, and bad me love her deare;
  For dearely sure her love was to me bent,                        120
  As when just time expired should appeare.
  But whether dreames delude, or true it were,
  Was never hart so ravisht with delight,
  Ne living man like words did ever heare,
  As she to me delivered all that night;                           125
And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight.

                    XV

When I awoke, and found her place devoyd,
  And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen,
  I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd,
  And washed all her place with watry eyen.                        130
  From that day forth I lov'd that face divine;
  From that day forth I cast in carefull mind
  To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne,
  And never vowd to rest till her I find,
Nine monethes I seeke in vain, yet ni'll that vow unbind.          135

                    XVI

Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale,
  And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray;
  Yet still he strove to cloke his inward bale,
  And hide the smoke that did his fire display,
  Till gentle Una thus to him gan say;                             140
  O happy Queene of Faeries, that has found
  Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may
  Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound:
True Loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground.

                    XVII

Thine, O then, said the gentle Recrosse knight,                    145
  Next to that Ladies love,° shal be the place,
  O fairest virgin, full of heavenly light,
  Whose wondrous faith exceeding earthly race,
  Was firmest fixt° in mine extremest case.
  And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life,                        150
  Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace:
  For onely worthy you through prowes priefe,
Yf living man mote worthie be, to be her liefe.

                    XVIII

So diversly discoursing of their loves,
  The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew,                    155
  And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoves
  With fresh desire his voyage to pursew;
  Als Una earnd her traveill to renew.
  Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bynd,
  And love establish each to other trew,                           160
  Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd,
And eke the pledges firme, right hands together joynd.

                    XIX

Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond sure,
  Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,
  Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure,                     165
  Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent,
  That any wound could heale incontinent:
  Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave
  A booke,° wherein his Saveours testament
  Was writ with golden letters rich and brave;                     170
A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to save.

                    XX

Thus beene they parted, Arthur on his way
  To seeke his love, and th' other for to fight
  With Unaes foe, that all her realme did pray.
  But she now weighing the decayed plight,                         175
  And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight,
  Would not a while her forward course pursew,
  Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight,
  Till he recovered had his former hew:
For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew.                  180

                    XXI

So as they traveild, lo they gan espy
  An armed knight° towards them gallop fast,
  That seemed from some feared foe to fly,
  Or other griesly thing, that him aghast.
  Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast,                     185
  As if his feare still followed him behind;
  Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast,
  And with his winged heeles did tread the wind,
As he had beene a fole of Pegasus° his kind.

                    XXII

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head                      190
  To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares
  Upstaring stiffe, dismayd with uncouth dread;
  Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares
  Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares
  In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire degree,                    195
  About his neck an hempen rope he weares,
  That with his glistring armes does ill agree;
But he of rope or armes has now no memoree.

                    XXIII

The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast,
  To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd:                       200
  There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast,
  That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd;
  Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd,
  Till he these wordes to him deliver might;
  Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd,                        205
  And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight:
For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.

                    XXIV

He answerd nought at all, but adding new
  Feare to his first amazment, staring wide
  With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew,                       210
  Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide
  Infernall furies, with their chaines untide.
  Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake
  The gentle knight; who nought to him replide,
  But trembling every joint did inly quake,                        215
And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake.

                    XXV

For Gods deare love, Sir knight, do me not stay;
  For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee.
  Eft looking back would faine have runne away;
  But he him forst to stay, and tellen free                        220
  The secret cause of his perplexitie:
  Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach
  Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee,
  But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach,
Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach.         225

                    XXVI

And am I now in safetie sure (quoth he)
  From him, that would have forced me to dye?
  And is the point of death now turnd fro mee,
  That I may tell this haplesse history?
  Feare nought: (quoth he) no daunger now is nye.                  230
  Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,
  (Said he) the which with this unlucky eye
  I late beheld, and had not greater grace°
Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.

                    XXVII

I lately chaunst (would I had never chaunst)                       235
  With a faire knight to keepen companee,
  Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst
  In all affaires, and was both bold and free,
  But not so happy as mote happy bee:
  He lov'd, as was his lot, a Ladie gent,                          240
  That him againe lov'd in the least degree:
  For she was proud, and of too high intent,
And joyd to see her lover languish and lament.

                    XXVIII

From whom returning sad and comfortlesse,
  As on the way together we did fare,                              245
  We met that villen (God from him me blesse)
  That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare,
  A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire:
  Who first us greets, and after faire areedes°
  Of tydings strange, and of adventures rare:                      250
  So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes,
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.

                    XXIX

Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts
  Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,
  Which love had launched with his deadly darts,                   255
  With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe,
  He pluckt from us all hope of due reliefe,
  That earst us held in love of lingring life;
  Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe
  Perswade us die, to stint all further strife:                    260
To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.

                    XXX

With which sad instrument of hasty death,
  That wofull lover, loathing lenger light,
  A wide way made to let forth living breath.
  But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight,                       265
  Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight,
  Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare:°
  Ne yet assur'd of life by you, Sir knight,
  Whose like infirmitie° like chaunce may beare:
But God° you never let his charmed speeches heare.                 270

                    XXXI

How may a man (said he) with idle speach
  Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?°
  I wote° (quoth he) whom triall late did teach,
  That like would not for all this worldes wealth:
  His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt'h°                275
  Into the hart, and searcheth every vaine;
  That ere one be aware, by secret stealth
  His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine.
O never Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.

                    XXXII

Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest,                         280
  Till I that treacherours art have heard and tride;
  And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request,
  Of grace do me unto his cabin guide.
  I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride,
  Against my liking backe, to do you grace:                        285
  But not for gold nor glee° will I abide
  By you, when ye arrive in that same place
For lever had I die, then see his deadly face.

                    XXXIII

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight
  His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave,                         290
  Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight,
  Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave,
  That still for carrion carcases doth crave:
  On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle,°
  Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave                    295
  Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;
And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.

                    XXXIV

And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,
  Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene,
  Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees;                            300
  On which had many wretches hanged beene,
  Whose carcases were scattered on the greene,
  And throwne about the clifts. Arrived there,
  That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene,
  Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare,                 305
But th' other forst him stay, and comforted in feare.

                    XXXV

That darkesome cave they enter, where they find
  That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
  Musing full sadly in his sullein mind;
  His griesie lockes, long growen, and unbound,                    310
  Disordred hong about his shoulders round,
  And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne
  Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound;
  His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine,
Were shronke into his jawes, as° he did never dine.                315

                    XXXVI

His garment nought but many ragged clouts,
  With thornes together pind and patched was,
  The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts;
  And him beside there lay upon the gras
  A drearie corse,° whose life away did pas,                       320
  All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood,
  That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;
  In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.

                    XXXVII

Which piteous spectacle, approving trew                            325
  The wofull tale that Trevisan had told,
  When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew,
  With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold,
  Him to avenge, before his bloud were cold,
  And to the villein said, Thou damned wight,                      330
  The author of this fact we here behold,
  What justice can but judge against thee right,°
With thine owne bloud to price° his bloud, here shed in sight.

                    XXXVIII

What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught
  Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give?                      335
  What justice° ever other judgement taught,
  But he should die, who merites not to live?
  None else to death this man despayring drive,
  But his owne guiltie mind deserving death.
  Is then unjust° to each his due to give?                         340
  Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?

                    XXXIX

Who travels by the wearie wandring way,°
  To come unto his wished home in haste,
  And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay,                  345
  Is not great grace to helpe him over past,
  Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast?
  Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,
  And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,
  Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood                 350
Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?

                    XL

He there does now enjoy eternall rest
  And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave,
  And further from it daily wanderest:
  What if some little paine the passage have,                      355
  That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave?
  Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,
  And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?
  Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.            360

                    XLI

The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit,°
  And said, The terme of life is limited,
  Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it;
  The souldier may not move from watchfull sted,
  Nor leave his stand, untill his Captaine bed.                    365
  Who life did limit by almightie doome
  (Quoth he)° knowes best the termes established;
  And he, that points the Centonell his roome,
Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome.

                    XLII

Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne                          370
  In heaven and earth? did not he all create
  To die againe? all ends that was begonne.
  Their times in his eternall booke of fate
  Are written sure, and have their certaine date.
  Who then can strive with strong necessitie,                      375
  That holds the world in his still chaunging state,
  Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie?
When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why.

                    XLIII

The lenger life, I wote the greater sin,
  The greater sin, the greater punishment:                         380
  All those great battels, which thou boasts to win,
  Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengement,
  Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent:
  For life must life, and blood must blood repay.
  Is not enough thy evill life forespent?                          385
  For he that once hath missed the right way,
The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.

                    XLIV

Then do no further goe, no further stray,
  But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake,
  Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may.                       390
  For what hath life, that may it loved make,
  And gives not rather cause it to forsake?
  Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,
  Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake;
  And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,                             395
All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.

                    XLV

Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,
  If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state:
  For never knight, that dared warlike deede,
  More lucklesse disaventures did amate:                           400
  Witnesse the dungeon deepe, wherein of late
  Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call;
  And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,°
  Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall,
Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall.                  405

                    XLVI

Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire
  To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree?
  Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire°
  High heaped up with huge iniquitie,
  Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?                        410
  Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde
  Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjurie,
  And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vilde,
With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?

                    XLVII

Is not he just, that all this doth behold                          415
  From highest heaven, and beares an equall eye?
  Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,
  And guilty be of thine impietie?
  Is not his law, Let every sinner die:
  Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne,              420
  Is it not better to doe willinglie,
  Then linger, till the glasse be all out ronne?
Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne.

                    XLVIII

The knight was much enmoved with his speach,
  That as a swords point through his hart did perse,               425
  And in his conscience made a secret breach,
  Well knowing true all that he did reherse,
  And to his fresh remembraunce did reverse
  The ugly vew of his deformed crimes,
  That all his manly powres it did disperse,                       430
  As he were charmed° with inchaunted rimes,
That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes.

                    XLIX

In which amazement, when the Miscreant
  Perceived him to waver weake and fraile,
  Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant,                 435
  And hellish anguish did his soule assaile,
  To drive him to despaire, and quite to quaile,
  He shew'd him painted in a table° plaine,
  The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile,
  And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine                 440
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remaine.

                    L

The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid,
  That nought but death before his eyes he saw,
  And ever burning wrath before him laid,
  By righteous sentence of th' Almighties law.                     445
  Then gan the villein him to overcraw,
  And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire,
  And all that might him to perdition draw;
  And bad him choose, what death he would desire:
For death was due to him, that had provokt Gods ire.               450

                    LI

But when as none of them he saw him take,
  He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene,
  And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake,
  And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene,
  And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene               455
  To come, and goe with tidings from the heart,
  As it a running messenger had beene.
  At last resolv'd to worke his finall smart,
He lifted up his hand, that backe againe did start.

                    LII

Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine                          460
  The crudled cold ran to her well of life,
  As in a swowne: but soone reliv'd againe,
  Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,
  And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
  And to him said, Fie, fie, faint harted knight,                  465
  What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife?
  Is this the battell, which thou vauntst to fight
With that fire-mouthed Dragon,° horrible and bright?

                    LIII

Come, come away, fraile, seely, fleshly wight,
  Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart,                       470
  Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright.
  In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?
  Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art?°
  Where justice growes, there grows eke greater grace,
  The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart,                475
  And that accurst hand-writing° doth deface.
Arise, Sir knight, arise, and leave this cursed place.

                    LIV

So up he rose, and thence amounted streight.
  Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest
  Would safe depart for all his subtill sleight,                   480
  He chose an halter from among the rest,
  And with it hung himselfe, unbid unblest.
  But death he could not worke himselfe thereby;
  For thousand times he so himselfe had drest,°
  Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die,                         485
Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO X

        Her faithfull knight faire Una brings
          to house of Holinesse,
        Where he is taught repentance, and
          the way to heavenly blesse.

                    I

What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might
  And vaine assurance of mortality,
  Which all so soone as it doth come to fight
  Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by,
  Or from the field most cowardly doth fly?                          5
  Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill,
  That thorough grace hath gained victory.
  If any strength we have, it is to ill,
But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.

                    II

But that, which lately hapned, Una saw,                             10
  That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;
  And all his sinews woxen weake and raw,
  Through long enprisonment, and hard constraint,
  Which he endured in his late restraint,
  That yet he was unfit for bloudy fight:                           15
  Therefore to cherish him with diets daint,
  She cast to bring him, where he chearen might.
Till he recovered had his late decayed plight.

                    III

There was an auntient house° not farre away,
  Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore,                     20
  And pure unspotted life: so well they say
  It governd was, and guided evermore,
  Through wisedome of a matrone grave and hore
  Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes
  Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore:                25
  All night she spent in bidding of her bedes,
And all the day in doing good and godly deedes.

                    IV

Dame Coelia° men did her call, as thought
  From heaven to come, or thither to arise,
  The mother of three daughters, well upbrought                     30
  In goodly thewes, and godly exercise:
  The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise,
  Fidelia° and Speranza virgins were,
  Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize:
  But faire Charissa° to a lovely fere                              35
Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere.

                    V

Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt;
  For it was warely watched night and day,
  For feare of many foes: but when they knockt,
  The Porter opened unto them streight way:                         40
  He was an aged syre, all hory gray,
  With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow,
  Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay,
  Hight Humiltà.° They passe in stouping low;
For streight and narrow was the way which he did show.              45

                    VI

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin,
  But entred in a spacious court they see,
  Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in,
  Where them does meete a francklin faire and free,
  And entertaines with comely courteous glee,                       50
  His name was Zele, that him right well became,
  For in his speeches and behaviour hee
  Did labour lively to expresse the same,
And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.

                    VII

There fairely them receives a gentle Squire,                        55
  Of milde demeanure, and rare courtesie,
  Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire;
  In word and deede that shew'd great modestie,
  And knew his good° to all of each degree,
  Hight Reverence. He them with speeches meet                       60
  Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie,
  But simple true, and eke unfained sweet,
As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

                    VIII

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades,
  That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place:                           65
  Who all this while was busy at her beades:
  Which doen, she up arose with seemely grace,
  And toward them full matronely did pace.
  Where when that fairest Una she beheld,
  Whom well she knew to spring from heavenly race,                  70
  Her hart with joy unwonted inly sweld,
As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.

                    IX

And her embracing said, O happie earth,
  Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread,
  Most vertuous virgin borne of heavenly berth,                     75
  That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head,
  From tyrans rage, and ever dying dread,°
  Hast wandred through the world now long a day;°
  Yet ceasest not thy weary soles to lead,°
  What grace hath thee now hither brought this way?                 80
Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither stray?

                    X

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see
  Here in this place, or any other wight,
  That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee
  That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right:                   85
  All keepe the broad high way, and take delight
  With many rather for to go astray,
  And be partakers of their evill plight,
  Then with a few to walke the rightest way;
O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?                     90

                    XI

Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to rest,
  O matrone sage (quoth she) I hither came;
  And this good knight his way with me addrest,
  Led with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame,
  That up to heaven is blowne. The auncient Dame                    95
  Him goodly greeted in her modest guise,
  And entertaynd them both, as best became,
  With all the court'sies that she could devise,
Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

                    XII

Thus as they gan of sundry things devise,                          100
  Loe two most goodly virgins came in place,
  Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise,
  With countenance demure, and modest grace,
  They numbred even steps and equall pace:
  Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight,                         105
  Like sunny beames threw from her christall face,
  That could have dazd the rash beholders sight,
And round about her head did shine like heavens light.

                    XIII

She was araied all in lilly white,°
  And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,                        110
  With wine and water fild up to the hight,
  In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold,
  That horrour made to all that did behold;
  But she no whit did chaunge her constant mood:
  And in her other hand she fast did hold                          115
  A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood:
Wherin darke things were writ, hard to be understood.

                    XIV

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight,
  Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well;
  Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight,                       120
  As was her sister; whether dread did dwell,
  Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell:
  Upon her arme a silver anchor lay,
  Whereon she leaned ever, as befell:
  And ever up to heaven, as she did pray,                          125
Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.

                    XV

They seeing Una, towards her gan wend,
  Who them encounters with like courtesie;
  Many kind speeches they betwene them spend,
  And greatly joy each other well to see:                          130
  Then to the knight with shamefast modestie
  They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke request,
  And him salute with well beseeming glee;
  Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best,
And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest.                     135

                    XVI

Then Una thus; But she your sister deare,
  The deare Charissa where is she become?
  Or wants she health, or busie is elsewhere?
  Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come:
  For she of late is lightned of her wombe,                        140
  And hath encreast the world with one sonne more,
  That her to see should be but troublesome.
  Indeed (quoth she) that should be trouble sore;
But thankt be God, and her encrease° so evermore.

                    XVII

Then said the aged Coelia, Deare dame,                             145
  And you good Sir, I wote that of youre toyle,
  And labours long, through which ye hither came,
  Ye both forwearied be: therefore a whyle
  I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle.
  Then called she a Groome, that forth him led                     150
  Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile
  Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed;
His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared.

                    XVIII

Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest,
  And bodies were refresht with due repast,                        155
  Faire Una gan Fidelia faire request,
  To have her knight into her schoolehouse plaste,
  That of her heavenly learning he might taste,
  And heare the wisedom of her words divine.
  She graunted, and that knight so much agraste,                   160
  That she him taught celestiall discipline,
And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.

                    XIX

And that her sacred Booke, with blood ywrit,
  That none could read, except she did them teach,
  She unto him disclosed every whit,                               165
  And heavenly documents thereout did preach,
  That weaker wit of man could never reach,
  Of God, of grace, of justice, of free will,
  That wonder was to heare her goodly speach:
  For she was able with her words to kill,                         170
And raise againe to life the hart that she did thrill.

                    XX

And when she list° poure out her larger spright,
  She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay,
  Or backward turne his course from heavens hight;
  Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay;                  175
  [Dry-shod to passe she parts the flouds in tway;°]
  And eke huge mountaines from their native seat
  She would commaund, themselves to beare away,
  And throw in raging sea with roaring threat.
Almightie God her gave such powre, and puissaunce great.           180

                    XXI

The faithfull knight now grew in litle space,
  By hearing her, and by her sisters lore,
  To such perfection of all heavenly grace,
  That wretched world he gan for to abhore,
  And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore,                    185
  Greevd with remembrance of his wicked wayes,
  And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore,
  That he desirde to end his wretched dayes:
So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.

                    XXII

But wise Speranza gave him comfort sweet,                          190
  And taught him how to take assured hold
  Upon her silver anchor, as was meet;
  Else had his sinnes so great and manifold
  Made him forget all that Fidelia told.
  In this distressed doubtfull agonie,                             195
  When him his dearest Una did behold,
  Disdeining life, desiring leave to die,
She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie.

                    XXIII

And came to Coelia to declare her smart,
  Who well acquainted with that commune plight,                    200
  Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart,
  Her wisely comforted all that she might,
  With goodly counsell and advisement right;
  And streightway sent with carefull diligence,
  To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight                    205
  In that disease of grieved conscience,
And well could cure the same; his name was Patience.

                    XXIV

Who comming to that soule-diseased knight,
  Could hardly him intreat° to tell his griefe:
  Which knowne, and all that noyd his heavie spright               210
  Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply relief
  Of salves and med'cines, which had passing priefe,
  And thereto added words of wondrous might;°
  By which to ease he him recured briefe,
  And much aswag'd the passion of his plight,°                     215
That he his paine endur'd, as seeming now more light.

                    XXV

But yet the cause and root of all his ill,
  Inward corruption and infected sin,
  Not purg'd nor heald, behind remained still,
  And festring sore did rankle yet within,                         220
  Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin.
  Which to extirpe, he laid him privily
  Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in,
  Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply,
And with streight diet tame his stubborne malady.                  225

                    XXVI

In ashes and sackcloth he did array
  His daintie corse, proud humors to abate,
  And dieted with fasting every day,
  The swelling of his wounds to mitigate,
  And made him pray both earely and eke late:                      230
  And ever as superfluous flesh did rot
  Amendment readie still at hand did wayt,
  To pluck it out with pincers firie whot,
That soone in him was left no one corrupted jot.

                    XXVII

And bitter Penance with an yron whip,                              235
  Was wont him once to disple every day:
  And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip,
  That drops of blood thence like a well did play:
  And sad Repentance used to embay
  His bodie in salt water smarting sore,                           240
  The filthy blots of sinne to wash away.
  So in short space they did to health restore
The man that would not live, but earst lay at deathes dore.

                    XXVIII

In which his torment often was so great,
  That like a Lyon he would cry and rore,                          245
  And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat.
  His owne deare Una hearing evermore
  His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore
  Her guiltlesse garments, and her golden heare,
  For pitty of his paine and anguish sore;                         250
  Yet all with patience wisely she did beare;
For well she wist his crime could else be never cleare.

                    XXIX

Whom thus recover'd by wise Patience
  And trew Repentaunce they to Una brought:
  Who joyous of his cured conscience,                              255
  Him dearely kist, and fairely eke besought
  Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought
  To put away out of his carefull brest.
  By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought,
  Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest;                   260
To her faire Una brought this unacquainted guest.

                    XXX

She was a woman in her freshest age,°
  Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare,
  With goodly grace and comely personage,
  That was on earth not easie to compare;                          265
  Full of great love, but Cupid's wanton snare
  As hell she hated, chast in worke and will;
  Her necke and breasts were ever open bare,
  That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill;
The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still.                     270

                    XXXI

A multitude of babes about her hong,
  Playing their sports, that joyd her to behold,
  Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake and young,
  But thrust them forth still as they wexed old:
  And on her head she wore a tyre of gold,                         275
  Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire,
  Whose passing price° uneath was to be told:
  And by her side there sate a gentle paire
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvorie chaire.

                    XXXII

The knight and Una entring faire her greet,                        280
  And bid her joy of that her happie brood;
  Who them requites with court'sies seeming meet,
  And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood.
  Then Una her besought, to be so good
  As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight,                  285
  Now after all his torment well withstood,
  In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright
Had past the paines of hell, and long enduring night.

                    XXXIII

She was right joyous of her just request,
  And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne,                       290
  Gan him instruct in every good behest,
  Of love, and righteousnesse, and well to donne,°
  And wrath, and hatred warely to shonne,
  That drew on men Gods hatred and his wrath,
  And many soules in dolours had fordonne:                         295
  In which when him she well instructed hath,
From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.

                    XXXIV

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide,
  An auncient matrone she to her does call,
  Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride:                   300
  Her name was Mercie, well knowne over all,
  To be both gratious, and eke liberall:
  To whom the carefull charge of him she gave,
  To lead aright, that he should never fall
  In all his wayes through this wide worldes wave,                 305
That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might save.

                    XXXV

The godly Matrone by the hand him beares
  Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,
  Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares,
  Which still before him she remov'd away,                         310
  That nothing might his ready passage stay:
  And ever when his feet encombred were,
  Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray,
  She held him fast, and firmely did upbeare,
As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare.          315

                    XXXVI

Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall,
  That was fore by the way, she did him bring,
  In which seven Bead-men° that had vowed all
  Their life to service of high heavens king,
  Did spend their dayes in doing godly thing:                      320
  Their gates to all were open evermore,
  That by the wearie way were traveiling,
  And one sate wayting ever them before,
To call in commers by, that needy were and pore.

                    XXXVII

The first of them that eldest was, and best,                       325
  Of all the house had charge and governement,
  As Guardian and Steward of the rest:
  His office was to give entertainement
  And lodging, unto all that came, and went:
  Not unto such, as could him feast againe,                        330
  And double quite, for that he on them spent,
  But such, as want of harbour did constraine:
Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine.

                    XXXVIII

The second was as Almner of the place,
  His office was, the hungry for to feed,                          335
  And thristy give to drinke, a worke of grace:
  He feard not once him selfe to be in need,
  Ne car'd to hoord for those whom he did breede:
  The grace of God he layd up still in store,
  Which as a stocke he left unto his seede;                        340
  He had enough, what need him care for more?
And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the pore.

                    XXXIX

The third had of their wardrobe custodie,
  In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,
  The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie,                       345
  But clothes meet to keepe keene could away,
  And naked nature seemely to aray;
  With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad,
  The images of God in earthly clay;
  And if that no spare cloths to give he had,                      350
His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad.

                    XL

The fourth appointed by his office was,
  Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious ayd,
  And captives to redeeme with price of bras,°
  From Turkes° and Sarazins, which them had stayd,                 355
  And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd,
  That God to us forgiveth every howre
  Much more then that why they in bands were layd,
  And he that harrowd° hell with heavie stowre,
The faultie soules from thence brought to his heavenly bowre.      360

                    XLI

The fift had charge sicke persons to attend,
  And comfort those, in point of death which lay;
  For them most needeth comfort in the end,
  When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay
  The feeble soule departing hence away.                           365
  All is but lost, that living we bestow,
  If not well ended at our dying day.
  O man have mind of that last bitter throw
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.

                    XLII

The sixt had charge of them now being dead,                        370
  In seemely sort their corses to engrave,
  And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed,
  That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave
  They might appeare, when he their soules shall save.°
  The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould,                     375
  Whose face he made all beasts to feare, and gave
  All in his hand, even dead we honour should.
Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould.°

                    XLIII

The seventh, now after death and buriall done,
  Had charge the tender orphans of the dead                        380
  And widowes ayd,° least they should be undone:
  In face of judgement° he their right would plead,
  Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread
  In their defence, nor would for gold or fee
  Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread:                  385
  And, when they stood in most necessitee,
He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.

                    XLIV

There when the Elfin knight arrived was,
  The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care
  Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas:                     390
  Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare,
  And alwayes led, to her with reverence rare
  He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse,
  And seemely welcome for her did prepare:
  For of their order she was Patronesse,                           395
Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.

                    XLV

There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest,
  That to the rest more able he might bee:
  During which time, in every good behest
  And godly worke of almes and charitee,                           400
  She him instructed with great industree;
  Shortly therein so perfect he became,
  That from the first unto the last degree,
  His mortall life he learned had to frame
In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame.                   405

                    XLVI

Thence forward by that painfull way they pas,
  Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;
  On top whereof a sacred chappell was,
  And eke a little Hermitage thereby,
  Wherein an aged holy man did lye,                                410
  That day and night said his devotion,
  Ne other worldly busines did apply;
  His name was heavenly Contemplation;
Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

                    XLVII

Great grace that old man to him given had;                         415
  For God he often saw from heavens hight,
  All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad,
  And through great age had lost their kindly sight,
  Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright,
  As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne:                        420
  That hill they scale with all their powre and might,
  That his° fraile thighes nigh weary and fordonne
Gan faile, but by her° helpe the top at last he wonne.

                    XLVIII

There they do finde that godly aged Sire,
  With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed,                     425
  As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire
  The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded.
  Each bone might through his body well be red,
  And every sinew seene through his long fast:
  For nought he car'd° his carcas long unfed;                      430
  His mind was full of spirituall repast,
And pyn'd his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.

                    XLIX

Who when these two approaching he aspide,
  At their first presence grew agrieved sore,
  That forst him lay his heavenly thoughts aside;                  435
  And had he not that Dame respected more,
  Whom highly he did reverence and adore,
  He would not once have moved for the knight.
  They him saluted, standing far afore;
  Who well them greeting, humbly did requight,                     440
And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.

                    L

What end (quoth she) should cause us take such paine,
  But that same end which every living wight
  Should make his marke, high heaven to attaine?
  Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right                    445
  To that most glorious house that glistreth bright
  With burning starres and everliving fire,
  Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight
  By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require,
To show it to his knight, according his desire.                    450

                    LI

Thrise happy man, said then the father grave,
  Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,
  And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to save.
  Who better can the way to heaven aread,
  Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred                455
  In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine?
  Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead
  Present before the majestie divine,
And his avenging wrath to clemencie incline.

                    LII

Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne.                  460
  Then come thou man of earth, and see the way,
  That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne,
  That never leads the traveiler astray,
  But after labors long, and sad delay,
  Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis.                    465
  But first thou must a season fast and pray,
  Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,
And have her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis.

                    LIII

That donne, he leads him to the highest Mount;
  Such one as that same mighty man° of God,                        470
  That blood-red billowes° like a walled front
  On either side disparted with his rod,
  Till that his army dry-foot through them yod,
  Dwelt forty dayes upon; where writ in stone
  With bloudy letters by the hand of God,                          475
  The bitter doome of death and balefull mone
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.

                    LIV

Or like that sacred hill,° whose head full hie,
  Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd,
  Is, as it were for endlesse memory                               480
  Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd,
  For ever with a flowring girlond crownd:
  Or like that pleasaunt Mount,° that is for ay
  Through famous Poets verse each where renownd,
  On which the thrise three learned Ladies play                    485
Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.

                    LV

From thence, far off he unto him did shew
  A litle path, that was both steepe and long,
  Which to a goodly Citie° led his vew;
  Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong               490
  Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong
  Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell;
  Too high a ditty for my simple song;
  The Citie of the great king hight it well,
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.                  495

                    LVI

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see
  The blessed Angels to and fro descend
  From highest heaven in gladsome companee,
  And with great joy into that Citie wend,
  As commonly as friend does with his frend.                       500
  Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,
  What stately building durst so high extend
  Her loftie towres unto the starry sphere,
And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.

                    LVII

Faire knight (quoth he) Hierusalem that is,                        505
  The new Hierusalem, that God has built
  For those to dwell in, that are chosen his,
  His chosen people purg'd from sinfull guilt
  With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt
  On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam,                           510
  That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt:
  Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam,
More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam.

                    LVIII

Till now, said then the knight, I weened well,
  That great Cleopolis,° where I have beene,                       515
  In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell,
  The fairest citie was that might be seene;
  And that bright towre all built of christall cleene,
  Panthea,° seemd the brightest thing that was:
  But now by proofe all otherwise I weene;                         520
  For this great Citie that does far surpas,
And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas.

                    LIX

Most trew, then said the holy aged man;
  Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame,°
  The fairest peece that eye beholden can;                         525
  And well beseemes all knights of noble name,
  That covett in th' immortall booke of fame
  To be eternized, that same to haunt,
  And doen their service to that soveraigne dame,
  That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt:                     530
For she is heavenly borne, and heaven may justly vaunt.

                    LX

And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race,
  How ever now accompted Elfins sonne,
  Well worthy doest thy service for her grace,
  To aide a virgin desolate fordonne.                              535
  But when thou famous victory hast wonne,
  And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield,
  Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne,
  And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field:
For blood can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield.         540

                    LXI

Then seek this path, that I to thee presage,
  Which after all to heaven shall thee send;
  Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage
  To yonder same Hierusalem do bend,
  Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end:                         545
  For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see,
  Shall be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend
  And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee,
Saint George° of mery England, the signe of victoree.

                    LXII

Unworthy wretch (quoth he) of so great grace,°                     550
  How dare I thinke such glory to attaine?
  These that have it attaind, were in like cace,
  (Quoth he) as wretched, and liv'd in like paine.
  But deeds of armes must I at last be faine
  And Ladies love to leave so dearely bought?                      555
  What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine,
  (Said he,) and battailes none are to be fought?
As for loose loves, they're vain, and vanish into nought.

                    LXIII

O let me not (quoth he) then turne againe
  Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruitlesse are;               560
  But let me here for aye in peace remaine,
  Or streight way on that last long voyage fare,
  That nothing may my present hope empare.
  That may not be, (said he) ne maist thou yit
  Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care,°                       565
  Who did her cause into thy hand commit,
Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quit.

                    LXIV

Then shall I soone (quoth he) so God me grace,
  Abet that virgins cause disconsolate,
  And shortly backe returne unto this place,                       570
  To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.
  But now aread, old father, why of late
  Didst thou behight me borne of English blood,
  Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate?
  That word shall I (said he) avouchen good,                       575
Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy blood.

                    LXV

For well I wote thou springst from ancient race
  Of Saxon kings, that have with mightie hand
  And many bloody battailes° fought in place
  High reard their royall throne in Britane land,                  580
  And vanquisht them, unable to withstand:
  From thence a Faerie thee unweeting reft,
  There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,
  And her base Elfin brood there for thee left.
Such men do Chaungelings° call, so chang'd by Faeries theft.       585

                    LXVI

Thence she thee brought into this Faerie lond,
  And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde,
  Where thee a Ploughman all unweeting fond,
  As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde,
  And brought thee up in ploughmans state to byde                 590
  Whereof Georgos° he gave thee to name;
  Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde,
  To Faerie court thou cam'st to seeke for fame,
And prove thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became.

                    LXVII

O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quight                          595
  The many favours I with thee have found,
  That hast my name and nation red aright,
  And taught the way that does to heaven bound?
  This said, adowne he looked to the ground,
  To have returnd, but dazed were his eyne                         600
  Through passing brightnesse, which did quite confound
  His feeble sence and too exceeding shyne.
So darke are earthly things compard to things divine.

                    LXVIII

At last whenas himselfe he gan to find,
  To Una back he cast him to retire;                               605
  Who him awaited still with pensive mind.
  Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre
  He thence departing gave for his paines hyre.
  So came to Una, who him joyd to see,
  And after little rest, gan him desire                            610
  Of her adventure mindfull for to bee.
So leave they take of Coelia, and her daughters three.

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO XI

        The knight with that old Dragon fights
          two dayes incessantly;
        The third him overthrowes, and gayns
          most glorious victory.

                    I

High time now gan it wex for Una faire
  To thinke of those her captive Parents deare,
  And their forwasted kingdome to repaire:
  Whereto whenas they now approched neare,
  With hartie wordes her knight she gan to cheare,                   5
  And in her modest manner thus bespake;
  Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was deare,
  That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake,
High heaven behold the tedious toyle ye for me take.

                    II

Now are we come unto my native soyle,                               10
  And to the place where all our perils dwell;
  Here haunts that feend, and does his dayly spoyle;
  Therefore henceforth be at your keeping well,°
  And ever ready for your foeman fell.
  The sparke of noble courage now awake,                            15
  And strive your excellent selfe to excell:
  That shall ye evermore renowmed make,
Above all knights on earth that batteill undertake.

                    III

And pointing forth, Lo yonder is (said she)°
  The brasen towre in which my parents deare                        20
  For dread of that huge feend emprisond be,
  Whom I from far, see on the walles appeare,
  Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare:
  And on the top of all I do espye
  The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare,                       25
  That O my parents might I happily
Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery.

                    IV

With that they heard a roaring hideous sound,
  That all the ayre with terrour filled wide,
  And seemd uneath° to shake the stedfast ground.                   30
  Eftsoones that dreadful Dragon° they espide,
  Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side,°
  Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill.
  But all so soone as he from far descride
  Those glistring armes, that heaven with light did fill,           35
He rousd himselfe full blith, and hastned them untill.

                    V

Then bad the knight his Lady yede aloofe,
  And to an hill her selfe withdraw aside:
  From whence she might behold that battailles proof,
  And eke be safe from daunger far descryde:                        40
  She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde.
  Now O thou sacred muse,° most learned Dame,
  Faire ympe of Phoebus and his aged bride,
  The Nourse of time and everlasting fame,
That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name;                   45

                    VI

O gently come into my feeble brest
  Come gently, but not with that mighty rage,
  Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest,
  And harts of great Heroës doest enrage,
  That nought their kindled courage may aswage,                     50
  Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd,
  The God of warre with his fiers equipage
  Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sownd,
All scared nations doest with horrour sterne astownd.

                    VII

Faire Goddesse, lay that furious fit aside,                         55
  Till I of warres° and bloody Mars do sing,
  And Briton fields with Sarazin bloud bedyde,
  Twixt that great Faery Queene, and Paynim king,
  That with their horrour heaven and earth did ring;
  A worke of labour long and endlesse prayse:                       60
  But now a while let downe that haughtie string°
  And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse,
That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze.

                    VIII

By this the dreadfull Beast drew nigh to hand,
  Halfe flying, and halfe footing in his haste,                     65
  That with his largenesse measured much land,
  And made wide shadow under his huge wast,
  As mountaine doth the valley overcast.
  Approching nigh, he reared high afore
  His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste,                          70
  Which to increase his wondrous greatnesse more,
Was swoln with wrath, and poyson, and with bloudy gore.

                    IX

And over, all with brasen scales was armd,
  Like plated coate of steele, so couched neare,
  That nought mote perce, ne might his corse be harmd               75
  With dint of sword, nor push of pointed speare;
  Which, as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare,
  His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight;
  So shaked he, that horrour was to heare,
  For as the clashing of an Armour bright,                          80
Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto the knight.

                    X

His flaggy wings when forth he did display,
  Were like two sayles, in which the hollow wynd
  Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way:
  And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd,                    85
  Were like mayne-yards, with flying canvas lynd;
  With which whenas him list the ayre to beat,
  And there by force unwonted passage find,
  The cloudes before him fled for terrour great,
And all the heavens stood still amazed with his threat.             90

                    XI

His huge long tayle wound up in hundred foldes,
  Does overspred his long bras-scaly backe,
  Whose wreathed boughts when ever he unfoldes,
  And thicke entangled knots adown does slacke,
  Bespotted as with shields of red and blacke,                      95
  It sweepeth all the land behind him farre,
  And of three furlongs does but litle lacke;
  And at the point two stings in-fixed arre,
Both deadly sharpe, that sharpest steele exceeden farre.

                    XII

But stings and sharpest steele did far exceed                      100
  The sharpnesse of his cruell rending clawes;
  Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed,
  What ever thing does touch his ravenous pawes,
  Or what within his reach he ever drawes.
  But his most hideous head my toung to tell                       105
  Does tremble: for his deepe devouring jawes
  Wide gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell,
Through which into his darke abisse all ravin fell.

                    XIII

And that more wondrous was, in either jaw
  Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were,                      110
  In which yet trickling blood, and gobbets raw
  Of late devoured bodies did appeare,
  That sight thereof bred cold congealed feare:
  Which to increase, and as atonce to kill,
  A cloud of smoothering smoke and sulphure seare,                 115
  Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still,
That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill.

                    XIV

His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shields,
  Did burne with wrath, and sparkled living fyre:
  As two broad Beacons,° set in open fields,                       120
  Send forth their flames far off to every shyre,
  And warning give, that enemies conspyre
  With fire and sword the region to invade;
  So flam'd his eyne with rage and rancorous yre:
  But farre within, as in a hollow glade,                          125
Those glaring lampes were set, that made a dreadfull shade.

                    XV

So dreadfully he towards him did pas,
  Forelifting up aloft his speckled brest,
  And often bounding on the brused gras,
  As for great joyance of his newcome guest.                       130
  Eftsoones he gan advance his haughtie crest,
  As chauffed Bore his bristles doth upreare,
  And shoke his scales to battell ready drest;
  That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for feare,
As bidding bold defiance to his foeman neare.                      135

                    XVI

The knight gan fairely couch his steadie speare,
  And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might:
  The pointed steele arriving rudely theare,
  His harder hide would neither perce, nor bight,
  But glauncing by forth passed forward right;                     140
  Yet sore amoved with so puissaunt push,
  The wrathfull beast about him turned light,
  And him so rudely passing by, did brush
With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush.

                    XVII

Both horse and man up lightly rose againe,                         145
  And fresh encounter towards him addrest:
  But th'idle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine,
  And found no place his deadly point to rest.
  Exceeding rage enflam'd the furious beast,
  To be avenged of so great despight;                              150
  For never felt his imperceable brest
  So wondrous force, from hand of living wight;
Yet had he prov'd the powre of many a puissant knight.

                    XVIII

Then with his waving wings displayed wyde,
  Himselfe up high he lifted from the ground,                      155
  And with strong flight did forcibly divide
  The yielding aire, which nigh too feeble found
  Her flitting parts,° and element unsound,
  To beare so great a weight: he cutting way
  With his broad sayles, about him soared round:                   160
  At last low stouping° with unweldie sway,
Snatcht up both horse and man, to beare them quite away.

                    XIX

Long he them bore above the subject plaine,
  So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send,
  Till struggling strong did him at last constraine                165
  To let them downe before his flightes end:
  As hagard hauke,° presuming to contend
  With hardie fowle, above his hable might,°
  His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend
  To trusse the pray too heavy for his flight;                     170
Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight.

                    XX

He so disseized° of his gryping grosse,
  The knight his thrillant speare again assayd
  In his bras-plated body to embosse,
  And three mens strength unto the stroke he layd;                 175
  Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as affrayd,
  And glauncing from his scaly necke, did glyde
  Close under his left wing, then broad displayd:
  The percing steele there wrought a wound full wyde,
That with the uncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde.              180

                    XXI

He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore,
  When wintry storme his wrathfull wreck does threat
  The roaring billowes beat the ragged shore,
  As they the earth would shoulder from her seat,
  And greedy gulfe does gape,° as he would eat                     185
  His neighbour element in his revenge:
  Then gin the blustring brethren° boldly threat
  To move the world from off his steadfast henge,
And boystrous battell make, each other to avenge.

                    XXII

The steely head stucke fast still in his flesh,                    190
  Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood,
  And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh
  A gushing river of blacke goarie blood,
  That drowned all the land, whereon he stood;
  The streame thereof would drive a water-mill:                    195
  Trebly augmented was his furious mood
  With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill,
That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill.

                    XXIII

His hideous tayle then hurled he about,
  And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes                       200
  Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout
  Striving to loose the knot that fast him tyes,
  Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes,
  That to the ground he is perforce constraynd
  To throw his rider: who can quickly ryse                         205
  From off the earth, with durty blood distaynd,
For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd.

                    XXIV

And fiercely tooke his trenchand blade in hand,
  With which he stroke so furious and so fell,
  That nothing seemd the puissaunce could withstand:               210
  Upon his crest the hardned yron fell,
  But his more hardned crest was armd so well,
  That deeper dint therein it would not make;
  Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell,
  That from thenceforth he shund the like to take,                 215
But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake.

                    XXV

The knight was wroth to see his stroke beguyld,
  And smote againe with more outrageous might;
  But backe againe the sparckling steele recoyld,
  And left not any marke, where it did light,                      220
  As if in Adamant rocke it had bene pight.
  The beast impatient of his smarting wound,
  And of so fierce and forcible despight,
  Thought with his wings to stye above the ground;
But his late wounded wing unserviceable found.                     225

                    XXVI

Then full of griefe and anguish vehement,
  He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard,
  And from his wide devouring oven° sent
  A flake of fire, that, flashing in his beard,
  Him all amazd, and almost made affeard:                          230
  The scorching flame sore swinged all his face,
  And through his armour all his body seard,
  That he could not endure so cruell cace,
But thought his armes to leave, and helmet to unlace.

                    XXVII

Not that great Champion° of the antique world,                     235
  Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt,
  And hath for twelve huge labours high extold,
  So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt,
  When him the poysond garment did enchaunt,
  With Centaures bloud and bloudie verses charm'd;                 240
  As did this knight twelve thousand dolours daunt,
  Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm'd,
That erst him goodly arm'd, now most of all him harm'd.

                    XXVIII

Faint, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent°
  With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire,         245
  That never man such mischiefes did torment;
  Death better were, death did he oft desire,
  But death will never come, when needes require.
  Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld,
  He cast to suffer him no more respire,                           250
  But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld,
And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld.

                    XXIX

It fortuned, (as faire it then befell,)
  Behind his backe unweeting, where he stood,
  Of auncient time there was a springing well,                     255
  From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,
  Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good.
  Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got
  That happy land, and all with innocent blood
  Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot                        260
_The well of life_,° ne yet his vertues had forgot.

                    XXX

For unto life the dead it could restore,
  And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away,
  Those that with sicknesse were infected sore
  It could recure, and aged long decay                             265
  Renew, as one were borne that very day.
  Both Silo° this, and Jordan did excell,
  And th' English Bath,° and eke the German Spau;
  Ne can Cephise,° nor Hebrus match this well:
Into the same the knight back overthrowen, fell.                   270

                    XXXI

Now gan the golden Phoebus for to steepe
  His fierie face in billowes of the west,
  And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe,
  Whiles from their journall labours they did rest,
  When that infernall Monster, having kest                         275
  His wearie foe into that living well,
  Can high advance his broad discoloured brest
  Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell,
And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell.

                    XXXII

Which when his pensive Ladie saw from farre,                       280
  Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay,
  As weening that the sad end of the warre,
  And gan to highest God entirely pray,
  That feared chance from her to turne away;
  With folded hands and knees full lowly bent,                     285
  All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay
  Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment,
But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.

                    XXXIII

The morrow next gan early to appeare,
  That Titan rose to runne his daily race;                         290
  But early ere the morrow next gan reare
  Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face,
  Up rose the gentle virgin from her place,
  And looked all about, if she might spy
  Her loved knight to move° his manly pace:                        295
  For she had great doubt of his safety,
Since late she saw him fall before his enemy.

                    XXXIV

At last she saw, where he upstarted brave
  Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay:
  As Eagle° fresh out of the Ocean wave,                           300
  Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray,
  And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay,
  Like Eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies,
  His newly budded pineons to assay,
  And marveiles at himselfe, still as he flies:                    305
So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise.

                    XXXV

Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy,
  No wonder if he wondred at the sight,
  And doubted, whether his late enemy
  It were, or other new supplied knight.                           310
  He, now to prove his late renewed might,
  High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade,°
  Upon his crested scalpe so sore did smite,
  That to the scull a yawning wound it made;
The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid.                     315

                    XXXVI

I wote not, whether the revenging steele
  Were hardned with that holy water dew,
  Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,
  Or his baptized hands now greater grew;
  Or other secret vertue did ensew;                                320
  Else never could the force of fleshly arme,
  Ne molten mettall in his blood embrew°;
  For till that stownd could never wight him harme,
By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme.

                    XXXVII

The cruell wound enraged him so sore,                              325
  That loud he yelded for exceeding paine;
  As hundred ramping Lyons seem'd to rore,
  Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine:
  Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine,
  And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore,                   330
  That to his force to yeelden it was faine;
  Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,
That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore.

                    XXXVIII

The same advauncing high above his head,
  With sharpe intended sting° so rude him smot,                    335
  That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,
  Ne living wight would have him life behot:
  The mortall sting his angry needle shot
  Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd,
  Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got:                 340
  The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd,
Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd.

                    XXXIX

But yet more mindfull of his honour deare,
  Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring,
  From loathed soile he can him lightly reare,                     345
  And strove to loose the far infixed sting:
  Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling,
  Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he heft,
  And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string
  Of his huge taile he quite a sunder cleft,                       350
Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left.

                    XL

Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes,
  With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,
  The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skyes,
  That all was covered with darkenesse dire:                       355
  Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire,
  He cast at once him to avenge for all,
  And gathering up himselfe out of the mire,
  With his uneven wings did fiercely fall,
Upon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall.           360

                    XLI

Much was the man encombred with his hold,
  In feare to lose his weapon in his paw,
  Ne wist yet, how his talaunts to unfold;
  For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw
  To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw                      365
  To reave by strength the griped gage° away:
  Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw,
  And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay,
It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray.

                    XLII

Tho when he saw no power might prevaile,                           370
  His trustie sword he cald to his last aid,
  Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile,
  And double blowes about him stoutly laid,
  That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid;
  As sparckles from the Andvile use to fly,                        375
  When heavy hammers on the wedge are swaid;
  Therewith at last he forst him to unty
One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby.

                    XLIII

The other foot, fast fixed on his shield,
  Whenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraine               380
  To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield,
  He smot thereat with all his might and maine,
  That nought so wondrous puissaunce might sustaine;
  Upon the joint the lucky steele did light,
  And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine;                 385
  The paw yett missed not his minisht might,°
But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight.

                    XLIV

For griefe thereof and divelish despight,°
  From his infernall fournace forth he threw
  Huge flames, that dimmed all the heavens light,                  390
  Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew:
  As burning Aetna from his boyling stew
  Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke,
  And ragged ribs of mountains molten new,
  Enwrapt in coleblacke clouds and filthy smoke,                   395
That all the land with stench, and heaven with horror choke.

                    XLV

The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence
  So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire
  A little backward for his best defence,
  To save his body from the scorching fire,                        400
  Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.
  It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide,)
  As he recoiled backward, in the mire
  His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide,
And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide.             405

                    XLVI

There grew a goodly tree° him faire beside,
  Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,
  As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,
  Whereof great vertues over all were red°:
  For happy life to all which thereon fed,                         410
  And life eke everlasting did befall:
  Great God it planted in that blessed sted
  With his Almighty hand, and did it call
The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers fall.°

                    XLVII

In all the world like was not to be found,                         415
  Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,
  And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,
  As incorrupted Nature did them sow,
  Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.
  Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,                        420
  Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know
  Both good and ill: O mornefull memory:
That tree through one mans fault hath doen us all to dy.

                    XLVIII

From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,
  A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine                     425
  And dainty deare, which on the ground, still fell,
  And overflowed all the fertile plaine,
  As it had deawed bene with timely raine:
  Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,
  And deadly wounds could heale and reare againe                   430
  The senselesse corse appointed for the grave.
Into that same he fell: which did from death him save.

                    XLIX

For nigh thereto the ever damned beast
  Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,°
  And all that life preserved did detest:                          435
  Yet he is oft adventur'd to invade.
  By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,
  And yield his roome to sad succeeding night,
  Who with her sable mantle gan to shade
  The face of earth, and wayes of living wight,                    440
And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.

                    L

When gentle Una saw the second fall
  Of her deare knight, who wearie of long fight,
  And faint through losse of blood, mov'd not at all,
  But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight,                        445
  Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might
  Did heale his wounds, and scorching heat alay,
  Againe she stricken was with sore affright,
  And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,
And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.               450

                    LI

The joyous day gan early to appeare,
  And faire Aurora from the deawy bed
  Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare
  With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;
  Her golden locks for haste were loosely shed                     455
  About her eares, when Una her did marke
  Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred;
  From heaven high to chase the chearelesse darke,
With merry note her loud salutes the mounting larke.

                    LII

Then freshly up arose the doughtie knight,                         460
  All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,
  And did himselfe to battell ready dight;
  Whose early foe awaiting him beside
  To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,
  When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare,                       465
  As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,
  He woxe dismayd, and gan his fate to feare;
Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare.

                    LIII

And in his first encounter, gaping wide,°
  He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight,                  470
  And rusht upon him with outragious pride;
  Who him r'encountring fierce, as hauke in flight
  Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright
  Taking advantage of his open jaw,
  Ran through his mouth with so importune might,                   475
  That deepe emperst his darksome hollow maw,
And back retyrd,° his life blood forth with all did draw.

                    LIV

So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,
  That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift;
  So downe he fell, that th' earth him underneath                  480
  Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift;
  So downe he fell, as an huge rockie clift,
  Whose false foundation waves have washt away,
  With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,
  And rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay;                    485
So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.

                    LV

The knight himselfe even trembled at his fall,
  So huge and horrible a masse it seem'd,
  And his deare Ladie, that beheld it all,
  Durst not approch for dread, which she misdeem'd;°               490
  But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend
  She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright,
  She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:
  Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight,
That had atchieved so great a conquest by his might.               495

       *       *       *       *       *

                 CANTO XII

        Faire Una to the Redcrosse knight,
          betrouthed is with joy:
        Though false Duessa it to barre
          her false sleights doe imploy.

                    I

BEHOLD I see the haven nigh at hand,
  To which I meane my wearie course to bend;
  Vere the maine shete,° and beare up with the land,
  The which afore is fairely to be kend,
  And seemeth safe from storms that may offend;                      5
  There this faire virgin wearie of her way
  Must landed be, now at her journeyes end:
  There eke my feeble barke a while may stay
Till merry wind and weather call her thence away.

                    II

Scarsely had Phoebus in the glooming East                           10
  Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme,
  Ne reard above the earth his flaming creast;
  When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme
  That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme
  Unto the watchman on the castle wall,                             15
  Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme,
  And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call,
To tell how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall.

                    III

Uprose with hastie joy, and feeble speed
  That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land,                        20
  And looked forth, to weet if true indeede
  Those tydings were, as he did understand,
  Which whenas true by tryall he out found,
  He bad to open wyde his brazen gate,
  Which long time had bene shut, and out of hond°                   25
  Proclaymed joy and peace through all his state;
For dead now was their foe which them forrayed late.

                    IV

Then gan triumphant Trompets sound on hie,
  That sent to heaven the ecchoed report
  Of their new joy, and happie victorie                             30
  Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort,
  And fast imprisoned in sieged fort.
  Then all the people, as in solemne feast,
  To him assembled with one full consort,
  Rejoycing at the fall of that great beast,                        35
From whose eternall bondage now they were releast.

                    V

Forth came that auncient Lord and aged Queene,
  Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground,
  And sad habiliments right well beseene;
  A noble crew about them waited round                              40
  Of sage and sober Peres, all gravely gownd;
  Whom farre before did march a goodly band
  Of tall young men,° all hable armes to sownd,
  But now they laurell braunches bore in hand;
Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land.                 45

                    VI

Unto that doughtie Conquerour they came,
  And him before themselves prostrating low,
  Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame,
  And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw.
  Soone after them all dauncing on a row                            50
  The comely virgins came, with girlands dight,
  As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow,
  When morning deaw upon their leaves doth light:
And in their hands sweet Timbrels all upheld on hight.

                    VII

And them before, the fry of children young                          55
  Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play,
  And to the Maydens° sounding tymbrels sung,
  In well attuned notes, a joyous lay,
  And made delightfull musicke all the way,
  Untill they came, where that faire virgin stood;                  60
  As faire Diana in fresh sommers day,
  Beholds her Nymphes enraung'd in shadie wood,
Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood:

                    VIII

So she beheld those maydens meriment
  With chearefull vew; who when to her they came,                   65
  Themselves to ground with gracious humblesse bent,
  And her ador'd by honorable name,
  Lifting to heaven her everlasting fame:
  Then on her head they set a girland greene,
  And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game;                     70
  Who in her self-resemblance well beseene,°
Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene.

                    IX

And after, all the raskall many° ran,
  Heaped together in rude rablement,
  To see the face of that victorious man:                           75
  Whom all admired, as from heaven sent,
  And gazd upon with gaping wonderment.
  But when they came where that dead Dragon lay,
  Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent,
  The sight with idle feare did them dismay,                        80
Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay.

                    X

Some feard, and fled; some feard and well it faynd;
  One that would wiser seeme then all the rest,
  Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd
  Some lingring life within his hollow brest,                       85
  Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest
  Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed;
  Another said, that in his eyes did rest
  Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed;
Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.                      90

                    XI

One mother, when as her foolehardie chyld
  Did come too neare, and with his talants play,
  Halfe dead through feare, her little babe revyld,
  And to her gossips gan in counsell say;
  How can I tell, but that his talants may                          95
  Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand?
  So diversly themselves in vaine they fray;
  Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand,
To prove how many acres he did spread of land.

                    XII

Thus flocked all the folke him round about,                        100
  The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine,
  Being arrived where that champion stout
  After his foes defeasance did remaine,
  Him goodly greetes, and faire does entertaine
  With princely gifts of yvorie and gold,                          105
  And thousand thankes him yeelds for all his paine.
  Then when his daughter deare he does behold,
Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold.

                    XIII

And after to his Pallace he them brings,
  With shaumes, and trompets, and with Clarions sweet;             110
  And all the way the joyous people sings,
  And with their garments strowes the paved street:
  Whence mounting up, they find purveyance meet
  Of all that royall Princes court became,
  And all the floore was underneath their feet                     115
  Bespred with costly scarlot of great name,°
On which they lowly sit, and fitting purpose frame.°

                    XIV

What needs me tell their feast and goodly guize,°
  In which was nothing riotous nor vaine?
  What needs of dainty dishes to devize,                           120
  Of comely services, or courtly trayne?
  My narrow leaves cannot in them containe
  The large discourse of royall Princes state.
  Yet was their manner then but bare and plaine:
  For th' antique world excesse and pride did hate;                125
Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen up but late.

                    XV

Then when with meates and drinkes of every kinde
  Their fervent appetites they quenched had,
  That auncient Lord gan fit occasion finde,
  Of straunge adventures, and of perils sad,                       130
  Which in his travell him befallen had,
  For to demaund of his renowmed guest:
  Who then with utt'rance grave, and count'nance sad,
  From point to point, as is before exprest,
Discourst his voyage long, according his request.                  135

                    XVI

Great pleasures mixt with pittiful regard,
  That godly King and Queene did passionate,
  Whiles they his pittifull adventures heard,
  That oft they did lament his lucklesse state,
  And often blame the too importune fate,                          140
  That heaped on him so many wrathfull wreakes:
  For never gentle knight, as he of late,
  So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes;
And all the while salt teares bedeawd the hearers cheaks.

                    XVII

Then sayd the royall Pere in sober wise;                           145
  Deare Sonne, great beene the evils which ye bore
  From first to last in your late enterprise,
  That I note whether prayse, or pitty more:
  For never living man, I weene, so sore
  In sea of deadly daungers was distrest;                          150
  But since now safe ye seised have the shore,
  And well arrived are, (high God be blest)
Let us devize of ease and everlasting rest.

                    XVIII

Ah, dearest Lord, said then that doughty knight,
  Of ease or rest I may not yet devize,                            155
  For by the faith, which I to armes have plight,
  I bounden am streight after this emprize,
  As that your daughter can ye well advize,
  Backe to returne to that great Faerie Queene,
  And her to serve six yeares in warlike wize,                     160
  Gainst that proud Paynim king° that workes her teene
Therefore I ought crave pardon, till I there have beene.

                    XIX

Unhappie falles that hard necessitie,
  (Quoth he) the troubler of my happie peace,
  And vowed foe of my felicitie;                                   165
  Ne I against the same can justly preace:
  But since that band ye cannot now release,
  Nor doen undo°; (for vowes may not be vaine,)
  Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall cease,
  Ye then shall hither backe returne againe,                       170
The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain.

                    XX

Which for my part I covet to performe,
  In sort as° through the world I did proclame,
  That whoso kild that monster most deforme,
  And him in hardy battaile overcame,                              175
  Should have mine onely daughter to his Dame,
  And of my kingdome heyre apparaunt bee:
  Therefore since now to thee perteines the same,
  By dew desert of noble chevalree,
Both daughter and eke kingdome, lo, I yield to thee.               180

                    XXI

Then forth he called that his daughter faire,
  The fairest Un' his onely daughter deare,
  His onely daughter, and his onely heyre;
  Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare,
  As bright as doth the morning starre appeare                     185
  Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight,
  To tell that dawning day is drawing neare,
  And to the world does bring long wished light:
So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her selfe in sight.

                    XXII

So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in May;                     190
  For she had layd her mournefull stole aside,
  And widow-like sad wimple throwne away,
  Wherewith her heavenly beautie she did hide,
  Whiles on her wearie journey she did ride;
  And on her now a garment she did weare,                          195
  All lilly white, withoutten spot, or pride,
  That seemd like silke and silver woven neare,
But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare.

                    XXIII

The blazing brightnesse of her beauties beame,
  And glorious light of her sunshyny face,                         200
  To tell, were as to strive against the streame;
  My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace,
  Her heavenly lineaments for to enchace.
  Ne wonder; for her owne deare loved knight,
  All were she° dayly with himselfe in place,                      205
  Did wonder much at her celestiall sight:
Oft had he seene her faire, but never so faire dight.

                    XXIV

So fairely dight, when she in presence came,
  She to her Sire made humble reverence,
  And bowed low, that her right well became,                       210
  And added grace unto her excellence:
  Who with great wisedome and grave eloquence
  Thus gan to say. But eare he thus had said,
  With flying speede, and seeming great pretence
  Came running in, much like a man dismaid,                        215
A Messenger with letters, which his message said.

                    XXV

All in the open hall amazed stood
  At suddeinnesse of that unwarie sight,
  And wondred at his breathlesse hastie mood.
  But he for nought would stay his passage right,                  220
  Till fast before the king he did alight;
  Where falling flat, great humblesse he did make,
  And kist the ground, whereon his foot was pight;
  Then to his hands that writ he did betake,
Which he disclosing, red thus, as the paper spake.                 225

                    XXVI

To thee, most mighty king of Eden faire,
  Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest,
  The wofull daughter, and forsaken heire
  Of that great Emperour of all the West;
  And bids thee be advized for the best,                           230
  Ere thou thy daughter linck in holy band
  Of wedlocke to that new unknowen guest:
  For he already plighted his right hand
Unto another love, and to another land.

                    XXVII

To me sad mayd, or rather widow sad,                               235
  He was affiaunced long time before,
  And sacred pledges he both gave, and had,
  False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore:
  Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore,
  And guiltie heavens of his bold perjury,                         240
  Which though he hath polluted oft of yore,
  Yet I to them for judgement just do fly,
And them conjure t'avenge this shamefull injury.

                    XXVIII

Therefore since mine he is, or free or bond,
  Or false or trew, or living or else dead,                        245
  Withhold, O soveraine Prince, your hasty hond
  From knitting league with him, I you aread;
  Ne weene my right with strength adowne to tread,
  Through weaknesse of my widowhed, or woe;
  For truth is strong her rightfull cause to plead,                250
  And shall find friends, if need requireth soe.
So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, _Fidessa_.

                    XXIX

When he these bitter byting wordes had red,
  The tydings straunge did him abashed make,
  That still he sate long time astonished,                         255
  As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.
  At last his solemne silence thus he brake,
  With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest;
  Redoubted knight, that for mine onely sake
  Thy life and honour late adventurest,                            260
Let nought be hid from me, that ought to be exprest.

                    XXX

What meane these bloody vowes, and idle threats,
  Throwne out from womanish impatient mind?
  What heavens? what altars? what enraged heates
  Here heaped up with termes of love unkind,                       265
  My conscience cleare with guilty bands would bind?
  High God be witnesse, that I guiltlesse ame.
  But if your selfe, Sir knight, ye faultie find,
  Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame,
With crime do not it cover, but disclose the same.                 270

                    XXXI

To whom the Redcrosse knight this answere sent
  My Lord, my King, be nought hereat dismayd,
  Till well ye wote by grave intendiment,
  What woman, and wherefere doth me upbrayd
  With breach of love, and loyalty betrayd.                        275
  It was in my mishaps, as hitherward
  I lately traveild, that unwares I strayd
  Out of my way, through perils straunge and hard;
That day should faile me, ere I had them all declard.

                    XXXII

There did I find, or rather I was found                            280
  Of this false woman, that Fidessa hight,
  Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on ground,
  Most false Duessa, royall richly dight,
  That easy was to invegle weaker sight:
  Who by her wicked arts, and wylie skill,                         285
  Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,
  Unwares me wrought unto her wicked will,
And to my foe betrayd, when least I feared ill.

                    XXXIII

Then stepped forth the goodly royall Mayd,
  And on the ground her selfe prostrating low,                     290
  With sober countenaunce thus to him sayd;
  O pardon me, my soveraigne Lord, to show
  The secret treasons, which of late I know
  To have bene wroght by that false sorceresse.
  She onely she it is, that earst did throw                        295
  This gentle knight into so great distresse,
That death him did awaite in dayly wretchednesse.

                    XXXIV

And now it seemes, that she suborned hath
  This craftie messenger with letters vaine,
  To worke new woe and unprovided scath,                           300
  By breaking of the band betwixt us twaine;
  Wherein she used hath the practicke paine
  Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse,
  Whom if ye please for to discover plaine,
  Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse,                           305
The falsest man alive; who tries shall find no lesse.

                    XXXV

The king was greatly moved at her speach,
  And, all with suddein indignation fraight,
  Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.
  Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait,                 310
  Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait:
  Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,
  As chained Beare, whom cruell dogs do bait,°
  With idle force did faine them to withstand,
And often semblaunce made to scape out of their hand.              315

                    XXXVI

But they him layd full low in dungeon deepe,
  And bound him hand and foote with yron chains
  And with continual watch did warely keepe:
  Who then would thinke, that by his subtile trains
  He could escape fowle death or deadly paines?                    320
  Thus when that princes wrath was pacifide,
  He gan renew the late forbidden bains,
  And to the knight his daughter dear he tyde,
With sacred rites and vowes for ever to abyde.

                    XXXVII

His owne two hands the holy knots did knit,                        325
  That none but death for ever can devide;
  His owne two hands, for such a turne most fit,
  The housling fire° did kindle and provide,
  And holy water thereon sprinckled wide;
  At which the bushy Teade a groome did light,                     330
  And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide,
  Where it should not be quenched day nor night,
For feare of evill fates, but burnen ever bright.

                    XXXVIII

Then gan they sprinckle all the posts with wine,
  And made great feast to solemnize that day;                      335
  They all perfumde with frankencense divine,
  And precious odours fetcht from far away,
  That all the house did sweat with great aray:
  And all the while sweete Musicke did apply
  Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play,                   340
  To drive away the dull Melancholy;
The whiles one sung a song of love and jollity.

                    XXXIX

During the which there was an heavenly noise
  Heard sound through all the Pallace pleasantly,
  Like as it had bene many an Angels voice                         345
  Singing before th' eternall Majesty,
  In their trinall triplicities° on hye;
  Yet wist no creature whence that heavenly sweet
  Proceeded, yet eachone felt secretly
  Himselfe thereby reft of his sences meet,                        350
And ravished with rare impression in his sprite.

                    XL

Great joy was made that day of young and old,
  And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land,
  That their exceeding merth may not be told:
  Suffice it heare by signes to understand                         355
  The usuall joyes at knitting of loves band.
  Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did hold,
  Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand,
  And ever, when his eye did her behold,
His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures manifold.                 360

                    XLI

Her joyous presence, and sweet company
  In full content he there did long enjoy;
  Ne wicked envie, ne vile gealosy,
  His deare delights were able to annoy:
  Yet swimming in that sea of blissfull joy,                       365
  He nought forgot how he whilome had sworne,
  In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,
  Unto his Faerie Queene backe to returne;
The which he shortly did, and Una left to mourne.

                    XLII

Now strike your sailes ye jolly Mariners,                          370
  For we be come unto a quiet rode,
  Where we must land some of our passengers,
  And light this wearie vessell of her lode.
  Here she a while may make her safe abode,
  Till she repaired have her tackles spent,°                       375
  And wants supplide. And then againe abroad
  On the long voyage whereto she is bent:
Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent.

       *       *       *       *       *


NOTES

LINE 1. LO I THE MAN.... An imitation of the opening lines of Vergil's
_Aeneid_:--

  "Ille ego, qui quondam gracili modulatus avena
  Carmen,...
  Gratum opus agricolis, at nunc horrentia Martis."

Referring to his _Shepheards Calender_ (1579) Spenser thus gracefully
indicates his change from pastoral to epic poetry.

5-9. KNIGHTS AND LADIES. The poet here imitates the opening of Ariosto's
_Orlando Furioso_.

10. O HOLY VIRGIN CHIEFE OF NINE, refers to Clio, the muse of history.
Spenser should have invoked Calliope, the muse of poetry.

14. OF FAERIE KNIGHTS, the the champions of Gloriana, the queen of
Faerieland. FAIREST TANAQUILL, a British princess, daughter of Oberon, king
of Faerieland. In the allegory she is Queen Elizabeth.

15. THAT MOST NOBLE BRITON PRINCE is Prince Arthur, the perfect knight, who
is in love with Gloriana. In the allegory the Earl of Leicester is probably
meant, though by one tradition Sir Philip Sidney is identified with Prince
Arthur.

19. IMPE OF HIGHEST JOVE, Cupid, the god of love, and son of Jupiter and
Venus. He is represented as armed with an ebony bow (l. 23).

25. TRIUMPHANT MART, Mars, the god of war. The spelling is that of the
Italians and Chaucer.

28. O GODDESSE HEAVENLY BRIGHT, Queen Elizabeth (aged 56), who was fond of
such extravagant flattery, and expected it of all her courtiers.

31. PHOEBUS LAMPE, Apollo, the sun-god.

34. GLORIOUS TYPE OF THINE, the Lady Una, who stands for Truth in the
allegory.

35. THE ARGUMENT OF MINE AFFLICTED STILE, the subject of my humble pen.
"_Afflicted_" has the original Latin sense of "cast down."

36. O DEAREST DRED, O beloved object of reverence; a common salutation of
royalty.

CANTO I

I. _The Plot:_ At the bidding of Gloriana, the Redcross Knight undertakes
to deliver Una's parents from a dragon who holds them captive. He sets out
upon his quest attended by a dwarf and guided by Una, mounted on an ass and
leading a lamb. They are driven by a storm into a forest, where they
discover the cave of Error, who is slain by the Knight. They are then
beguiled into the house of Archimago, an old enchanter. By his magic he
leads the Knight in a dream to believe that Una is false to him, and thus
separates them.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. Holiness, the love of God, united with Truth, the
knowledge of God, is to deliver man from the thraldom of the Devil.
Together they are able to overthrow Error; but Hypocrisy deceitfully
alienates Holiness from Truth by making the latter appear unworthy of love.

2. There is a hint of the intrigues of the false Roman church and the
treacherous Spanish king, Philip II, to undermine the religious and
political freedom of the English people. The English nation, following the
Reformed church, overthrows the Catholic faith, but is deceived by the
machinations of Spanish diplomacy.

LINE 1. A GENTLE KNIGHT, the Redcross Knight, representing the church
militant, and Reformed England. He is the young, untried champion of the
old cause whose struggles before the Reformation are referred to in ll. 3,
4. His shield bore "a cross gules upon a field argent," a red cross on a
silver ground. See _The Birth of St. George_ in Percy's _Reliques_, iii, 3,
and Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, iii, 65.

15. FOR SOVERAINE HOPE, as a sign of the supreme hope.

20. GREATEST GLORIANA, Queen Elizabeth. In other books of _The Faerie
Queene_ she is called Belphoebe, the patroness of chastity, and Britomart,
the military genius of Britain.

27. A DRAGON, "the great dragon, that old serpent, called the devil,"
_Revelation_, xii, 9, also Rome and Spain. Cf. legend of St. George and the
dragon, and Fletcher's _Purple Island_, vii _seq._

28. A LOVELY LADIE, Una, the personification of truth and true religion.
Her lamb symbolizes innocence.

46. A DWARFE, representing prudence, or common sense; according to Morley,
the flesh.

56. A SHADIE GROVE, the wood of Error. "By it Spenser shadows forth the
danger surrounding the mind that escapes from the bondage of Roman
authority and thinks for itself."--Kitchin. The description of the wood is
an imitation of Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, i, 37, Chaucer's _Assembly of
Foules_, 176, and Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, iii, 75. Morley sees in
this grove an allegory of man's life, the trees symbolizing trade,
pleasure, youth, etc.

69. THE SAYLING PINE. Ships were built of pine.

70. THE LOPLAR NEVER DRY, because it grows best in moist soil.

71. THE BUILDER OAKE. In the Middle Ages most manor houses and churches
were built of oak.

72. THE CYPRESSE FUNERALL, an emblem of death among the ancients, and
sacred to Pluto. Sidney says that they were wont to dress graves with
cypress branches in old times.

73. THE LAURELL. Victors at the Pythian games and triumphing Roman generals
were crowned with laurel. It was also sacred to Apollo, the god of poetry,
hence "meed of poets sage."

74. THE FIRRE THAT WEEPETH STILL. The fir exudes resinous substance.

75. THE WILLOW. "Willows: a sad tree, whereof such who have lost their love
make their mourning garlands."--Fuller's _Worthies_, i, 153. Cf. Heywood's
_Song of the Green Willow_, and Desdemona's song in _Othello_, IV, iii, 39.

76. THE EUGH. Ascham in his _Toxophilus_ tells us that the best bows were
made of yew.

78. THE MIRRHE, the Arabian myrtle, which exudes a bitter but fragrant gum.
The allusion is to the wounding of Myrrha by her father and her
metamorphosis into this tree.

79. THE WARLIKE BEECH, because lances and other arms were made of it. THE
ASH FOR NOTHING ILL. "The uses of the ash is one of the most universal: it
serves the souldier, the carpenter, the wheelwright, cartwright, cooper,
turner, and thatcher."--Evelyn's _Sylva_. The great tree Igdrasil in the
northern mythology was an ash.

81. THE CARVER HOLME, or evergreen oak, was good for carving.

106. SHAME WERE TO REVOKE, etc., it would be cowardly not to go forward for
fear of some suspected unseen danger.

114. THE WANDRING WOOD, i.e. which causes men to go astray.

123. MONSTER. The description of the monster Error, or Falsehood, is based
on Hesiod's Echidna, _Theog_. 301, and the locusts in _Revelation_, ix,
7-10. She is half human, half serpent, because error is partly true and
partly false. Dante's Fraud and Milton's Sin are similar monsters.

126. FULL OF VILE DISDAINE, full of vileness that bred disgust in the
beholder.

130. OF HER THERE BRED, etc., of her were born a thousand young ones. Her
offspring are lies and rumors of many shapes.

141. ARMED TO POINT, completely armed. Cf. Fr. _à point_, to a nicety.

145. THE VALIANT ELFE, because he was the reputed son of an Elfin or
Faerie, though really sprung from "an ancient race of Saxon kings." Three
kinds of elves are mentioned in the _Edda_: the black dwarfs, and brownies,
who both dwelt under ground, and the fair elves, who dwelt in Fairyland or
Alfheim. "The difference between Spenser's elves and these Teutonic elves
shows how he perverts Fairy mythology in the same way as he does Classical
myths."--Percival.

168. HIS GALL DID GRATE FOR GRIEFE, his anger was aroused on account of
pain. In the old anatomy anger had its seat in the gallbladder. See
Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, I, i, 2.

177. HER VOMIT FULL OF BOOKES, etc. From 1570, when Pope Sixtus V issued
his bull of deposition against Queen Elizabeth, to 1590, great numbers of
scurrilous pamphlets attacking the Queen and the Reformed church had been
disseminated by Jesuit refugees.

181. NILUS. Pliny believed that the mud of the Nile had the power of
breeding living creatures like mice. _Hist. Nat._ ix, 84. So Shakespeare,
_Antony and Cleopatra_, II, vii, 29.

199. GENTLE SHEPHEARD. In this pastoral simile, Spenser imitates Homer's
_Iliad_, ii, 469, and xvii, 641, and Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, xiv, 109.

208. THUS ILL BESTEDD. There is a similar combat in the old romance _Guy of
Warwick_, ix, between the hero and a man-eating dragon.

217. HER SCATTRED BROOD. The poet here follows a belief as old as Pliny
that the young of serpents fed on their mother's blood. In this entire
passage the details are too revolting for modern taste.

232. THE WHICH THEM NURST. The antecedent of _which_ is _her_. In the
sixteenth century _the_ was frequently placed before _which_, which was
also the equivalent of _who_. Cf. the Lord's Prayer.

234. HE SHOULD CONTEND, he should have had to contend.

237. BORNE UNDER HAPPY STARRE. Belief in astrology was once common, and
Spenser being a Pythagorean would hold the doctrine of the influence of the
stars on human destiny.

239. THAT ARMORIE, the armor of the Christian warrior. _Ephesians_, vi, 13.

243. THAT LIKE SUCCEED IT MAY, that like successful adventures may succeed
it. The word order is inverted for the sake of the rhyme.

250. TO FREND, as his friend.

254. AN AGED SIRE, the false enchanter, Archimago, or Hypocrisy, who is
supposed to represent Pope Sixtus V or King Philip II of Spain. In general
he stands for false religion or the Church of Rome. The character and
adventure are taken from _Orlando Furioso_, ii, 12, in which there is a
hypocritical hermit. The Knight at first takes Archimago to be a palmer,
and inquires for the foreign news.

295. TAKE UP YOUR IN, take lodging.

301. A LITTLE WYDE, a little way off.

315. AN AVE-MARY, Hail Mary, a prayer to the Virgin. Cf. _Luke_, i, 28.

317. THE SAD HUMOUR, the heavy moisture, or "slombring deaw."

318. MORPHEUS, the son of Somnus and god of sleep and dreams, who sprinkled
the dew of sleep on the brow of mortals from his horn or wings or from a
bough dipped in Lethe.

323. HIS MAGICK BOOKES AND ARTES. Monks engaged in scientific
investigation, such as Friar Roger Bacon, were popularly supposed to use
cabalistic books, and to make compacts with the Devil by means of
necromancy, or the black art, as in st. xxxvii. Before the close of the
century Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ and Greene's _Friar Bacon and Friar
Bungay_, both based on the popular belief in magic, were presented on the
London stage.

328. BLACKE PLUTOES GRIESLY DAME, Proserpine, the avenger of men, and
inflicter of curses on the dead. She is identified with Shakespeare's
Hecate, the goddess of sorcery, and with Milton's Cotytto, goddess of lust.
To this latter sin the knight is tempted.

332. GREAT GORGON, Demogorgon, whose name might not be uttered, a magician
who had power over the spirits of the lower world. The poet is here
imitating the Latin poets Lucan and Statius.

333. COCYTUS, the river of wailing, and STYX, the river of hate, both in
Hades. There were two others, _Acheron_, the river of sorrow, and
_Phlegethon_, the river of fire.

335. LEGIONS OF SPRIGHTS. In this stanza and the preceding Spenser follows
Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, xiii, 6-11, where the magician Ismeno,
guarding the Enchanted Wood, conjures "legions of devils" with the "mighty
name" (l. 332).

339. CHOSE. Imitation of Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, ii, 15, in which a
false spirit is called up by a hypocritical hermit. The description of the
House of Sleep in st. xxxix _seq_. is modelled on the same poet, _Orlando
Furioso_, ii, 15 _seq_. The influence of Homer's _Odyssey_, xi, 16 is seen
in st. xxxix, ll. 348 _seq_.

348. TETHYS, the ocean. In classical mythology she is the daughter of
Uranus (heaven) and Gaea (earth), and the wife of Oceanus.

349. CYNTHIA, the moon. The allusion is to the story of Diana and Endymion.
See Lyly's play _Endymion_.

352. WHOSE DOUBLE GATES. Homer, _Odyssey_, xix, 562, and Vergil, _Aeneid_,
vi, 893, give the House of Dreams a horn and an ivory gate. Spenser
substitutes silver for horn, mirrors being overlaid with silver in his
time. From the ivory gate issued false dreams; from the other, true ones.

361. SLUMBER SOFT. This stanza shows Spenser's wonderful technique. His
exquisite effects are produced, it will be noticed, partly by the choice of
musical words and partly by the rhythmical cadence of the verse phrases. It
is an example of perfect "keeping," or adaptation of sound to sense. Cf.
Chaucer's description of the waterfalls in the Cave of Sleep in his _Boke
of the Duchesse_, 162.

376. WHOSE DRYER BRAINE, whose brain too dry. In the old physiology, a dry
brain was the cause of slow and weak perception, and a moist brain of
quickness.

378. ALL, entirely, altogether.

381. HECATE, queen of phantoms and demons in Hades, and mistress of witches
on earth. See xxxvii.

387. THE SLEEPERS SENT, the sleeper's sense.

405. MOST LIKE TO SEEME, etc.. most likely fit to seem for (represent) Una.
_Like_ is an adv. A very awkward inversion.

411. BORNE WITHOUT HER DEW, i.e. created by him in an unnatural manner.

425. FAYRE VENUS, the daughter of Jupiter, or Zeus, and the sea-nymph
Dione. She is the same as Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and beauty.

430. THE GRACES, Euphrosyne, Aglaia, and Thalia, daughters of Zeus and
Aphrodite.

431. HYMEN IÖ HYMEN, refrain of an old Roman nuptial song. Hymen, the son
of Apollo and the Muse Urania, was the god of marriage.

432. FRESHEST FLORA, the goddess of flowers. She typified spring.

447. TO PROVE HIS SENSE, etc. To test his perception and prove her feigned
truth.

449. THO CAN SHE WEEPE, then did she weep. _Can_ here is the Northern
dialect form for the middle English _gan_, past tense of _ginnen_, to
begin, which was used as an auxiliary.

454. THE BLIND GOD, Cupid, Eros, or Amor, the god of love.

478. Like other knights of romance, e.g. Sir Galahad and Sir Gareth in
Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, iii, 65, etc., the Redcross Knight does not
yield to the temptation of the flesh, but overcomes it.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR STUDY

(Canto I)

1. Tell in your own words the story of this canto. 2. Which muse does
Spenser invoke? 3. Who were the nine muses? 4. What is the difference
between _pastoral_ and _epic_ poetry? 5. Illustrate by _The Shepheards
Calender_ and the _The Faerie Queene_. 6. Point out imitations of Homer,
Vergil, Lucan, Statius, Ariosto, Tasso, and Chaucer. 7. Explain the
reference to the religious questions and politics of Queen Elizabeth's
reign. 8. Where does Spenser use classical mythology--mediæval legends? 9.
What references to the Bible do you find? 10. Try to make a mental picture
of the Knight--of Una--of Error--of Archimago. 11. Is Spenser's character
drawing objective or subjective? 12. Is the description of the wood in vii
true to nature? Could so many trees grow together in a thick wood? 13.
Study the Rembrandt-like effects of light and shade in xiv. 14. What
infernal deities are conjured up by Archimago?

15. Paraphrase in your own language ll. 88, 106-107, 116, 267-268.

16. Explain use of _of_ in l. 75. 17. What part of speech is _wandering_ l.
114? _to viewen_ l. 201? parse _which_ l. 232; _him_ and _spend_ l. 233;
_you_ and _shew_ l. 276. 18. Find examples of Euphuistic hyperbole in iv,
of alliteration in xiv. 19. Explain the use and form of _eyne_, _edified_,
_afflicted_, _weeds_, _Hebean_, _impe_, _compeld_, _areeds_, _blazon_,
_ycladd_.

CANTO II

I. _The Plot_: Deceived by Archimago's phantoms, the Redcross Knight
suspects the chastity of Una, and flies at early dawn with his dwarf. He
chances to meet the Saracen Sansfoy in company with the false Duessa. They
do battle and Sansfoy is slain. Duessa under the name of Fidessa attaches
herself to the Knight, and they ride forward. They stop to rest under some
shady trees, On breaking a bough, the Knight discovers that the trees are
two lovers, Fradubio and Fraelissa, thus imprisoned by the cruel
enchantment of Duessa.

II. _The Allegory_: 1. Hypocrisy under a pious disguise is attractive to
Holiness. Truth is also deceived by it, and shamefully slandered. Holiness
having abandoned Truth, takes up with Falsehood, who is attended by
Infidelity. Unbelief when openly assailing Holiness is overthrown, but
Falsehood under the guise of Faith remains undiscovered. The fate of the
man (Fradubio) is set forth who halts between two opinions,--False Religion
(Duessa) and Heathen Philosophy, or Natural Religion (Fraelissa).

2. The Reformed Church, no longer under the guidance of Truth, rushes
headlong into Infidelity, and unwittingly became the defender of the Romish
Faith under the name of the True Faith. There is a hint of the intrigues of
Mary Queen of Scots and the libels of the Jesuits on Queen Elizabeth
designed to bring back the English nation to Romish allegiance.

LINE 1. THE NORTHERNE WAGONER, the constellation Boötes.

2. HIS SEVENFOLD TEME, the seven stars of Ursa Major, or Charles's Wain.
THE STEDFAST STARRE, the Pole-star, which never sets.

6. CHEAREFULL CHAUNTICLERE, the name of the cock in the fabliaux and beast
epics, e.g. _Roman de Renart_ and _Reineke Fuchs_.

7. PHOEBUS FIERY CARRE, the sun.

11. THAT FAIRE-FORGED SPRIGHT, fair but miscreated spirit (I, xiv). Spenser
took suggestions for this stanza from Ariosto and Tasso.

51. FAIRE HESPERUS, the evening star.

55. THE ROSY-FINGRED MORNING. This beautiful epithet of Aurora, the goddess
of the dawn, is borrowed from Homer, Hesiod, and other ancient poets.

56. AGED TITHONES, son of Laomedon, King of Troy. Aurora conferred upon him
immortality without youth, hence the epithet "aged."

58. TITAN, the sun-god in the Roman myths.

85. PROTEUS, a sea-god who was endowed with the power of prophecy. He could
change himself into any shape in order to avoid having to prophesy. See
Homer, _Odyssey_, iv, 366 _seq_., and Vergil, _Georgics_, iv, 387.

90. HERBES. In the sixteenth century the belief in potions, magic formulas,
etc., was still strongly rooted in the popular mind. The Spanish court and
the priests were supposed to employ supernatural agencies against the
Protestants.

105. A FAITHLESS SARAZIN. Spenser uses the word Saracen in the general
sense of pagan. During the Middle Ages the Saracen power was a menace to
Europe, and the stronghold of infidelity. The names of the three Paynim
brethren, Sansfoy, Sansjoy, and Sansloy,--faithless, joyless, and
lawless,--suggest the point of view of Spenser's age.

109. A FAIRE COMPANION, the enchantress Duessa, or Falsehood, who calls
herself Fidessa. In the allegory Spenser intended her to represent the
Romish church and Mary Queen of Scots. Her character and appearance were
suggested by the woman of Babylon, in _Revelation_, viii, 4, Ariosto's
Alcina, and Tasso's Armida.

136. AS WHEN TWO RAMS. This figure is found in Vergil, Apollonius, Malory,
Tasso, Dante, and other poets and romancers.

141. THE HANGING VICTORY, the victory which hung doubtful in the balance.

144. THE BROKEN RELIQUES, the shattered lances.

148. EACH OTHERS EQUALL PUISSAUNCE ENVIES, each envies the equal prowess of
the other.

149. THROUGH THEIR IRON SIDES, etc., through their armored sides with cruel
glances, etc.

155. THE BITTER FIT, the bitterness of death.

158. ASSURED SITT, etc., sit firm (in the saddle), and hide (cover) thy
head (with thy shield).

160. WITH RIGOUR SO OUTRAGEOUS, with force so violent.

161. THAT A LARGE SHARE, etc., that a large piece it (the sword) hewed,
etc.

162. FROM BLAME HIM FAIRLY BLEST. 1, fairly preserved him from hurt; 2,
fairly acquitted him of blame. _Him_ in (1) refers to the knight, in (2) to
the Saracen. (1) is the better interpretation.

169. GRUDGING. Because reluctant to part from the flesh.

196. DAUGHTER OF AN EMPEROUR. Duessa represents the Pope, who exercised
imperial authority in Rome, though the seat of the empire had been
transferred to Constantinople in 476.

200. THE ONLY HAIRE. The dauphin of France, the first husband of Mary Queen
of Scots, afterwards King Francis II, son of Henry II. Duessa's story is
full of falsehoods.

244. SO DAINTY THEY SAY MAKETH DERTH, coyness makes desire. The knight is
allured on by Duessa's assumed shyness.

251. NE WONT THERE SOUND, nor was accustomed to sound there.

254. COOL SHADE. The Reformed Church, weakened by Falsehood, is enticed by
doubt and skepticism.

262. FAIRE SEEMLY PLEASAUNCE, pleasant courtesies.

263. WITH GOODLY PURPOSES, with polite conversation. This whole stanza
refers to Mary's candidacy for the English throne and its dangers to
Protestantism.

269. HE PLUCKT A BOUGH. In this incident Spenser imitates Ariosto, _Orlando
Furioso_, vi, 26, in which Ruggiero addresses a myrtle which bleeds and
cries out with pain. The conception of men turned into trees occurs also in
Ovid, Vergil, Tasso, and Dante.

272. O SPARE WITH GUILTY HANDS, etc. Cf Vergil's account of Polydorus in
_Aeneid_, iii, 41, in which a myrtle exclaims, _Parce pias scelerare
manus_, etc.

284. FROM LIMBO LAKE, here, the abode of the lost. With the Schoolmen,
Limbo was a border region of hell where dwelt the souls of Old Testament
saints, pious heathen, lunatics, and unbaptized infants. Cf. Milton's
Paradise of Fools, _Paradise Lost_, iii, 495.

291. FRADUBIO, as it were "Brother Doubtful," one who hesitates between
false religion and pagan religion, Duessa and Fraelissa (Morley). Fraelissa
is fair but frail, and will not do to lean upon.

342. FAIRE IN PLACE, fair in that place.

351. TO TREEN MOULD, to the form of a tree. _Treen_ is an adj. like
_wooden_.

354. THE SAME. Supply "as she appeared to be," i.e. fair and true.

357. PROPER HEW. Witches had to appear in their "proper hew" one day in
spring and undergo a purifying bath. The old romances make frequent mention
of the enchanted herb bath.

370. BY CHAUNGES OF MY CHEARE, by my changed countenance or expression.

371. DROWND IN SLEEPIE NIGHT. The phrase modifies "body," or is equivalent
to "while I was drowned in sleep."

382. IN A LIVING WELL, in a well of running water. This well signifies the
healing power of Christianity. _John_, iv, 14. In Spenser's story this well
is never found, and the wretched couple are never restored to human shape.

404. ALL PASSED FEARE, all fear having passed.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto II)

1. How does the knight feel and act while under Archimago's spell? 2. What
becomes of Una? 3. How does Archimago plan to deceive her? 4. Tell the
story of the lovers turned into trees. 5. Who was Sansfoy? 6. Describe the
appearance and character of Duessa. 7. What did she have to do with
Fradubio and Fraelissa? 8. What was the old belief about the penance of
witches? 9. How only could the lovers be restored to their human shape? Was
it done? 10. Who were St. George, Phoebus, Titan, Tithonius? 11. Explain
the reference to Chaunticlere in l. 6.

12. Find examples of _alliteration_ in xix; of _balance_ in xxxvii; and of
_Latinizing_ in xix; xxxvi; xxxviii, and xl.

13. Paraphrase in your own words ll. 111, 134-135, 162 (giving two
interpretations); 335, 386-387.

14. What _figure of speech_ is used in xiii, xvi, and xx?

15. Study the rich word-painting in the description of sunrise in vii. Find
other examples of this poet's use of "costly" epithets.

16. Scan the following passages: 148, 174, 178, 193, and 299.

17. Find example of _tmesis_ (separation of prep. from ob.) in xlv.

18. What is the difference between the two _wells_ in xliii?

19. To whom do the pronouns in ll. 174, 175 refer?

20. What is the _case_ of _heavens_ in l. 193? of _Sarazin_ in l. 217?

21. What words are omitted in ll. 188, 313, 398?

CANTO III

I. _The Plot:_ Una wandering in quest of her Knight is guarded by a Lion.
With difficulty they gain entrance to the cottage of Corceca and her
daughter Abessa, the paramour of Kirkrapine. The latter is killed by the
Lion. Fleeing the next day, Una falls in with Archimago disguised as the
Redcross Knight. They journey on and meet a second Saracen knight, Sansloy.
In the fight which ensues Archimago is unhorsed and his deception unmasked.
The Lion is slain, and Una becomes the captive of Sansloy.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. Truth finds temporary protection in Reason, or
Natural Honor (Lion), and with its help puts a stop to the Robbing of
Churches (Kirkrapine), which is connived at by Blind Devotion (Corceca) and
Secret Sin (Abessa). Truth is then associated with Hypocrisy under the
guise of Holiness, but it is soon unmasked by Lawlessness (Sansloy), with
which Truth is forced into an unnatural alliance.

2. "The lion is said to represent Henry VIII, overthrowing the monasteries,
destroying church-robbers, disturbing the dark haunts of idleness,
ignorance and superstition."--Kitchin. The battle between Archimago and
Sansloy refers to the contests of the Catholic powers with the Moslems. The
whole canto also has a hint of the violence and lawlessness connected with
the English conquest of Ireland.

LINE 14. THOUGH TRUE AS TOUCH, though true as if tested on the touchstone
(by which true gold was distinguished from counterfeit).

18. AND HER DUE LOVES, etc., the love due to her diverted, etc.

27. YET WISHED TYDINGS, etc., yet none brought unto her the wished-for
tidings of him. An awkward transposition.

34. THE GREAT EYE OF HEAVEN, the sun. Cf. _Paradise Lost_, v. 171.

38. A RAMPING LYON. Reason or Natural Honor; also Henry VIII. According to
the ancient belief, no lion would attack a true virgin or one of royal
blood. Similar scenes are found in _Sir Bevis of Hampton_, _The Seven
Champions of Christendom_, etc. Cf. I _Henry_ IV, ii, 4. The allegory
signifies that man guided merely by reason will recognize Truth and pay it
homage.

51. WHOSE YEELDED PRIDE, etc., object of _had marked_, l. 52.

77. HE KEPT BOTH WATCH AND WARD, he kept awake and guarded her.

89. A DAMZELL SPYDE, Abessa, who symbolizes Flagrant or Secret Sin.

99. HER CAST IN DEADLY HEW, threw her into a deathly paleness.

101. UPON THE WAGER LAY, was at stake.

102. WHEREAS HER MOTHER BLYND, where her blind mother, Corceca, or Blind
Devotion.

109. UNRULY PAGE. This refers to the violence with which Henry VIII forced
Protestantism upon the people. In his _Present State of Ireland_ (p. 645),
Spenser speaks of the ignorance and blind devotion of the Irish Papists in
the benighted country places.

116. PATER NOSTERS, the Lord's Prayer; AVES, prayers to the Virgin.

136. ALDEBORAN, the Bull's Eye, a double star of the first magnitude in the
constellation Taurus.

137. CASSIOPEIAS CHAIRE, a circumpolar constellation having a fancied
resemblance to a chair.

139. ONE KNOCKED AT THE DORE, Kirkrapine, the plunderer of the Church.
Spenser represents in him the peculiar vices of the Irish clergy and laity.

166. STAY HIM TO ADVIZE, stop to reflect.

172. HIM BOOTETH NOT RESIST, it does him no good to resist. This whole
passage refers, perhaps, to Henry VIII's suppression of the monasteries and
convents in 1538-39.

185. THAT LONG WANDRING GREEKE. Ulysses, or Odysseus, the hero of Homer's
_Odyssey_, who wandered ten years and refused immortality from the goddess
Calypso in order that he might return to Penelope.

xxii. Note the rhymes _deare_, _heare_, and _teare_ (air). This 16th
century pronunciation still survives in South Carolina. See Ellis's _Early
English Pronunciation_, III, 868. This stanza reads like the description of
an Irish wake.

238. OR OUGHT HAVE DONE, or have done something to displease you.

239. THAT SHOULD AS DEATH, etc., that should settle like death, etc.

248. AND CHOSE IN FAERY COURT. See Spenser's letter to Sir W. Raleigh, p.
6.

250. HER KINDLY SKILL, her natural power.

276. FIERCE ORIONS HOUND, Sirius, the Dog-star, the brightest of the fixed
stars. The constellation Orion was named from a giant hunter who was
beloved by Aurora and slain by Diana.

279. AND NEREUS CROWNES WITH CUPS, and Nereus drinks bumpers in his honor.
Nereus was a sea-god, son of Ocean and Earth.

282. FROM GROUND, from the land.

297. SANS LOY symbolizes the pagan lawlessness in Ireland. There is also a
wider reference to the struggles between the Turks and the allied Christian
powers, which had been going on since the siege of Vienna in 1529.

309. VAINLY CROSSED SHIELD, Archimago's false cross lacked the protecting
power of St. George's charmed true cross.

321. LETHE LAKE, a lake or river of Hades, whose water brought oblivion or
forgetfulness to all who drank of it.

322. Refers to the ancient custom of sacrificing an enemy on the funeral
altar to appease the shade of the dead.

323. THE BLACKE INFERNALL FURIES, the Erinyes, or goddesses of vengeance,
who dwelt in Erebus. They were robed in black, bloody garments befitting
their gloomy character.

325. In romance it was customary for the victor to unlace the helmet of the
knight whom he had unhorsed before slaying him. Friends and relatives were
sometimes discovered by this precaution.

342. NE EVER WONT IN FIELD, etc., was never accustomed to fight in the
battle-field or in the lists of the tournament.

xliii. Contrast Sansloy's rude treatment of Una with the chivalrous respect
and courtesy always shown by a true knight to woman.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto III)

1. What moral reflections does the poet make in the introductory stanza?
Note the reference to the Queen. 2. What do you learn of the laws, customs,
and sentiments of chivalry in this canto? 3. Give an account of Una's
meeting with the Lion. 4. Explain the allegory of the incident of the Lion.
5. Describe the character, appearance, and actions of Corceca, and explain
the allegory. 6. Note the use of the stars to indicate time. 7. Under what
circumstances does Una meet Archimago? 8. Explain the allegory in ix. 9.
Note the Euphuistic balance in xxvii. 10. What figure do you find in xxxi?
Note the Homeric style. 11. Describe the fight between Archimago and
Sansloy, and explain the double allegory. 12. What is the moral
interpretation of xli-xlii?

13. Explain the Latinisms in ll. 37 and 377. 14. How are the adjectives
used in l. 57? 15. Note change of pronouns in vii from third person to
first. 16. Explain tense of _shold pas_ in l. 83. 17. Note confusion of
pronouns in xxii and xxxv. 18. Examine the _nominative absolute_
construction in st. xiv and xxxix. 19. Explain the ambiguous construction
in l. 165. 20. Parse _her_ in l. 262. 21. Note careless use of relative in
l. 288.

CANTO IV

I. _The Plot:_ In this and the following canto the adventures of the
Redcross Knight are continued from Canto II. Guided by Duessa, he enters
the House of Pride. There he sees Lucifera, the Queen of Pride, attended by
her sinful court. Her six Counselors are described in detail, with an
account of a pleasure trip taken by the Queen and her court. Sansjoy
unexpectedly arrives and challenges the Knight to mortal combat for the
shield of Sansfoy. That night Duessa holds a secret conference with the
Saracen knight.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. The Christian Soldier, under the influence of false
ideals (Duessa), is exposed to the temptations of the Seven Deadly Sins,
chief among which is Pride. In the midst of these sinful pleasures, he is
assailed by Joylessness, on whose side is Falsehood secretly.

2. The religious and political allegory is here vague and somewhat
discontinuous. There is a hint, however, of the attempts of Mary Queen of
Scots to bring England back to Romanism. The pride and corruption of the
false church and its clergy are set forth. There is also a suggestion of
the perilous position of the English in Ireland.

20. OF EACH DEGREE AND PLACE, of every rank and order of society.

21. HAVING SCAPED HARD, having escaped with difficulty.

24. LAZARS. Leprosy was a common disease in England even as late as the
sixteenth century.

49. MALVENÙ, ill-come, as opposed to _Bienvenu_, welcome.

73. LIKE PHOEBUS FAIREST CHILDE, Phaethon, the son of Helios. He was killed
by a thunderbolt from the hand of Zeus, as a result of his reckless driving
of the chariot of the sun.

86. A DREADFULL DRAGON, Fallen Pride.

94. This genealogy of Pride is invented by the poet in accord with the
Christian doctrine concerning this sin.

107. SIX WIZARDS OLD, the remaining six of the Seven Deadly Sins, Wrath,
Envy, Lechery, Gluttony, Avarice, and Idleness. See Chaucer's _Parson's
Tale_ for a sermon on these mortal sins, Gower's _Dance of the Seven Deadly
Sins_, and Laugland's _Piers Plowman_.

145. COCHE. Spenser imitates Ovid and Homer in this description of Juno's
chariot. The peacock was sacred to the goddess, who transferred to its tail
the hundred eyes of the monster Argus. See Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, i, 625
_seq_.

157. WITH LIKE CONDITIONS, etc. The behests were of a kind similar to the
nature of the six Sins.

174. HE CHALENGED ESSOYNE, he claimed exemption.

185. LIKE A CRANE. This refers to Aristotle's story of a man who wished
that his neck were as long as a crane's, that he might the longer enjoy the
swallowing of his food. _Nic. Ethics_, iii, 13.

205. A DRY DROPSIE, a dropsy causing thirst.

236. UPON A CAMELL, etc. The reference is to a story in Herodotus'
_History_ (iii, 102 _seq_.), in which the Indians are described as carrying
off on camels gold dust hoarded by enormous ants.

252. UNTO HIM SELFE UNKNOWNE, i.e. being ignorant of his own wretchedness.

309. UNTHRIFTY SCATH, wicked damage, or mischief that thrives not.

313. THE SWELLING SPLENE. The spleen was the seat of anger.

314. SAINT FRAUNCES FIRE, St. Anthony's fire, or erysipelas. Diseases were
named from those who were supposed to be able to heal them.

335. WITH PLEASAUNCE, etc. Fed with enjoyment of the fields, the fresh air
of which they went to breathe.

437. AND HELPLESSE HAP, etc. It does no good to bemoan unavoidable chance.

440. PAY HIS DEWTIES LAST, pay his last duty to the shade of the slain man
by sacrificing his murderer.

443. ODDES OF ARMES, chances of mishap in arms due to some advantage of
one's antagonist.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto IV)

1. What are the moral reflections in stanza i? 2. What suggestion of the
condition of the English roads do you find in st. ii? 3. _But few
returned_, l. 21. What became of the rest? 4. Give a description of the
House of Pride. Note resemblance to a typical Elizabethan hall. 5. Explain
the allegory of the House, noting the association of ugliness and beauty.
6. How is expectation aroused in vi? 7. Describe the dramatic appearance
and character of Pride. Cf. description of Satan on his throne in _Paradise
Lost_, iii. 8. What do you learn in this canto of Elizabethan or chivalric
manners and customs? 9. Describe the procession at the court of Pride. 10.
What satire of the Romish priesthood in xviii-xx? 11. Note examples of
Spenser's humor in xiv and xvi. 12. Point out the classical influence
(Dionysus and Silenus) in the description of Gluttony. 13. Subject of the
interview between Duessa and Sansjoy. 14. Point out the archaisms in l. 10;
alliteration in xxxix and l; the Latinisms in xlvi and xlvii. 15. In what
case is _way_ in l. 17? 16. Explain the meaning and historical significance
of _lazar_, l. 24, and _diall_, l. 36. 17. Explain the references of the
pronouns in l. 55, and ll. 418-419. 18. Note the Euphuistic balance and
antithesis in xxix and xlv. 19. Explain the suffix in _marchen_ in l. 325.
20. Note the double negative in iv, xlix. 21. Paraphrase in your own words
ll. 239, 243, 360, 437.

CANTO V

I. _The Plot_: (a continuation of Canto IV). The Knight fights in the lists
with Sansjoy and defeats him, but is prevented by Duessa's magic from
slaying him. Duessa descends to Erebus and obtains the aid of Night, who
conveys the wounded Saracen in her chariot to Æsculapius to be healed of
his wounds. The tortures of some of the souls in Erebus are described,
particularly the cause of Æsculapius' punishment. A roll of the prisoners
whom the dwarf discovers in Pride's dungeon is given. The Knight flees with
the dwarf from her house.

II. _The Allegory_: When the Christian Soldier is attacked by Joylessness,
he has a far more desperate struggle than that with Infidelity, and comes
out wounded though victorious. Joylessness when crushed by Holiness is
restored by Pagan Philosophy. The backsliding Christian is warned in time
by Prudence of the fearful consequences of sin, and hastens to turn his
back on Pride and the other sins. The soul is led to dread Pride, not by
Truth, but by its sufferings and other inferior motives.

25. THEIR TIMELY VOYCES, their voices keeping time with their harps.

27. OLD LOVES, famous love-affairs, the subject of the Minnesängers.

29. IN WOVEN MAILE, in chain armor.

32. ARABY, probably here the Orient in general.

33. FROM FURTHEST YND, from farthest India.

39. UNTO A PALED GREENE, a green inclosure (lists for a tournament)
surrounded by a palisade.

44. HIS. An old method of forming the possessive, based on a
misapprehension of the original Anglo-Saxon suffix _-es_, which was
shortened in middle English to _-is_, and finally to _s_.

45. BOTH THOSE, etc. Both Duessa and the shield are to go to the victor.

65. A GRYFON, a fabulous animal, part lion and part eagle. _Gryfon_ is
subject of _encountereth_ with _Dragon_ as object.

89. AND SLUGGISH GERMAN, etc., and sluggish brother dost relax thy strength
to send his (Sansfoy's) foe after him, that he may overtake him. In ll.
86-88 Sansjoy addresses his brother, in ll. 89-90 himself. _German_ is any
blood relation.

100. The Knight supposed that Duessa's encouraging words were addressed to
him.

114. Spenser here, with fine dramatic effect, imitates Homer, who saves
Paris and Æneas by a similar device. _Iliad_, iii, 380, and v, 345.

159. TEARES. This mention of the man-eating crocodile's tears is based on
an old Latin proverb. Sir John Mandeville repeats the story.

172. GRIESLY NIGHT. According to mythology (Hesiod's _Theog_., 123), one of
the first things created, the daughter of Chaos, and mother of Æther (sky)
and Hemera (day); also of Deceit, Strife, Old Age, and Vengeance. See xxii
and xxvii.

202. ON GRONING BEARE, on a bier with groaning friends around.

204. O WHAT OF GODS, etc., O what is it to be born of gods, if old
Aveugle's (the father of the three Saracens) sons are so ill treated.

219. AND GOOD SUCCESSES, etc., and good results which follow their foes.

221. OR BREAKE THE CHAYNE, refers to Jove's proposition to fasten a golden
chain to the earth by which to test his strength. Homer's _Iliad_, viii,
19. Cf. Milton's _Paradise Lost_, ii, 1051.

225. BAD EXCHEAT, bad gain by exchange. _Escheat_ is an old legal term,
meaning any lands or goods which fall to the lord of a fief by forfeiture.
Cf. "rob Peter to pay Paul."

229. SHALL WITH HIS OWNE BLOUD, etc., shall pay the price of the blood that
he has spilt with his own.

263. Here Spenser imitates Homer's _Odyssey_, xvi, 163.

267. THE GHASTLY OWLE. The poet follows the Latin rather than the Greek
poets, who regard the owl as the bird of wisdom.

273. OF DEEP AVERNUS HOLE. Avernus in the poets is a cavern (in an ancient
crater), supposed to be the entrance to the infernal regions. Cf. Vergil's
_Æneid_, vi, 237. In Strabo's Geography it is a lake in Campania.

298. CERBERUS, the dog which guarded the lower regions. This stanza is an
imitation of Vergil's _Æneid_, vi, 417 _seq_. In Dante's _Inferno_ Vergil
appeases him by casting handfuls of earth into his maw.

xxxv. In this stanza we see the influence of Homer and Vergil. Ixion, the
king of Lapithæ, was chained by order of Zeus to a fiery-winged wheel for
aspiring to the love of the goddess Hera (Juno). Sisyphus had to roll a
huge stone forever up a hill for betraying the designs of the gods.
Tantalus, for divulging the secrets of Zeus, was condemned to stand
tormented by thirst in a lake. Tityus, for an assault on Artemis, was
pinioned to the ground with two vultures plucking at his vitals. Typhoeus,
a hundred-headed giant, was slain by Zeus' thunderbolt, and buried under
Ætna. The gin on which he was tortured was probably the rack of the Middle
Ages. Cf. the bed of Procrustes. Theseus, for attempting to carry off
Persephone, was fixed to a rock in Tartarus. The "fifty sisters" are the
fifty Danaides, who, for slaying their husbands, were condemned to pour
water forever into a vessel full of holes.

322. SAD AESCULAPIUS, the god of medicine, slain by Zeus for arresting
death and diseases.

354. AND FATES EXPIRED, and the threads of life which the fates (Parcæ) had
severed.

387. GREAT PAINES, AND GREATER PRAISE, etc. His praise, like his pain, is
to be eternal.

xlvii. This list of the thralls of Pride is in imitation of a similar one
in Chaucer's _Monk's Tale_, which was based on Boccaccio's _De Casibus
Illustrium Virorum_.

415. PROUD KING OF BABYLON, Nebuchadnezzar. See _Daniel_, iii and iv.

420. KING CROESUS, the last king of Lydia, who was overthrown by Cyrus in
B.C. 646. _Herodotus_, i, 26.

422. PROUD ANTIOCHUS, Antiochus Epiphanes, king of Syria, who captured
Jerusalem twice, and defiled God's altar. He died raving mad B.C. 164.
Josephus, _Antiquities of the Jews_, xiii, 5-9.

424. GREAT NIMROD, "the mighty hunter" (_Genesis_, x, 8), whose game,
according to Spenser, was man. Josephus tells us that through pride he
built the tower of Babel.

426. OLD NINUS, the legendary founder of Nineveh, and put to death by his
wife, Semiramis.

428. THAT MIGHTY MONARCH, Alexander the Great (B.C. 366-323), king of
Macedon. While consulting the oracle of Jupiter Ammon in the Libyan desert
he was saluted by the priests as "Ammons Sonne." He died either of poison
(Plutarch) or of excessive drink (Diodorus).

437. GREAT ROMULUS, legendary founder of Rome (B.C. 753). See Livy, i, 16.

438. PROUD TARQUIN, Tarquinius Superbus, the last king of Rome. He was
banished B.C. 510.

438. TOO LORDLY LENTULUS, surnamed Sura, member of a haughty patrician
family, who conspired with Catiline, and was strangled B.C. 62.

439. STOUT SCIPIO, Cornelius Scipio Africanus (B.C. 287?-183?), the
conqueror of Hannibal, and self-exiled from Rome. Livy speaks of his
inordinate pride, xxxviii, 50.

439. STUBBORNE HANNIBALL (B.C. 247-183), the great Carthaginian general,
who died by poison to avoid falling into the hands of the Romans.

440. AMBITIOUS SYLLA (B.C. 138-78), Cornelius Sulla, the Dictator, who died
a loathsome death.

440. STERNE MARIUS (B.C. 157-86), after being seven times consul, he was
obliged to take refuge from his rival Sulla amid the ruins of Carthage.

441. HIGH CAESAR, Caius Julius Caesar (B.C. 100-44), who was murdered by
Brutus and other conspirators.

441. GREAT POMPEY. Cn. Pompeius Magnus (B.C. 106-48). After his defeat at
Pharsalia, he fled to Egypt, where he was murdered.

441. FIERCE ANTONIUS, Marcus (B.C. 83-30), the great triumvir, who after
his defeat at Actium killed himself in Egypt.

444. THE BOLD SEMIRAMIS, the legendary queen of Assyria.

446. FAIRE STHENOBOEA, the wife of Proteus, who on account of her
unrequited love for Bellerophon, died by hemlock. Aristophanes' _Frogs_,
1049 _seq_.

448. HIGH MINDED CLEOPATRA (B.C. 69-30), the beautiful queen of Egypt, who
is said by Plutarch to have died in the manner mentioned.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto V)

1. How did Redcross spend the night before the fight with Sansjoy?

2. Study in detail the fine description of Duessa's descent to Erebus.

3. What elements of beauty are seen in the description of dawn and sunrise
in ii? and compare _Psalms_, xix, 5. 4. What arbitrary classification of
musicians does Spenser make in iii? 5. Who is the _far renowmed Queene_ in
v? 6. Describe the joust between the Knight and Sansjoy. 7. Where do you
learn of the laws governing such contests? 8. Observe the dramatic way in
which Duessa saves Sansjoy. 9. What dramatic stroke in xxvii? 10. Describe
Night and her team. 11. Give an account of her descent to Erebus with
Sansjoy. 12. What were some of the tortures of the damned? 13. What effect
is produced in xxx and how? 14. Point out some instances in which Spenser
has imitated Homer--Vergil.

15. Where does he follow the Latin rather than the Greek poets?

16. Why did Æsculapius hesitate to heal Sansjoy? 17. Whom did the dwarf see
in the dungeons of Pride? 18. Why did the Knight flee from the House of
Pride?

19. Examine the following grammatical forms: _maken_, l. 22; _woundes_, l.
400. 20. What _figure of speech_ is employed in xviii? 21. What
illustration is used in viii? 22. Find example of _balanced structure_ in
vii; _alliteration_ in viii, xv, xviii. 23. Scan l. 23. 24. Note nom. abs.
construction in xlv.

25. Paraphrase the involved constructions in xlii, xix, viii, xxxvi.

CANTO VI

I. _The Plot_: (Continuation of Canto III). Una is delivered from Sansloy
by a band of Satyrs. She remains with them as their teacher. There a knight
of the wild-wood, Sir Satyrane, discovers her, and by his assistance, Una
succeeds in making her way out of the forest to the plain. On the way they
meet Archimago, disguised as a pilgrim, and he deceives them and leads them
to Sansloy. While Sir Satyrane and Sansloy are engaged in a bloody battle,
Una flees. She is pursued by Archimago but makes her escape.

II. _The Allegory_: 1. Truth is saved from destruction by Lawless Violence
(Sansloy) by the aid of Barbarism or Savage Instinct, which terrorizes
Lawlessness but offers natural homage to Truth. Truth finds a temporary
home among Ignorant and Rude Folk (Satyrs) and in return imparts divine
truth to their unregenerate minds. Natural Heroism or Manly Courage (Sir
Satyrane) sides with Truth and defends it against Lawlessness.

2. The religious allegory signifies the extension of Protestantism through
the outlying rural districts of England and in Ireland. Upton thinks that
Sir Satyrane represents "Sir John Perrot, whose behaviour, though honest,
was too coarse and rude for a court. 'Twas well known that he was a son of
Henry VIII." Holinshed says that as Lord President of Munster, Sir John
secured such peace and security that a man might travel in Ireland with a
white stick only in his hand.

16. FROM ONE TO OTHER YND, from the East to the West Indies.

61. A TROUPE OF FAUNES AND SATYRES. The Fauns were the wood-gods of the
Romans, the Satyrs the wood-gods of the Greeks. They were half human, half
goat, and represented the luxuriant powers of nature.

63. OLD SYLVANUS, the Roman god of fields and woods, young and fond of
animal pleasures. Spenser represents him as a feeble but sensuous old man.

90. WITH CHAUNGE OF FEARE, from the wolf to the lion.

96. RUSTICK HORROR, bristling hair.

99. THEIR BACKWARD BENT KNEES, like the hinder legs of a goat.

101. THEIR BARBAROUS TRUTH, their savage honor.

103. LATE LEARND, having been recently taught. She had shown too "hasty
trust" in Archimago.

112. WITHOUT SUSPECT OF CRIME, without suspicion of blame.

117. The olive is the emblem of peace, as the ivy (l. 126) is of
sensuousness.

120. WITH THEIR HORNED FEET, with their hoofs.

128. OR BACCHUS MERRY FRUIT, etc., whether they did discover grapes.

129. OR CYBELES FRANTICKE RITES, the wild dances of the Corybantes,
priestesses of Cybele, or Rhea, the wife of Chronos and mother of the gods.

132. THAT MIRRHOUR RARE, that model of beauty. So Sidney was called "the
mirror of chivalry."

134. FAIRE DRYOPE, a princess of Æchalia, who became a forest nymph.
Pholoe, mentioned in l. 135, is probably a fictitious creation of the
author's.

146. DEAREST CYPARISSE, a youth of Cea, who accidentally killed his
favorite stag and dying of grief was changed into a cypress. He was beloved
by Apollo and Sylvanus.

148. NOT FAIRE TO THIS, i.e. compared to this.

152. N'OULD AFTER JOY, would not afterwards be cheerful.

153. SELFE-WILD ANNOY, self-willed distress.

154. FAIRE HAMADRYADES, the nymphs who dwelt in the forest trees and died
with them.

156. LIGHT-FOOT NAIADES, the fresh water nymphs, companions of the fauns
and satyrs.

161. THEIR WOODY KIND, the wood-born creatures of their own kind, e.g.
nymphs or satyrs.

163. Una was "luckelesse" in having lost her knights, but "lucky" in the
friendship of the Satyrs. Note the Euphuistic phrasing.

169. IDOLATRYES. The allegory has reference to the idolatrous practices of
the ignorant primitive Christians, such as the worship of images of the
Saints, the pageant of the wooden ass during Lent (see _Matthew_, xxi, and
Brand's _Popular Antiquities_, i, 124), and the Feast of the Ass (see
_Matthew_, ii, 14).

172. A NOBLE WARLIKE KNIGHT, Sir Satyrane, in whom are united rude untaught
chivalry and woodland savagery. He represents natural heroism and
instinctive love of truth.

173. BY JUST OCCASION, just at the right moment.

184. THYAMIS is the symbol of Animal Passion; LABRYDE of the lower
appetites; THERION, the human wild beast, who deserts his wife.

xxiv. This account of Sir Satyrane's education is based on that of Rogero
by his uncle Atlante in Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, vii, 5, 7.

213. MAISTER OF HIS GUISE, his instructor.

214. AT HIS HORRID VEW, his shaggy, uncouth appearance.

256. HIS FAMOUS WORTH WAS BLOWN, i.e. blazoned by Fame's trumpet.

308. A JACOBS STAFFE. According to Nares, "A pilgrim's staff; either from
the frequent pilgrimages to St. James of Comfortella (in Galicia), or
because the apostle St. James is usually represented with one."

371. See Canto III, xxxviii, where Archimago was disguised as St. George.

372. TH' ENCHAUNTER VAINE, etc., the foolish enchanter (Archimago) would
not have rued his (St. George's) crime (i.e. slaying Sansfoy).

373. BUT THEM HIS ERROUR SHALT, etc., thou shalt by thy death pay the
penalty of his crime and thus prove that he was really guilty. A very
obscure passage. Look up the original meaning of _shall_.

386. This simile is found frequently in the old romances. Cf. Malory's
_Morte d'Arthur_, ii, 104, and Chaucer's _Knight's Tale_, l. 1160.

416. According to a usage of chivalry, the lover wore a glove, sleeve,
kerchief, or other token of his lady-love on his helmet. By "lover's token"
Sansloy ironically means a blow.

425. TO HER LAST DECAY, to her utter ruin.

426. Spenser leaves the fight between Sansloy and Sir Satyrane unfinished.
Both warriors appear in later books of the _Faerie Queene_.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto VI)

1. Who rescued Una from Sansloy? 2. How does Una repay their kindness? 3.
How was she treated by them? 4. Explain the references to the various
classes of nymphs. 5. Look up the classical references in xvi and xviii. 6.
Why is Una described as "luckelesse lucky"? 7. What customs of the early
Christians are referred to in xix? 8. What does Sir Satyrane symbolize in
the allegory? 9. What was his character and education? 10. Note the
Elizabethan conception of the goddess Fortune in xxxi. 11. Did Una act
ungratefully in leaving the Satyrs as she did? 12. Who is the _weary wight_
in xxxiv? 13. What news of St. George did he give? Was it true? 14. Who is
the Paynim mentioned in xl? 15. Note Euphuistic antithesis in xlii. 16.
Explain the figures in iv, vi, x, xliv. 17. Paraphrase ll. 289, 296. 18.
Find _Latinisms_ in xxv; xxvi; xxviii; xxxi; and xxxvii. 19. Describe the
fight at the end of the Canto.

CANTO VII

I. _The Plot:_ (Continuation of Canto V). Duessa pursues the Redcross
Knight, and overtakes him sitting by an enchanted fountain, weary and
disarmed. He is beguiled into drinking from the fountain, and is quickly
deprived of strength. In this unnerved and unarmed condition he is suddenly
set upon by the giant Orgoglio. After a hopeless struggle he is struck down
by the giant's club and is thrust into a dungeon. Una is informed by the
dwarf of the Knight's misfortune and is prostrated with grief. Meeting
Prince Arthur, she is persuaded to tell her story and receives promise of
his assistance.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. The Christian soldier, beguiled by Falsehood, doffs
the armor of God, and indulges in sinful pleasures, and loses his purity.
He then quickly falls into the power of Carnal Pride, or the brutal tyranny
of False Religion (Orgoglio). He can then be restored only by an appeal to
the Highest Honor or Magnificence (Prince Arthur) through the good offices
of Truth and Common Sense.

2. In the reaction from the Reformation, Protestant England by dallying
with Romanism (Duessa, Mary Queen of Scots) falls under the tyrannic power
of the Pope (Orgoglio), with whom Catholic England was coquetting. At this
juncture National Honor and Consciousness comes to the relief of
Protestantism. There is personal compliment to either Lord Leicester or Sir
Philip Sidney.

19. HE FEEDES UPON, he enjoys. A Latinism: cf. Vergil's _Æneid_, iii.

37. PHOEBE, a surname of Diana, or Artemis, the goddess of the moon.

45. Spenser probably takes the suggestion from the fountain in the gardens
of Armida in Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, xiv, 74. Cf. also the fountain
of Salmacis in Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, xv, 819 _seq_.

56. POURD OUT, a metaphor borrowed from Euripides (_Herac._, 75) and Vergil
(_Æneid_, ix, 317).

62. HIS LOOSER MAKE, his too dissolute companion.

67. AN HIDEOUS GEANT, Orgoglio, symbolizing Inordinate Pride, and the Pope
of Rome, who then claimed universal power over both church and state (x).
For a list of many other giants of romance see Brewer's _Handbook_, pp.
376-379.

104. THAT DIVELISH YRON ENGIN, cannon. The invention of artillery by
infernal ingenuity is an old conception of the poets. There is a suggestion
of it in Vergil's _Æneid_, vi, 585 _seq._, which is elaborated in Ariosto's
_Orlando Furioso_, ix, 91, which Milton in turn imitated in _Paradise
Lost_, vi, 516 _seq_. So in the romance of _Sir Triamour_.

112. TH' ONELY BREATH, the mere breath.

119. DO HIM NOT TO DYE, slay him not; cf. "done to death."

138. A MONSTROUS BEAST, on which the woman of Babylon sat; _Revelation_,
xiii and xvii, 7.

139. This refers to the Romish policy of fostering ignorance among its
members.

140. THAT RENOWMED SNAKE, the Lernæan Hydra, a monster with nine or more
heads, offspring of Typhon and Echidna. It was slain by Hercules. STREMONA
is a name of Spenser's own invention.

147. The reference is to the cruelty and insensibility of the Romish
Church.

150. Its tail reached to the stars. _Revelation_, xii, 4.

155. AND HOLY HEASTS FORETAUGHT, and holy commands previously taught
(them).

161. HIS FORLORNE WEED, his abandoned clothing.

165. MONIMENTS, the sorrowful, mournful relics.

182. SO HARDLY HE, etc. So he with difficulty coaxes the life which has
flown to return into her body. According to the Platonic teaching, the body
is the prison-house of the soul. Cf _Psalms_, cxlii, 7.

202. BUT SEELED UP WITH DEATH, but closed in death. "Seel" was a term in
falconry, meaning "to sew up" (the eyes of the hawk).

219. THE BITTER BALEFULL STOUND, the bitter, grievous moment during which
she listens to the story.

220. IF LESSE THEN THAT I FEARE, etc., if it is less bitter than I fear it
is, I shall have found more favor (been more fortunate) than I expected.

231. SORROWFULL ASSAY, the assault of sorrow (on her heart).

236. WAS NEVER LADY, etc., there never was lady who loved day (life)
dearer.

249. A GOODLY KNIGHT. Prince Arthur, son of King Uther Pendragon and Queen
Ygerne, the model English gentleman, in whom all the virtues are perfected
(Magnificence). According to Upton and most editors, Prince Arthur
represents Lord Leicester; according to another tradition, Sir Philip
Sidney. Could the author have possibly intended in him compliment to Sir
Walter Raleigh? See Spenser's _Letter to Raleigh_. Arthur is the beau ideal
of knighthood, and upon him the poet lavishes his richest descriptive
powers. His armor, his shield Pridwen, his lance Roan, and sword Exculibur,
were made by the great enchanter Merlin in the isle of Avallon.

259. SHAPT LIKE A LADIES HEAD, an effigy of Queen Elizabeth, the Faerie
Queene.

260. LIKE HESPERUS, the evening star. Cf. Phosphorus, the morning star.

268. The dragon couchant was also the crest of Arthur's father, Uther,
surnamed on this account Pen-dragon. The description in this stanza is
imitated from Tasso's description of the helmet of the Sultan in _Jerusalem
Delivered_, ix, 25, which in turn follows Vergil's _Æneid_, vii, 785 _seq._

280. GREENE SELINIS, a town in Sicily.

284. HIS WARLIKE SHIELD. Spenser here follows closely the description of
the shield of the magician Atlante in Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, ii, 55.

300. SILVER CYNTHIA, the moon. It was popularly supposed that magicians and
witches had power to cause eclipses of the moon.

304. All falsehood and deception. Truth and Wisdom are symbolized (Upton).

306. WHEN HIM LIST, when it pleased him. _Him_ is dative.

314. IT MERLIN WAS. Ambrose Merlin, the prince of enchanters, son of the
nun Matilda, and an incubus, "half-angel and half-man." He made, in
addition to Prince Arthur's armor and weapons, the Round Table for one
hundred and fifty knights at Carduel, the magic fountain of love, and built
Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain. He died spellbound by the sorceress Vivien
in a hollow oak. See Tennyson's _Idylls of the King_.

326. DID TRAMPLE AS THE AIRE, curveted as lightly as the air.

335. AND FOR HER HUMOUR, etc., and to suit her (sad) mood framed fitting
conversation.

355. The subject of _found_ is the substantive clause _who... impart_.

xli. Observe the antithetical structure of this stanza, both in the
_Stichomuthia_, or balance of line against line, and in the lines
themselves. In this rapid word-play Arthur wins his point by appealing to
Una's faith.

363. NO FAITH SO FAST, etc., no faith is so firm that human infirmity may
not injure it.

376. Una, Truth, is the sole daughter of Eden.

377. WHILEST EQUAL DESTINIES, etc., whilst their destinies (Fates) revolved
equally and undisturbed in their orbits. (Astronomical figure.)

381. PHISON AND EUPHRATES, etc., three of the four rivers that watered
Eden, the Hiddekel being omitted. See _Genesis_, ii, 11-14. In this stanza
the poet strangely mixes Christian doctrine and the classical belief in the
envy of the gods working the downfall of men.

385. TARTARY, Tartarus (for the rhyme), the lowest circle of torment in the
infernal regions.

391. Has this obscure line any reference to prophecy? Cf. _Daniel_, vii,
25, _Revelation_, xii, 6, 14.

394. THAT HEAVEN WALKS ABOUT, under the sky.

404. THAT NOBLE ORDER, the Order of the Garter, of which the Maiden Queen
was head. The figure of St. George slaying the dragon appears on the oval
and pendant to the collar of this Order.

405. OF GLORIANE, Queen Elizabeth.

407. CLEOPOLIS IS RED, is called Cleopolis, i.e. the city of Glory, or
London.

425. MY DOLEFULL DISADVENTUROUS DEARE, my sad misadventurous injury.

429. THAT HE MY CAPTIVE LANGUOR, the languishing captivity of my parents.

432. MY LOYALTY, i.e. the loyalty of me that rather death desire, etc.

441. THAT BROUGHT NOT BACKE, etc., (and whence) the body full of evil was
not brought back dead.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto VII)

1. Relate how the Knight fell into the hands of the Giant. 2. Note the fine
adaptation of sound to sense in vii. 3. Who were the parents and the
foster-father of Orgoglio? 4. What are the principal characteristics of the
giants of romance as seen in Orgoglio? cf. with the giants in _Pilgrim's
Progress_. 5. In the description of the giant do the last two lines (viii)
add to or detract from the impression? Why? 6. To whom does Spenser ascribe
the invention of artillery? 7. Explain the allegory involved in the
relations of Duessa and Orgoglio. 8. How does Una act on hearing the news
of the Knight's capture? 9. What part does the Dwarf play? 10. Is Una just
to herself in ll. 200-201? 11. Is she over sentimental or ineffective--and
is the pathos of her grief kept within the limits of the reader's pleasure?
12. Express in your own words the main thought in xxii. 13. Note the
skillful summary of events in xxvi, and observe that this stanza is the
_Central Crisis_ and _Pivotal Point_ of the whole Book. The fortunes of the
Knight reach their lowest ebb and begin to turn. The first half of the Book
has been the _complication_ of the plot, the second half will be the
_resolution_. 14. Give a description of Prince Arthur. 15. What mysterious
power was possessed by his shield? Cf. the Holy Grail. 16. Observe
carefully the scene between Una and Arthur, noting the changes in her mood.
What light is thrown on her character? What are her feelings toward the
Knight? 17. Explain the various threads of allegory in this Canto.

CANTO VIII

I. _The Plot:_ Prince Arthur and Una are conducted by the Dwarf to
Orgoglio's Castle. At the blast of the Squire's horn the Giant comes forth
attended by Duessa mounted on the seven-headed Beast. In the battle which
ensues Arthur wounds the Beast, slays the Giant and captures Duessa. Prince
Arthur finds the Redcross Knight half starved in a foul dungeon and
releases him. Duessa is stripped of her gaudy clothes and allowed to hide
herself in the wilderness.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. Magnificence, the sum of all the virtues, wins the
victory over Carnal Pride, and restores Holiness to its better half, Truth.
With the overthrow of Pride, Falsehood, which is the ally of that vice, is
stripped of its outward show and exposed in all its hideous deformity.

2. The false Romish Church becomes drunk in the blood of the martyrs. There
is a hint of the persecutions in the Netherlands, in Piedmont, of the
massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day and the burnings under Bloody Mary.
Protestant England is delivered from Popish tyranny by the honor and
courage of the English people. Militant England (Prince Arthur) is assisted
by the clergy (Squire) with his horn (Bible) and is guided by Truth and
Common Sense (Dwarf).

23. HORNE OF BUGLE SMALL, the English Bible. Spenser here imitates the
description of the magic horn of Logistilla in Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_,
xv, 15, 53. Such horns are frequently mentioned in romance, e.g., _Chanson
de Roland_, _Morte d' Arthur_, Hawes' _Pastime_, Tasso's _Jerusalem
Delivered_, _Huon of Bordeaux_, _Romance of Sir Otarel_, Cervantes' _Don
Quixote_, etc.

50. LATE CRUELL FEAST, a probable reference to the massacre of St.
Bartholomew's Day in Paris in 1572, and to the persecutions of Alva's
Council of Blood in the Netherlands in 1567.

ix. This stanza is an imitation of Homer's _Iliad_, xiv, 414.

95. IN CYMBRIAN PLAINE, probably the Crimea, the ancient Tauric Chersonese.
Some connect it with the Cimbric Chersonese, or Jutland, which was famous
for its herds of bulls.

96. KINDLY RAGE, natural passion.

105. Note the Latinism "threatened his heads," and the imperfect rhyme
"brands."

118. HER GOLDEN CUP, suggested by Circe's magic cup in Homer's _Odyssey_,
x, 316, and the golden cup of the Babylonish woman in _Revelation_, xvii,
4.

148. THROUGH GREAT IMPATIENCE OF HIS GRIEVED HED, etc., through inability
to endure (the pain of) his wounded head, he would have cast down his
rider, etc.

155. IN ONE ALONE LEFT HAND, in one hand alone remaining. His left arm had
been cut off (x).

xix. The uncovered shield represents the open Bible. The incident is an
imitation of Ruggiero's display of his shield in _Orlando Furioso_, xxii,
85.

246. YOUR FORTUNE MAISTER, etc., be master of your fortune by good
management.

268. UNUSED RUST, rust which is due to disuse; a Latinism.

296. WITH NATURES PEN, etc., i.e. by his gray hairs, at that age to which
proper seriousness belongs. "I cannot tell" did not become his venerable
looks.

310. THAT GREATEST PRINCES, etc. This may mean (1) befitting the presence
of the greatest princes, or (2) that the greatest princes might deign to
behold in person. The first interpretation is preferable.

312. A general reference to the bloody persecutions without regard to age
or sex carried on for centuries by the Romish Church, often under the name
of "crusades," "acts of faith," "holy inquisition," etc.

315. This may refer to the burning of heretics, under the pretext that the
Church shed no blood. Kitchin thinks that it means "accursed ashes."

317. AN ALTARE, cf. _Revelation_, vi, 9. CARV'D WITH CUNNING YMAGERY, "in
allusion to the stimulus given to the fine arts by the Church of Rome"
(Percival).

366. BRAWNED BOWRS, brawny muscles.

375. WHAT EVILL STARRE, etc. In Spenser's day, belief in astrology, the
pseudo-science of the influence of the stars on human lives, was still
common.

381. There was an old familiar ballad entitled _Fortune my Foe_.

384. i.e. your good fortune will be threefold as great as your evil
fortune.

384. GOOD GROWES OF EVILS PRIEFE, good springs out of our endurance of the
tests and experience of evil.

391. BEST MUSICKE BREEDS DELIGHT, etc. A troublesome passage. Upton and
Jortin emend _delight_ to _dislike_; Church inserts _no_ before _delight_
and omits _best_; Kitchin suggests _despight_; Grosart prefers the text as
it stands with the meaning that although the best music pleases the
troubled mind, it is no pleasure to renew the memory of past sufferings. I
venture to offer still another solution, based on the context. When Una
shows a desire to hear from her Knight a recountal of his sufferings in the
dungeon, and he is silent, being loath to speak of them, Arthur reminds her
that a _change of subject is best_, for the best music is that which breeds
delight in the troubled ear.

xlvi. In this passage Spenser follows closely the description of the witch
Alcina in Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, vii, 73. Rogero has been fascinated
by her false beauty, and her real foulness is exposed by means of a magic
ring. The stripping of Duessa symbolizes the proscription of vestments and
ritual, and the overthrow of images, etc., at the time of the Reformation.
Duessa is only banished to the wilderness, not put to death, and reappears
in another book of the poem.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto VIII)

1. What moral reflections are found in i? 2. What were the duties of the
Squire in chivalry? 3. What part does Arthur's Squire play? 4. What does
the Squire's horn symbolize? 5. Observe the classical figure in ix. 6.
Describe the battle before the Giant's Castle, stating what part is taken
by each of the four engaged. 7. Point out several of the characteristics of
a typical battle of romance, and compare with combats in classical and
modern times. 8. What additional traits of Una's character are presented in
this Canto? Note especially her treatment of the Knight. 9. How is the
unchangeableness of truth illustrated in this story? 10. Who is the old man
in xxx _seq._? 11. Who is the _woful thrall_ in xxxvii? 12. In what
condition, mental and physical, is the Knight when liberated? 13. How long
was he a captive? 14. What was Duessa's punishment? Was it adequate?
Explain its moral and religious meaning. 15. Observe the use of _thou_ and
_ye_ (_you_) in this Canto. 16. Find examples of _antithesis_,
_alliteration_, _Latinisms_.

CANTO IX

I. _The Plot:_ Prince Arthur tells Una of his vision of the Faerie Queene
and of his quest for her. After exchanging presents with the Redcross
Knight, he bids farewell to Una and her companions. These pursue their
journey and soon meet a young knight, Sir Trevisan, fleeing from Despair.
Sir Trevisan tells of his narrow escape from this old man, and unwillingly
conducts the Redcross Knight back to his cave. The Knight enters and is
almost persuaded to take his own life. He is saved by the timely
interposition of Una. This is the most powerful canto of Book I.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. The moral allegory in Canto VII presents the
transition of the Soul (Redcross) from Pride to Sin (Duessa) through
distrust of Truth (Una), and it thus comes into the bondage of Carnal Pride
(Orgoglio). In Canto IX the Soul suffers a similar change from Sin to
Despair. Having escaped from actual sin, but with spiritual life weakened,
it almost falls a victim to Despair through excess of confidence and zeal
to perform some good action. The Soul is saved by Truth, by which it is
reminded to depend on the grace of God.

2. The allegory on its religious side seems to have some obscure reference
to the long and bitter controversies between Protestantism (Calvinism) and
Roman Catholicism allied with infidelity.

1. O GOODLY GOLDEN CHAINE, chivalry or knightly honor, the bond that unites
all the virtues.

18. THANKLESSE, because not knowing whom to thank.

26. In Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, Arthur is taken from his mother, Ygerne,
at birth, and committed to the care of Sir Ector as his foster-father, i,
3. In _Merlin_ Sir Antor is his foster-father.

33. RAURAN MOSSY HORE, Rauran white with moss. A "Rauran-vaur hill" in
Merionethshire is mentioned by Selden. Contrary to the older romancers,
Spenser makes Prince Arthur a Welshman, not a Cornishman.

34. THE RIVER DEE, which rises in Merionethshire and flows through Lake
Bala.

39. MY DISCIPLINE TO FRAME, etc., to plan my course of instruction, and, as
my tutor, to supervise my bringing up.

45. IN HER JUST TERME, in due time.

57. OR THAT FRESH BLEEDING WOUND, i.e. his love for Gloriana.

59. WITH FORCED FURY, etc., supplying "me" from "my" in l. 58 the meaning
is: the wound ... brought ... me following its bidding with compulsive
(passionate) fury, etc. In the sixteenth century _his_ was still almost
always used as the possessive of _it_. _Its_ does not occur in the King
James Version of the Bible (1611).

63. COULD EVER FIND (the heart) to grieve, etc. A Euphuistic conceit.

64. According to the physiology of Spenser's age, love was supposed to dry
up the humors ("moysture") of the body.

70. BUT TOLD, i.e. if it (my love) is told.

100. ENSAMPLE MAKE OF HIM, witness him (the Redcross knight).

113. WHILES EVERY SENCE, etc., while the sweet moisture bathed all my
senses.

146. NEXT TO THAT LADIES LOVE, i.e. next to his love (loyalty) for
Gloriana. Does the poet mean that allegiance to queen and country comes
before private affection?

149. WAS FIRMEST FIXT, etc., were strongest in my extremity (in the giant's
dungeon).

169. A BOOKE, the New Testament, an appropriate gift from the champions of
the Reformed Church.

182. AN ARMED KNIGHT, Sir Trevisan, who symbolizes Fear.

189. PEGASUS, the winged horse of the Muses. For note on the false
possessive with _his_, see note on V, 44.

233. HAD NOT GREATER GRACE, etc., had not greater grace (than was granted
my comrade) saved me from it, I should have been partaker (with him of his
doom) in that place.

249. AFTER FAIRE AREEDES, afterwards graciously tells.

267. WITH DYING FEARE, with fear of dying.

269. WHOSE LIKE INFIRMITIE, etc., i.e. if you are a victim of love, you may
also fall into the hands of despair.

270. BUT GOD YOU NEVER LET, but may God never let you, etc.

272. TO SPOYLE THE CASTLE OF HIS HEALTH, to take his own life. Cf. Eliot's
_Castell of Helthe_, published in 1534.

273. I WOTE, etc. I, whom recent trial hath taught, and who would not
(endure the) like for all the wealth of this world, know (how a man may be
so gained over to destroy himself).

275. This simile is a very old one. See Homer's _Iliad_, i, 249; _Odyssey_,
xviii, 283; _Song of Solomon_, iv, 11; and Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_,
ii, 51.

286. FOR GOLD NOR GLEE. Cf. for love or money.

294-296. Imitated from Vergil's _Æneid_, vi, 462.

315. AS, as if.

320. A DREARIE CORSE, Sir Terwin, mentioned in xxvii.

332. JUDGE AGAINST THEE RIGHT, give just judgment against thee.

333. TO PRICE, to pay the price of.

336. WHAT JUSTICE, etc., what justice ever gave any other judgment but
(this, that) he, who deserves, etc.

340. IS THEN UNJUST, etc., is it then unjust to give each man his due?

xxxix. Observe the subtle argument on suicide in this and st. xl.

xli. Spenser here puts into the mouth of the Knight Socrates' argument to
Cebes in their dialogue on the immortality of the soul. Plato's _Phædo_,
vi.

367. QUOTH HE, Despair.

403. THY DATE, the allotted measure or duration of thy life.

408. THY SINFULL HIRE, thy service of sin.

431. AS HE WERE CHARMED, etc., as if he were under the spell of magic
incantation.

438. IN A TABLE, in a picture. The horrors of the Last Judgment and the
torments of the lost were favorite subjects of the mediæval Catholic
painters.

468. FIRE-MOUTHED DRAGON. The dragons of romance are all described as
fire-breathing,

473. THAT CHOSEN ART, a reference to the doctrine of Election. _Mark_,
xiii, 20.

476. ACCURST HAND-WRITING. A reference to Paul's letter to the
_Colossians_, ii, 14, in which he declares that the gospel of grace has
superseded the law of Moses.

484. HE SO HIMSELFE HAD DREST, he had thus attempted (to take his life).

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto IX)

1. Give an account of Prince Arthur's vision of the Faerie Queene. 2.
Interpret his search for her as an allegory of the young man's quest after
his ideal. 3. Observe in xvii an allusion to Spenser's patron, Lord
Leicester, who was a favored suitor for Elizabeth's hand. 4. What presents
did the Knights exchange at parting? 5. Characterize Sir Trevisan by his
appearance, speech, and actions. What does he symbolize? 6. Note the skill
with which Spenser arouses interest before telling of the interview with
Despair. 7. What was the fate of Sir Terwin? Its moral significance? 8.
Describe the Cave of Despair, and show what effects are aimed at by the
poet. 9. Compare with Despair Bunyan's Giant Despair and the Man in the
Iron Cage. 10. Trace the sophistries by which Despair works in the mind of
the Knight, e.g. the arguments from necessity (fatalism), humanity,
cowardice, discouragement and disgust on account of his past failures,
dread of the future, of God's justice, and the relief of death. 11. Does
Despair show knowledge of the Knight's past? 12. With what powerful truths
does Una meet the arguments of Despair? 13. Where do you find reference to
mediæval art?

14. Find examples of _Euphuism_, _metaphors_, _similes_, _Latinisms_, and
_alliteration_. 15. Explain the verb forms in ll. 154, 321, 336.

CANTO X

I. _The Plot:_ The Redcross Knight is conducted by Una to the House of
Holiness, where they are welcomed by Dame Coelia and graciously
entertained. The Knight is instructed by Fidelia, Speranza, and Charissa,
the three daughters of Coelia, in his relations to God and his fellow-men.
He is healed in body, and undergoes discipline for his sins. Mercy conducts
him through the Hospital of Good Works, where he sees her seven Beadsmen.
He then with Una climbs the Hill of Contemplation and hears from a holy man
the story of his past with a prophecy of his future, and obtains a view of
the City of Heaven.

This must be pronounced the most beautiful canto of the first book.

II. _The Allegory:_ 1. The Soul is brought by the Truth to a knowledge of
the Heavenly Life (Coelia), and is led, through repentance, to seek
forgiveness and to desire a holier life. Having learned Faith and Hope, it
acquires a zeal for Good Works (Charity), and is strengthened by exercising
Patience and Repentance. At last it enjoys a mood of happy Contemplation of
the past with bright prospects for the future. The whole canto sets forth
the beauty in a life of faith combined with good deeds.

2. The religious allegory presents the doctrine, discipline, and spirit of
Protestantism in the sixteenth century. A close parallel may be drawn
between this canto and many things in Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_. For
his House of Holiness and its management, Spenser has no doubt taken many
suggestions from the great manor house of some Elizabethan gentleman.

19. AN AUNTIENT HOUSE, the House of Holiness.

28. DAME COELIA, i.e. the Heavenly Lady.

33. FIDELIA AND SPERANZA, Faith and Hope.

35. FAIRE CHARISSA, Charity, or Love. _Cf. I Corinthians_, xiii, 13.

44. HIGHT HUMILTÀ, named Humility.

59. AND KNEW HIS GOOD, etc., and knew how to conduct himself to all of
every rank.

77. EVER-DYING DREAD, constant dread of death.

78. LONG A DAY, many a long day.

79. THY WEARY SOLES TO LEAD, to guide thy weary feet (to rescue them).

xiii. The description of Fidelia is full of biblical allusions, _viz._; her
white robe (_Revelation_, vii, 9); the sacramental cup filled with wine and
water according to the custom of the early Christians (_John_, xix, 34);
the serpent symbolical of healing power (_Numbers_, xxi, and _Mark_, xiv,
24); the book sealed with the blood of the Lamb (_Revelation_, v, 1, and
_II Corinthians_, v, 7).

144. ENCREASE is in the optative subj. with _God_ as subject.

172. AND WHEN SHE LIST, etc., and when it pleased her to manifest her
higher spiritual power. These miracles of Faith are based on the following
passages: _Joshua_, x, 12; _II Kings_, xx, 10; _Judges_, vii, 7; _Exodus_,
xiv, 21; _Joshua_, iii, 17; _Matthew_, xxi, 21.

176. This line is given in the folio edition of 1609, but is wanting in the
edition of 1590 and 1596.

209. HARDLY HIM INTREAT, scarcely prevail on him.

213. The absolutions granted by the clergy.

215. THE PASSION OF HIS PLIGHT, his suffering condition.

xxx. Percival points out the resemblance between Spenser's Charity and
Andrea del Sarto's famous painting _La Charité_ in the Louvre.

277. WHOSE PASSING PRICE, etc., whose surpassing value it was difficult to
calculate.

292. WELL TO DONNE, well doing, right doing.

318. SEVEN BEAD-MEN, seven men of prayer, corresponding to the Seven Deadly
Sins of the House of Pride. They represent good works: (1) entertainment of
strangers; (2) food to the needy; (3) clothing to the naked; (4) relief to
prisoners; (5) comfort to the sick; (6) burial of the dead, and (7) care of
widows and orphans.

354. PRICE OF BRAS, ransom in money. _Bras_ is a Latinism from _æs_.

355. FROM TURKES AND SARAZINS. In the sixteenth century thousands of
Christians were held captive in Turkish and Saracen prisons, and many of
these were ransomed by the charitable of Europe. Prescott tells us that
Charles V found 10,000 Christians in Tunis at its capture in 1535.

359. HE THAT HARROWD HELL. The Harrowing of Hell was the mediæval belief in
the descent of Christ to hell to redeem the souls of Old Testament saints,
and to despoil the powers of darkness. It is the subject of an old miracle
play.

374. The reference is to the resurrection from the dead.

378. I DEAD BE NOT DEFOULD, that I (when) dead be not defiled. This prayer
was answered, for the poet received honorable burial in Westminster Abbey.

381. AND WIDOWES AYD, i.e. had charge (to) aid widows, etc.

382. IN FACE OF JUDGEMENT, before the judgment-seat.

422-423. HIS ... HER, Redcross Knight...mercy.

430. FOR NOUGHT HE CAR'D, for he cared nought that his body had been long
unfed.

470. THAT SAME MIGHTY MAN OF GOD, Moses. See _Exodus_, xiv, 16, xxiv, and
xxxiv.

471. THAT BLOOD-RED BILLOWES, of the Red Sea.

478. THAT SACRED HILL, the mount of Olives.

483. THAT PLEASAUNT MOUNT, mount Parnassus, the seat of the nine Muses (l.
485), the patronesses of the arts and of learning. Sacred and profane
literature are beautifully blended in the thoughts of the contemplative
man.

489. A GOODLY CITIE, the Celestial City, Heaven. The description is
suggested by that in _Revelation_, xxi, 10 _seq._

515. THAT GREAT CLEOPOLIS, London, "the city of glory."

519. PANTHEA, probably Westminster Abbey, in which Elizabeth's ancestors
were buried.

524. FOR EARTHLY FRAME, for an earthly structure.

549. SAINT GEORGE OF MERY ENGLAND. St. George became the patron Saint of
England in 1344, when Edward III consecrated to him the Order of the
Garter. Church and Percival say that _merry_ means _pleasant_ and referred
originally to the country, not the people. Cf. Mereweather.

lxii. Observe that lines 1, 2, 5, 6 are spoken by the Knight, the rest by
Contemplation.

565. BEQUEATHED CARE, the charge intrusted to thee (by Una).

579. AND MANY BLOODY BATTAILES, etc., and fought many bloody pitched
battles.

585. CHAUNGELINGS. The belief in the power of fairies to substitute their
elf-children for human babies is frequently referred to in writers of
Spenser's time. In the _Seven Champions_ the witch Kalyb steals away St.
George, the son of Lord Albert of Coventry, soon after his birth.

591. GEORGOS, from the Greek [Greek: geôrgós], an earth tiller, farmer.
Spenser borrows the story in this stanza from that of Tages, son of Earth,
who was similarly found and brought up. Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, xv, 553.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto X)

1. Observe that stanza i contains the moral of Canto IX. 2. What was Una's
purpose in bringing the Knight to the House of Holiness? 3. Why should
Faith and Hope be represented as betrothed virgins, and Charity a matron?
4. Who were Zeal, Reverence, Obedience, Patience, and Mercy, with the
symbolism of each? 5. Who was the door-keeper? Explain the allegory. 6.
Find and explain the biblical allusions in this Canto, which shows the
influence of the Bible to a remarkable extent. 7. In what was the Knight
instructed by Faith (xix _seq_.)? 8. Compare the mood of the Knight in xxi
with that in Canto IX, li. 9. How did the two situations affect Una? 10.
Note the teachings in xxiii (prayer), xxiv (absolution), and xxv
(mortification of the flesh). 11. Observe that Faith teaches the Knight his
relations to God; Charity, those to his fellow-men. 12. Explain the lyric
note in l. 378. 13. Give an account of the knight's visit to the Hill of
Contemplation. Explain the allegory. 14. Find a stanza complimentary to
Queen Elizabeth. 16. What prophecy was made of the Knight?

CANTO XI

I. _The Plot_: The Redcross Knight reaches the Brazen Tower in which Una's
parents, the King and Queen of Eden, are besieged by the Dragon. The
monster is described. The first day's fight is described, in which the
Knight is borne through the air in the Dragon's claws, wounds him under the
wing with his lance, but is scorched by the flames from the monster's
mouth. The Knight is healed by a bath in the Well of Life. On the second
day the Knight gives the Dragon several sword-wounds, but is stung by the
monster's tail and forced to retreat by the flames. That night he is
refreshed and healed by the balm from the Tree of Life. On the third day he
slays the Dragon by a thrust into his vitals.

II. _The Allegory_: 1. Mankind has been deprived of Eden by Sin or Satan
(Dragon). The Christian overcomes the devil by means of the whole armor of
God (shield of faith, helmet of salvation, sword of the Spirit, etc.). The
soul is strengthened by the ordinances of religion: baptism, regeneration,
etc.

2. There is a hint of the long and desperate struggle between Reformed
England (St. George) and the Church of Rome, in which the power of the Pope
and the King of Spain was broken in England, the Netherlands, and other
parts of Europe. Some may see a remoter allusion to the delivery of Ireland
from the same tyranny.

13. BE AT YOUR KEEPING WELL, be well on your guard.

iii. This stanza is not found in the edition of 1590.

30. AND SEEMD UNEATH, etc., and seemed to shake the steadfast ground (so
that it became) unstable. Church and Nares take _uneath_ to mean "beneath"
or "underneath"; Kitchin conjectures "almost."

31. THAT DREADFUL DRAGON, symbolical of Satan. Spenser here imitates the
combat between St. George and the Dragon in the _Seven Champions of
Christendom_, i.

32. This description of the dragon watching the tower from the sunny
hillside is justly admired for its picturesqueness, power, and
suggestiveness. The language is extremely simple, but the effect is
awe-inspiring. It has been compared with Turner's great painting of the
Dragon of the Hesperides.

42. O THOU SACRED MUSE, Clio, the Muse of History, whom Spenser calls the
daughter of Phoebus (Apollo) and Mnemosyne (Memory).

56. TILL I OF WARRES, etc. Spenser is here supposed to refer to his plan to
continue the _Faerie Queene_ and treat of the wars of the English with
Philip II ("Paynim King") and the Spanish ("Sarazin").

61. LET DOWNE THAT HAUGHTIE STRING, etc., cease that high-pitched strain
and sing a second (or tenor) to my (lower) tune.

120. AS TWO BROAD BEACONS. Kitchin thinks this passage is a reminiscence of
the beacon-fires of July 29, 1588, which signaled the arrival of the Armada
off the Cornish coast.

158. HER FLITTING PARTS, her shifting parts; referring to the instability
of the air.

161. LOW STOUPING, swooping low (to the ground); a term in falconry.

167. HAGARD HAUKE, a wild, untamed falcon.

168. ABOVE HIS HABLE MIGHT, beyond the strength of which he is capable.

172. HE SO DISSEIZED, etc., i.e. the dragon being thus dispossessed of his
rough grip. The construction is nominative absolute.

185. AND GREEDY GULFE DOES GAPE, etc., i.e. the greedy waters gape as if
they would devour the land.

187. THE BLUSTRING BRETHREN, the winds.

228. HIS WIDE DEVOURING OVEN, the furnace of his maw, or belly.

235. THAT GREAT CHAMPION, Hercules. The charmed garment steeped in the
blood of the Centaur Nessus, whom Hercules had slain, was given him by his
wife Dejanira in order to win back his love. Instead of acting as a
philter, the poison-robe burned the flesh from his body. Ovid's
_Metamorphoses_, ix, 105.

xxviii. Observe the correspondence between the adjectives in l. 244 and the
nouns in l. 245. The sense is: "He was so faint," etc.

261. THE WELL OF LIFE. This incident is borrowed from _Bevis of Hampton_.
The allegory is based on _John_, iv, 14, and _Revelation_, xxii, 1.

267. SILO, the healing Pool of Siloam, _John_, ix, 7. Jordan, by bathing in
which Naaman was healed of leprosy, _II Kings_, v, 10.

268. BATH, in Somersetshire, a town famous from the earliest times for its
medicinal baths. SPAU, a town in Belgium noted for its healthful waters,
now a generic name for German watering-places.

269. CEPHISE, the river Cephissus in Boeotia whose waters possessed the
power of bleaching the fleece of sheep. Cf. _Isaiah_, i, 18. HEBRUS, a
river in Thrace, here mentioned because it awaked to music the head and
lyre of the dead Orpheus, as he floated down its stream. Ovid's
_Metamorphoses_, xi, 50.

295. TO MOVE, moving. This is a French idiom.

300. AS EAGLE FRESH OUT OF THE OCEAN WAVE, etc. There was an ancient
belief, that once in ten years the eagle would soar into the empyrean, and
plunging thence into the sea, would molt his plumage and renew his youth
with a fresh supply of feathers.

312. HIS BRIGHT DEAW-BURNING BLADE, his bright blade flashing with the
"holy water dew" in which it had been hardened (l. 317).

322. NE MOLTEN METTALL IN HIS BLOOD EMBREW, i.e. nor sword bathe itself in
his (the dragon's) blood.

335. WITH SHARPE INTENDED STING, with sharp, outstretched sting.

366. THE GRIPED GAGE, the pledge (shield) seized (by the dragon).

386. MISSED NOT HIS MINISHT MIGHT, felt not the loss of its diminished
strength; i.e. though cut off, the paw still held to the shield.

xliv. In comparing the fire-spewing dragon to a volcano, Spenser follows
Vergil's _Æneid_, iii, 571, and Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, iv, 8.

406. A GOODLY TREE. Cf. _Genesis_, ii, 9, and _Revelation_, xxii, 2.

409. OVER ALL WERE RED, everywhere were spoken of.

414. Cf. _Genesis_, iii, 2. Adam and Eve were expelled from the garden lest
they should eat and live forever.

434. DEADLY MADE, a creature of death, i.e. hell-born.

469. An imitation of an incident in the _Seven Champions_ in which a winged
serpent attempts to swallow St. George; i, 1.

477. AND BACK RETYRD, and as it was withdrawn. A Gallicism.

490. WHICH SHE MISDEEM'D, in which she was mistaken. Una feared that the
dragon was not dead.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto XI)

1. Describe the three days' fight between the Knight and the Dragon. 2.
What advantages does each gain? 3. Study the Dragon as a type of the
conventional monster of romance, contrasting his brutal nature with the
intellectuality and strategy of the Knight. 4. Study the battle as an
allegory of the victory of mind over matter, of virtue over vice, of
Protestantism over Romanism. 5. By what devices does Spenser obtain the
effects of _terror_? Mystery and terror are prime elements in romance. 6.
Find examples of another romantic characteristic, _exaggeration_. 7. Do you
think that in his use of hyperbole and impossibilities Spenser shows that
he was deficient in a sense of humor? 8. Observe the lyric note in iii and
liv. 9. How does the poet impress the reader with the size of the Dragon?
10. Which Muse does he invoke? 11. Spenser's poetry is richly _sensuous_:
find passages in which he appeals to the sense of _sight_ (iv, viii, xiv),
of _sound_ (iv, ix), of _touch_ (x, xi, vii), of _smell_ (xiii), of _taste_
(xiii), of _pain_ (xxxvii, xxvi, xxii), of _motion_ (x, xv, xviii). 12.
Where do you find an allegory of baptism? Of regeneration? Of the
resurrection of Christ (the three days)? 13. Analyze the descriptions of
the coming of darkness and of dawn.

CANTO XII

I. _The Plot_: The death of the dragon is announced by the watchman on the
tower of the city, and Una's parents, the King and Queen, accompanied by a
great throng, come forth rejoicing at their deliverance. The Knight and Una
are conducted with great honors into the palace. On the eve of their
betrothal, Archimago suddenly appears as Duessa's messenger and claims the
Knight. Their wicked attempt is frustrated, and the pair are happily
betrothed. After a long time spent in Una's society, the Knight sets out to
engage in the further service of the Faerie Queene.

II. _The Allegory_: Holiness, by conquering the devil, frees the whole
human race from the tyranny of sin. It is embarrassed by the unexpected
appearance of the consequences of its past sins, but makes a manly
confession. In spite of hypocritical intrigues (Archimago) and false
slanders (Duessa), Holiness is united to Truth, thus forming a perfect
character. The champion of the church militant responds cheerfully to the
calls of duty and honor.

2. Reformed England, having destroyed the brutal power of Rome, is firmly
united to the truth in spite of the intrigues of the Pope to win it back to
allegiance. It then goes forth against the King of Spain in obedience to
the command of Queen Elizabeth.

3. VERE THE MAINE SHETE, shift the mainsail, BEARE UP WITH THE LAND, direct
the ship toward land.

25. OUT OF HOND, at once.

43. OF TALL YOUNG MEN. An allusion to Queen Elizabeth's Pensioners, a band
of the tallest and handsomest young men, of the best families and fortunes,
that could be found (Warton). ALL HABLE ARMES TO SOWND, all proper to wield
armes.

57. TO THE MAYDENS, to the accompaniment of the maidens' timbrels.

71. IN HER SELF-RESEMBLANCE WELL BESEENE, looking well in her resemblance
to her proper self, i.e. a king's daughter.

73. THE RASKALL MANY, the crowd of common people.

116. OF GREAT NAME, of great celebrity, i.e. value.

117. FITTING PURPOSE FRAME, held fitting conversation.

xiv. Kitchin and Percival think this whole passage a clever compliment to
the parsimony of the Queen's court.

161. THAT PROUD PAYNIM KING, probably a reference to Philip of Spain.

168. NOR DOEN UNDO, nor undo what has been done.

173. IN SORT AS, even as.

205. ALL WERE SHE, although she had been. IN PLACE, in various places.

313. BAIT. In Spenser's time bear-baiting was a favorite pastime of the
people and received royal patronage.

328. THE HOUSLING FIRE, the sacramental fire. Spenser seems here to have in
mind, not the Christian _housel_ or Eucharist, but the Roman marriage rites
with their symbolic fire and water.

347. TRINALL TRIPLICITIES, the threefold three orders of the celestial
hierarchy according to the scholastic theologians. They were as follows:
(1) Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones; (2) Dominations, Virtues, Powers; (3)
Princedoms, Archangels, and Angels. Cf. Dante's _Paradiso_, xxviii, Tasso's
_Jerusalem Delivered_, xviii, 96, and Milton's _Paradise Lost_, v, 748.

375. HER TACKLES SPENT, her worn-out rigging.

QUESTIONS AND TOPICS

(Canto XII)

1. Contrast the tone of this canto with the preceding two. 2. When does
Spenser drop into a lighter, humorous vein? 3. Find allusions to sixteenth
century customs, e.g. that of sitting on rush-strewn floors. 4. How was the
Redcross Knight received by the King? 5. Compare Una's costume with that
described in the first canto. Why this change? 6. What hint of the
significance of her name in xxi? 7. What is the effect of Archimago's
appearance? (For dramatic surprise.) 8. What is the effect of Duessa's
letter? (Suspense of fear.) 9. Observe the confusion of Christian and Pagan
rites in this canto. 10. Where does Spenser make happy use of maritime
figures? 11. Explain the allegory of this canto.

       *       *       *       *       *

GLOSSARY

[The numbers refer to cantos and stanzas.]

                 A

Abide, v, 17, to attend on.
About, i, 11, out of.
Acquite, viii, 1, release, set free.
Addrest, ii, 11, armed, equipped; x, 11, directed.
Advise, i, 33, consider.
Advizement, iv, 12, counsel, advice.
Afflicted, Int. 4, humble.
Affray, iii, 12, terror, alarm; v, 30, to startle.
Affronted, viii, 13, opposed.
Afore, x, 49, ahead, in front of.
Agraste, x, 18, favor, show grace.
Albe, v, 45, although.
All, x, 47; xii, 23, although.
Almner, x, 38, almoner, distributer of alms.
Als, ix, 18, also, quite so.
Amate, ix, 45, dismay, dishearten.
Amis, iv, 18, linen head-dress.
Amoves, iv, 45; viii, 21; ix, 18, moves.
Andvile, xi, 42, anvil.
Apply, x, 46, attend to, add.
Aread, viii, 31, 33; ix, 6, 23; x, 51, 64, tell, explain; xii, 28, advise;
  ared, x, 17; explained; areeds, Int. 1, urges.
Arise, vi, 32, depart, rise out of.
Armorie, i, 27, armor.
Arras, iv, 6; viii, 35, tapestry.
Aslake, iii, 36, appease, abate the fury of.
Assay, ii, 13, approved quality, value; vii, 27, trial; viii, 8, assault;
  ii, 24; iv, 8; viii, 2; xi, 32, try, assail, attempt.
Assoiled, x, 52, absolved.
Astond, ii, 31; vi, 9; ix, 35, astounded, amazed.
Attach, xii, 35, seize, arrest.
Attaine, ii, 8, reach, fall in with.
Attaint, vii, 34, obscure, discolor.
Avale, i, 21, fall, sink.
Avise, v, 40; viii, 15, perceive.

                 B

Baite, i, 32, feed, refresh.
Bale, i, 16; viii, 4, disaster, destruction; ix, 16, 29, trouble, grief.
Banes, xii, 36, banns of marriage.
Battailous, v, 2, warlike, ready for battle.
Battrie, ix, 11, assault.
Bauldrick, vii, 29, a leather girdle for the sword or bugle, worn pendant
  across the shoulder and breast.
Bayes, vii, 3, bathes.
Beades, i, 30, prayers.
Beadmen, x, 36, men devoted to prayer for the soul of the founder of the
  charitable institution in which they lived.
Become, x, 16, gone to; became, x, 66, suited.
Bed, ix, 41, bid.
Bedight, xii, 21, adorned.
Beguyld, xi, 25, foiled.
Beheast, iv, 18, command.
Behight, x, 64, name, declare; x, 50, intrusted, delivered; xi, 38,
  behot, promised.
Beseemed, viii, 32, suited, was becoming.
Beseene, xii, 5, (good) looking, or (well) dressed.
Bestedd, i, 24, situated, badly off.
Bet, iii, 19, beat; bett, vi, 5.
Betake, xii, 25, intrust to, hand over to.
Bethrall, viii, 28, imprison, take captive.
Bever, vii, 31, the lower and movable part of the helmet.
Bewaile, vi, 1, cause, bring about. Use either forced, or an error (Nares).
Bidding, i, 30, praying.
Bilive, or blive, v, 32, quickly.
Blame, ii, 18, hurt, injury, or blameworthiness.
Blaze, xi, 7, proclaim.
Blent, vi, 42, stained.
Blesse, v, 6; viii, 22, brandish; vii, 12; ix, 28, protect, deliver;
  pp. blest.
Blubbred, vi, 9, disfigured or swollen with weeping.
Blunt, x, 47, dim (of eyesight).
Bond, i, 3, bound.
Booteth, iii, 20, 40, profits, avails.
Bootlesse, v, 33, without avail.
Bost, iii, 24, vain glory.
Boughtes, i, 15; xi, 11, folds, coils.
Bound, x, 67, lead.
Bouzingcan, iv, 22, drinking vessel.
Bowrs, viii, 41, muscles.
Bras, x, 40, money, cf. Lat. _aes_.
Brast, v, 31; viii, 4; ix, 21, burst.
Brave, x, 42, fair, beautiful.
Brawned, viii, 41; brawny, muscular.
Breares, x, 35, briars.
Brent, ix, 10; xi, 28, burnt.
Brode, iv, 16, abroad.
Brond, iv, 33; viii, 21, firebrand.
Buffe, ii, 17; xi, 24, blow.
Bugle, viii, 3, wild ox.
Buxome, xi, 37, pliant, yielding.
Bylive, ix, 4, quickly.

                 C

Call, viii, 46, cap, headdress.
Can, iv, 46, an auxiliary verb with preterite meaning;
  ix, 5, can=gan, began (Halliwell).
Canon, vii, 37, a smooth, round bit (for horses).
Carefull, v, 52, etc., full of care, anxious, sorrowful.
Careless, i, 41; ii, 45, free from care.
Carke, i, 44, care, sorrow, anxiety.
Carle, ix, 54, churl.
Cast, x, 2; xi, 28, resolve, plan.
Caytive, v, 45, captive; v, 11; viii, 32; ix, 11, base, mean.
Chaufe, vii, 21, chafe, warm by rubbing; iii, 33, 43, vex, heat.
Chaw, iv, 30, jaw.
Chear, ii, 27, 42, face.
Chearen, x, 2, regain cheerfulness, refresh (himself).
Cleare, x, 28, clean.
Cleene, ix, 4, clear, pure, bright.
Compare, iv, 28, collect.
Compel, i, 5, call to aid.
Conceit, conception or design.
Constraint, ii, 8, anguish; vii, 34, binding charms.
Corage, ii, 35, heart.
Corse, iii, 42; iv, 22, etc., body.
Couch, ii, 15, lay (a lance in rest), level, adjust;
  couched xi, 9, laid in place (of armor plates).
Couched, vii, 31, lying down with head up, ready to spring.
Counterfesaunce, viii, 49, fraud, imposture.
Court, vii, 38, courteous attention.
Crime, x, 28, sin; xi, 46, cause.
Cruddy, v, 29, clotted.
Crudled, vii, 6; ix, 52, curdled, congealed (with cold).
Cure, v, 44, charge.

                 D

Daint, x, 2, dainty, delicate.
Dalliaunce, ii, 14, trifling, light talk.
Dame, xii, 20, wife.
Damnify, xi, 52, injure.
Darrayne, iv, 40; vii, 11, prepare (for battle).
Deare, vii, 48, hurt, injury.
Deaw-burning, xi, 35, bright with dew.
Debonaire, ii, 23, gracious, courteous.
Defeasaunce, xii, 12, defeat.
Defray, v, 42, appease.
Deitye, iii, 21, immortality.
Derth, ii, 27, dearness, high value.
Deryn'd, iii, 2, diverted, drawn away.
Despight, ii, 6, resentment; iv, 35, 41, etc., malice, spite, contempt;
  vii, 49; xi, 17, injury.
Despoile, x, 17, strip.
Devise, xii, 17, plan.
Diamond, ix, 19, adamant, steel.
Dight, vii, 8; iv, 14, etc., arrange, dress, adorn.
Disaventrous, vii, 48, ix, 11, unfortunate.
Discipline, vi, 31, teaching.
Discolourd, vii, 32, variegated.
Discourse, xii, 14, description; xii, 15, to narrate.
Disease, xi, 38, render uneasy.
Dishonesty, ii, 23, unchastity.
Dispence, iii, 30, pay for.
Dispiteous, ii, 15, cruel.
Disple, x, 27, discipline.
Disseized, xi, 20, dispossessed.
Dissolute, vii, 51, weak, unstrung.
Distayned, xi, 23, defiled.
Dites, viii, 18, raises (a club).
Diverse, i, 44, distracting.
Divide, v, 17, play (variations).
Documents, x, 19, doctrines.
Donne, x, 33, to do.
Doom, ix, 38, judgment.
Doted, viii, 34, foolish.
Doubt, vi, 1, fear.
Doughty, xi, 52; xii, 6, strong, brave.
Dragonets, xii, 10, little dragons.
Dreed, or dred, Int. 4; vi, 2, object of reverence.
Drere, viii, 40, sorrow.
Drery, v, 30, gloomy; vi, 45, dripping with blood.
Dreriment, ii, 44; xi, 32, sorrow, gloom.
Drest, ix, 54, prepared, arranged.
Drift, viii, 22, impetus.
Droome, ix, 41, drum.
Drousy-hed, ii, 7, drowsiness.
Dry-dropsie, iv, 23 (meaning doubtful).
  (1) Dropsy causing thirst (Warton).
  (2) A misprint for _dire dropsie_ (Upton).
  (3) A misprint for _hydropsie_ (Collier).
Dye, ii, 36, chance, fortune (lit. a small cube used for gaming).

                 E

Earne, i, 3; vi, 25; ix, 18, yearn, long for.
Edifyde, i, 34, built.
Eeke, v, 42, increase.
Eft, ix, 25, again.
Eftsoones, x, 24, etc., forthwith.
Eke, iii, 21, also.
Eld, x, 8, old age.
Embalme, v, 17, anoint, pour balm into.
Embaye, ix, 13; x, 27, bathe.
Embost, iii, 24, encased; ix, 29, fatigued.
Embosse, xi, 20, plunge.
Embowed, ix, 19, rounded.
Emboyled, xi, 28, agitated, troubled.
Embrew, xi, 36, imbrue, drench.
Empassioned, iii, 2, moved to pity.
Empeach, viii, 34, hinder.
Emperse, xi, 53, pierce.
Emprize, ix, 1, undertaking, adventure.
Enchace, xii, 23, set off in fitting terms.
Endew, iv, 51, endow.
Enfouldred, xi, 40, shot forth (like a thunderbolt).
Engrave, x, 42, bury, entomb.
Enhaunst, i, 17; v, 47, raised.
Enlargen, viii, 37, deliver.
Ensample, ix, 12, witness.
Ensue, iv, 34, pursue; ix, 44, persecute.
Entirely, xi, 32, with all the heart.
Entraile, i, 16, fold, twist.
Envie, ill will, hatred.
Equall, vi, 26, side by side.
Errant, iv, 38; x, 10, wandering (in quest of adventure).
Esloyne, iv, 20, retire.
Essoyne, iv, 20, excuse, exemption.
Eugh, i, 9, yew.
Ewghen, xi, 19, made of yew.
Excheat, v, 25, gain; lit. property forfeited to the lord of a fief.
Extirpe, x, 25, uproot.
Eyas, xi, 34, young untrained hawk, unfledged falcon.
Eyne, eien, eyen, ii, 27, etc., eyes.

                 F

Fact, iv, 34; ix, 37, feat, evil deed.
Fall, ix, 2, befall.
Fare, i, 11, etc., go, travel.
Fatal, ix, 7, ordained by fate.
Fattie, i, 21, fertilizing.
Fayne, iv, 10, gladly; vi, 12, glad.
Faytor, iv, 47; xii, 35, deceiver, villain, sham.
Fearefull, i, 13, alarmed.
Feature, viii, 49, form.
Fee, x, 43, payment.
Felly, v, 34, fiercely.
Fere, x, 4, husband; lit. companion.
Fillet, iii, 4, snood.
Fit, ii, 18, death agony; iv, 34, struggle, passion; xi, 7, musical strain.
Flaggy, xi, 10, yielding, hanging loose.
Flit, iv, 5, crumble away.
Foile, iv, 4, leaf of metal.
Foltring, vii, 24, stammering.
Fond, ix, 39, foolish.
Fone, ii, 23, foes.
Food, viii, 9, feud.
Foolhappie, vi, 1, happy as a fool, "fortunate rather than provident"
  (Nares).
Fordonne, v, 41; etc., undone, ruined, wounded to death.
Foreby, vi, 39, near.
Forespent, ix, 43, wasted, squandered.
Foretaught, vii, 18, either
  (1) untaught, mistaught, or
  (2) taught before, hence, perhaps, despised (Warren).
Forlore, viii, 29; x, 21, forlorn, forsaken.
Forray, xii, 3, ravage, prey upon.
Forsake, xi, 24, avoid.
Forwandring, vi, 34, weary with wandering, or utterly astray.
Forwarned, ii, 18, warded off.
Forwasted, i, 5; xi, 1, ravaged, utterly wasted.
Forwearied, i, 32, etc., tterly weary.
Forworne, vi, 35, much worn.
Fraight, xii, 35, fraught, freighted.
Frame, viii, 30, support, steady.
Francklin, x, 6, freeman, freeholder.
Fray, i, 38, to frighten; ii, 14, an affray.
Freak, iii, 1; iv, 50, whim, caprice.
Frounce, iv, 14, curl, plait, friz (the hair).
Fruitfull-headed, viii, 20, many-headed.
Fry, xii, 7, crowd, swarm.
Funerall, ii, 20, death.
Fyne, iv, 21, thin; v, 28, fine.

                 G

Gage, xi, 41, pledge, the thing contended for.
Game, xii, 8, sport.
Gan, ii, 2, began, often used as auxiliary verb, "did."
Gate, i, 13, way; viii, 12, manner.
Geaunt, vii, 12, giant.
Gent, ix, 6, 27, gentle, gracious, fair.
German, v, 10, 13, brother.
Gest, x, 15, adventure, exploit.
Ghost, ii, 19, spirit.
Gin, v, 35, engine, instrument (of torture).
Gins, see gan.
Girlond, ii, 30, garland.
Giust, i, 1, tilt, joust.
Glitterand, iv, 16; vii, 29, glittering.
Gnarre, v, 34, gnarl, snarl, growl.
Gobbet, i, 20; xi, 13, lump, piece.
Gorge, i, 19, etc., throat.
Gossip, xii, 11, neighbor, crony.
Government, ix, 10, self-control.
Graile, vii, 6, gravel.
Graine, vii, 1, dye, fast color.
Gree, v, 16, favor, good will, satisfaction.
Greedy, viii, 29, eager.
Gren, vi, 11, grin.
Griesie, ix, 35, horrible.
Griesly, ix, 21, grisly, hideous.
Griple, iv, 31, greedy, grasping.
Groome, servant.
Grosse, xi, 20, fast, heavy.
Grudging, ii, 19, groaning.
Gryfon, v, 8, griffin (a fabulous animal half lion, half eagle).
Guerdon, iii, 40, reward.
Guise, vi, 25; xii, 14, guize, mode (of life).

                 H

Hable, xi, 19, able, skillful.
Hagard, xi, 19, wild, untrained.
Hanging, ii, 16, doubtful.
Hardiment, ix, 2; i, 14, boldness.
Harrow, x, 40, despoil.
Haught, vi, 29, haughty.
Heare, v, 23, pass for being so unlucky, in such evil case (Kitchin).
Heast, vii, 18, command.
Heben, Int. 3; vii, 37, of ebony wood.
Heft, xi, 39, raised on high.
Henge, xi, 21, orbit; lit, hinge.
Hew, i, 46, etc., form, countenance; iii, 11, color.
Hight, ix, 14; x, 55, called, was called; intrusted.
Hond, out of, xii, 3, at once.
Horrid, vi, 25; vii, 31, rough, bristling.
Hot, xi, 29, was called; see hight.
Housling, xii, 37, sacramental.
Hove, ii, 37, rose, stood on end.
Humour, i, 36, moisture.
Hurtle, iv, 16, 40; viii, 17, rush, clash together.
Hurtlesse, vi, 31, harmless, gentle.
Husher, iv, 13, usher.

                 I

Imbrew, vii, 47, imbrue, drench.
Impe, Int. 3; ix, 6, etc., child, scion.
Impeach, viii, 34, hinder.
Imperceable, xi, 17, that cannot be pierced.
Imply, vi, 6; xi, 23, infold.
Importune, xi, 53, violent.
Improvided, xii, 34, unforeseen.
In, i, 33, inn, lodging.
Incontinent, ix, 19, at once.
Infected, x, 25, ingrained.
Infest, xi, 6, make fierce or hostile.
Influence, viii, 42, power of the stars.
Intended, xi, 38, armed, stretched out.
Intendiment, xii, 31, attention.
Intent, i, 43; ix, 27, aim, purpose.
Invent, vi, 15, discover.

                 J

Jealous, suspicious.
Jolly, i, 1; ii, 11, fine, handsome.
Jott, x, 26, speck, small piece.
Journall, xi, 31, daily.
Joy, vi, 17, to be cheerful.
Joyaunce, iv, 37, gladness, merriment.

                 K

Keepe, i, 40, heed, care.
Keeping, xi, 2, care, guard.
Kend, xii, 1, known.
Kest, xi, 31, cast.
Kindly, iii, 28, etc., natural, according to nature.
Kirtle, iv, 31, coat, tunic.
Knee, ix, 34, projection (of rocks).
Knife, vi, 38, sword.

                 L

Lad, i, 4, led.
Launch, iii, 42; iv, 46, pierce.
Lay-stall, v, 53, rubbish heap, dunghill.
Lazar, iv, 3, leper.
Leach, v, 17, 44; x, 23, surgeon, physician.
Learne, vi, 25, teach.
Leasing, vi, 48, falsehood, lying.
Leke, v, 35, leaky.
Leman, i, 6; vii, 14, lover, sweetheart, mistress.
Let, viii, 13, hindrance.
Lever, ix, 32, rather.
Libbard, vi, 25, leopard.
Liefe, iii, 28; ix, 17, dear one, darling.
Lilled, v, 34, lolled.
Lin, i, 24; v, 35, cease.
List, ii, 22; vii, 35; x, 20; xi, 10, desired, pleased.
Lively, ii, 24; vii, 20, living.
Loft, i, 41, (doubtful) air, sky, or roof.
Long, iv, 48, belong.
Lore, i, 5, knowledge.
Lorne, iv, 2, lost.
Loute, i, 30; x, 44, bow, stoop.
Lowre, ii, 22, frown, darken.
Lumpish, i, 43, dull, heavy.
Lustlesse, iv, 20, feeble, listless.
Lynd, xi, 10, lined.

                 M

Mace, iv, 44, club.
Make, vii, 7, 15, mate, companion.
Mall, vii, 51, wooden hammer, or club.
Many, xii, 9, troop, crowd.
Mart, Int. 3, mass.
Mated, ix, 12, overcome, confounded.
Maw, i, 20, stomach.
Maynly, vii, 12, violently.
Mell, i, 30, meddle.
Menage, vii, 37, manage.
Ment, i, 5, joined, mingled.
Mew, v, 20, prison, lit. cage for hawks.
Mirksome, v, 28, dark, murky.
Miscreant, v, 13; ix, 49, infidel, vile fellow.
Misdeeming, ii, 3, misleading; iv, 2, misjudging.
Misfeigning, iii, 40, pretending wrongfully.
Misformed, i, 55; viii, 16, ill formed, or formed for evil.
Misseeming, ix, 23; viii, 42, unseemly; vii, 50, deceit.
Mister, ix, 23, sort of, manner of.
Misweening, iv, 1, wrong thinking, wrong belief.
Moe, mo, v, 50, etc., more.
Mortality, x, 1, state of being mortal.
Mortall, i, 15, deadly.
Mote, iii, 29, etc., may, might.
Mought, i, 42, might.
Muchell, iv, 46; vi, 20, much, great.

                 N

Nathemore, viii, 13; ix, 25, none the more.
Nephewes, v, 22, grandchildren, descendants.
Ni'll, ix, 15, will not.
Nosethrill, xi, 22, nostril.
Note, xii, 17, know not.
N'ould, vi, 17, would not.
Noyance, i, 23, annoyance.
Noye, x, 24; xi, 45, hurt, harm.
Noyes, Noyce, vi, 8, noise.
Noyous, v, 45; xi, 50, harmful, unpleasant.

                 O

Offend, xii, 1, injure.
Offspring, vi, 30, ancestors.
Origane, ii, 40, wild marjoram.
Ought, iv, 39, owned, possessed.
Outrage, xi, 40, insult, abuse.
Overcraw, ix, 50, insult, crow over.
Oversight, vi, 1, want of prudence.
Owch, ii, 13; x, 31, jewel or socket in which a jewel was set.

                 P

Paine, xii, 34, labor, treacherous skill; ii, 39, effort;
  iv, 15, take pains.
Paire, vii, 41, impair, injure.
Paled, v, 5, fenced off, inclosed with a _pale_.
Palfrey, i, 4; iii, 40, a lady's saddle horse, here Una's ass.
Paramour, i, 9, lover (not in a bad sense).
Parbreake, i, 20, vomit.
Pardale, vi, 26, leopard.
Parted, iii, 22, departed.
Pas, iv, 11, surpass; xi, 15, step, pace.
Passing, x, 24, surpassing.
Passion, ii, 26, 32, deep feeling, lit. suffering.
Passionate, xii, 16, express feelingly.
Payne, vi, 21, pains, labor.
Paynim, iv, 41; vi, 38; xi, 7, pagan, heathen.
Peece, x, 59, something constructed (Cleopolis).
Penne, xi, 10, feather, quill.
Perceable, i, 7, that can be pierced.
Perdie, perdy, vi, 42, French par Dieu, a common oath.
Pere, viii, 7; xii, 17, noble, prince.
Persaunt, x, 47, piercing.
Pight, ii, 42, etc., pitched, fixed, placed.
Pine, ix, 35, wasting away; viii, 40, pined, wasted away through torment.
Plate, vi, 43; vii, 2, solid armor, as distinguished from the coat of mail,
  or light chain armor.
Pleasaunce, ii, 30, courtesies; iv, 38; vii, 4, delight, conversational
  pleasure.
Point, (1) ix, 41, appoint;
  (2) ii, 12, not a whit;
  (3) i, 16; ii, 12, (armed) at all points.
Pollicie, iv, 12, statecraft, cunning.
Portesse, iv, 19, breviary, small prayer-book.
Posterne, v, 52, small private gate behind.
Pouldred, vii, 12, powdered.
Pounces, xi, 19, a hawk's claws.
Poynant, vii, 19, sharp, piercing.
Poyse, xi, 54, weight, force.
Practicke, xii, 34, deceitful.
Prancke, iv, 14, display gaudily.
Praunce, vii, 11, strut proudly.
Pray, ix, 30, ravage.
Preace, iii, 3, crowd, throng.
Presently, immediately.
Price, ix, 37, pay the price of, atone for.
Pricking, i, 1; iii, 33, riding, usually rapidly, _i.e._ spurring.
Priefe, viii, 43, trial; ix, 17, proof; x, 24, proved excellence.
Prime, ii, 40; etc., springtime.
Privity, ix, 5, privacy.
Prowesse, vii, 42, bravery.
Prowest, iv, 41; v, 14, bravest.
Puissance, i, 3, etc., power.
Purchas, iii, 16, lit. acquisition, cant term for theft, or robbery
  (Nares).
Purfled, ii, 13, embroidered on the edge.
Purposes, ii, 30, conversation.
Purveyance, xii, 13, provision.

                 Q

Quaile, ix, 49, subdue, overpower.
Quayd, viii, 14, subdued.
Quell, xi, 24, disconcert, daunt.
Quight, viii, 10, repay.
Quit, quitt, vi, 6, 10, to free.
Quite, viii, 26, 27; x, 37, repay, return.
Quited, i, 30, return a salute.
Quoth, i, 12, etc., said.

                 R

Raft, i, 24, struck away (from reave).
Ragged, xii, 23, rough, rugged.
Raile, vi, 43, flow.
Ramping, iii, 5, etc., leaping, bounding, erect; ramp, v, 28.
Rapt, iv, 9, carried away.
Rare, ii, 32, thin-voiced.
Raskall, vii, 35; xii, 9, vulgar, base.
Raught, vi, 20, etc., reached.
Ravine, v, 8, prey.
Raw, x, 2, unpracticed, out of training.
Read, i, 13; x, 17, advise.
Reave, iii, 36; xi, 41, snatch away, rob.
Recoyle, x, 17, retreat.
Recreaunt, iv, 41, base, cowardly.
Recure, v, 44, etc., refresh.
Red, vii, 46, etc., declared.
Redoubted, iv, 40, terrible.
Redound, vi, 30; iii, 8, overflow.
Redresse, v, 30, restore, revive, reunite.
Reed, i, 21, notice, perceive.
Reele, v, 35, roll.
Reft, ix, 31; x, 65, snatched away.
Refte, vi, 39; xii, 39, bereft.
Renverst, iv, 41, turned upside down.
Repaire, vi, 30, return home.
Repining, ii, 17, failing (Percival), angry (Upton).
Repriefe, ix, 29, reproof.
Retrate, i, 13, retreat.
Reverse, ix, 48, bring back.
Revoke, vi, 28, call back.
Ridde, i, 36, remove, dispatch.
Rife, iv, 35; ix, 52, much, exceedingly.
Riotise, iv, 20, riot.
Rode, xii, 42, anchorage, harbor.
Rove, Int. 3, shoot (an arrow with an elevation, not point blank).
Round, vi, 7, dance.
Rowel, vii, 37, ring of a bit.
Ruffin, iv, 34, rough, disordered.
Rusty, v, 32, rust-colored, bloodstained, filthy.
Ruth, v, 9, pity, sorrow.

                 S

Sacred, viii, 35, accursed--of ashes used impiously to receive the blood
  of the slain (Upton).
Sad, i, 2; v, 20; x, 7; xii, 5, grave, mournful; iii, 10, firm, steady;
  i, 36, heavy.
Sallow, i, 9, a kind of willow.
Salvage, iii, 5; vi, 11, etc., wild, woodland (adj.).
Sam, x, 57, together, same.
Say, iv, 31, serge cloth for cloaks (Halliwell).
Scath, iv, 35; xii, 34, hurt, mischief.
Scor'd, i, 2, carved.
Scowre, ii, 20, run fast.
Scryne, Int. 2, chest, or case for keeping books, etc.
Sead, x, 51, seed, posterity.
Sease, xi, 38, fasten; seised, xii, 17, gained, taken possession of.
Seel, vii, 23, lit. sew up the eyes (of hawks), deprive of sight.
Seely, silly, vi, 10; i, 30; ii, 21, simple, innocent.
Seemly, ii, 30, polite.
Scene, v, 16, proved, tested.
Semblaunt, ii, 12, appearance.
Sent, i, 43, perception, sense.
Shadow, represent typically.
Shamefast, x, 15, shy, modest.
Shaume, xii, 13, a wind musical instrument.
Shend, i, 53, shame.
Shew, iii, 10, sign, track.
Shroud, i, 6, 8, shelter.
Single, vi, 12, weak; viii, 12, mere.
Sith, vii, 22, etc., since; sitheng, iv, 51.
Sits, i, 30, becomes, suits.
Slight, vii, 30, device; viii, 23, skill.
Snubbe, viii, 7, knob, snag.
Solemnize, x, 4, rite, solemnizing.
Sooth, iii, 29, truth.
Souce, v, 8, beat.
Soust, iii, 31, drenched.
Sowne, i, 41, sound.
Sperst, i, 39; iv, 48, dispersed.
Spill, iii, 43, destroy.
Stadle, vi, 14, staff.
Stanneries, stannaries, tin mines or tin works.
Starke, i, 44. stiff.
Sted, stedd, viii, 17, etc., place.
Sterne, i, 18; xi, 28, tail.
Stew, xi, 44, warm place.
Stole, i, 4, 45; xii, 22, long robe.
Stound, vii, 12, stunned; vii, 25; viii, 12, 25, 38, moment.
Stowre, ii, 7, etc., distress, peril battle.
Stye, xi, 25, ascend, rise up.
Subject, xi, 19, lying beneath.
Sure, ix, 19, secure.
Swarved, x, 14, swerved.
Swelt, vii, 6, burned.
Swinge, xi, 26, singe.
Swowne, i, 41, heavy sleep; ix, 52, swoon; swound, v, 19.

                 T

Table, ix, 49, picture.
Tackles, xii, 42, rigging.
Talaunts, xi, 41, talons.
Teade, xii, 37, torch.
Teene, ix, 34; xii, 18, grief, trouble, hurt.
Then, x, 10, than.
Thewes, ix, 3; x, 4, manners.
Tho, i, 18, etc., then.
Thorough, i, 32; x, 1, through.
Thrall, ii, 22; vii, 44; viii, 1, subject; v, 45, 51; viii, 32, 37,
  prisoner; vi, 6, one in distress.
Three-square, vi, 41, triangular.
Thrill, iii, 42; x, 19; xi, 20, pierce.
Thrist, vi, 38, thirst.
Throw, x, 41, throe, pang.
Tide, ii, 29, time (duration).
Timely, i, 21; iv, 4, keeping time.
Tire, iv, 35, train, rank, company; viii, 40; x, 31, headdress, attire.
Told, iv, 27, counted.
Tort, xii, 4, wrong.
Touch, iii, 2, touchstone.
Toy, vi, 28, sport.
Trace, viii, 31, walk.
Traine, trayne, i, 18; viii, 17; xi, 37, tail; iii, 24; vi, 3, etc.,
  deceit, wiles.
Transmew, vii, 35, transmute.
Treachour, iv, 41; ix, 32, traitor.
Treen, ii, 39; vii, 26, tree-like, of trees.
Trenchand, i, 17; xi, 24, sharp, trenchant.
Trinall, xii, 39, threefold.
Truncked, viii, 10, truncated, with the limbs cut off.
Trusse, xi, 19, to secure a firm hold on.
Turnament, v, 1, tournament, combat of knights in the lists.
Tway, vii, 27, two, twain.
Twyfold, v, 28, twofold.
Twyne, vi, 14, twist.
Tyne, ix, 15, anxiety, pain.

                 U

Unacquainted, v, 21, unaccustomed.
Unbid, ix, 54, unprayed for.
Uncouth, i, 15; xi, 20, strange.
Undight, iii, 4, unfastened.
Uneath, ix, 38, etc., with difficulty.
Unkindly, i, 26, unnatural.
Unlich, v, 28, unlike.
Untill, xi, 41, unto.
Unty, xi, 41, loosen.
Unwary, xii, 25, unexpected.
Unweeting, ii, 45, etc., unaware, not knowing.

                 V

Venery, vi, 22, hunting.
Vere, xii, 1, veer, change the direction of.
Vew, vi, 25, aspect, appearance.
Vild, ix, 46, vile.
Vine-prop, i, 8, supporting the vine.
Visour, vii, 1, visor, the part of the helmet which protected the eyes.

                 W

Wade, i, 12, walk, go, pass.
Wage, iv, 39, reward, pledge.
Wanton, ii, 13, 14, wild, unrestrained.
Ware, vii, 1, wary.
Warray, v, 48, wage war against.
Wastfull, i, 32, etc., barren, wild.
Wastnes, iii, 3, desert, wilderness.
Wax, iv, 34, grow.
Wayne, iv, 9, chariot.
Wayting, x, 36, watching.
Weare, i, 31, spend, pass.
Weedes, Int. 1; ii, 21, clothes, x, 28, armor.
Weene, i, 10; iii, 41, intend; x, 58, think.
Weet, iii, 6, 11, to know; to weete, iii, 17, etc., to wit.
Welke, i, 23, fade, grow dim.
Welkin, iv, 9, sky.
Well, ii, 43, well-being, health; i, 26, etc., quite, very;
  vii, 4, bubble up.
Wex, xi, 1, grow; woxen, iv, 34.
Whally, iv, 34, streaked (Warren).
Whenas, ii, 32, etc., as soon as.
Whereas, vi, 40, where.
Whot, x, 26, hot.
Whyleare, ix, 28, erewhile.
Whylome, iv, 15, etc., formerly.
Wight, ix, 23, 32, person, creature.
Wimple, xii, 22, veil, lit. covering for the neck;
  wimpled, i, 4, folded, provided with a wimple.
Wist, v, 27 knew.
Wonne, vi, 39, fought; wonne, vi, 39, dwell.
Wood, iv, 34; v, 20, mad, furious.
Worshippe, i, 3, honor, respect.
Wot, i, 13; wote, ii, 18; ix, 31, know.
Woxen, see wax.
Wreakes, viii, 43; xii, 16, anger, acts of vengeance.
Wreck, xi, 21, destruction, mischief.
Wrizled, viii, 47, wrinkled (Warren).
Wyde, i, 34, distant.

                 Y

Yborne, vii, 10, born.
Ycladd, i, 1; yclad, i, 7, 29; ii, 2; ycled, iv, 38, clad.
Ydle, v, 8, airy, purposeless.
Ydrad, i, 2, dreaded.
Yede, xi, 5, go.
Yfere, ix, 1, together.
Ygoe, ii, 18, ago.
Ylike, iv, 27, alike.
Ymp, see impe.
Yod, see yede.
Younglings, x, 57, young of any animal.
Youthly, vi, 34, youthful.
Ypight, ix, 33, pitched, placed.
Yrkesome, ii, 6, weary; iii, 4, painful.
Yts, vii, 39, it is.