The Faerie Queene

A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine. The cruell markes of many a bloodie fielde; Yet armes till that time did he never wield. 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.

And on his brest a bloodie Crosse he bore, 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. 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.

Upon a great adventure he was bond, That greatest Gloriana to him gave, (That greatest Glorious Queene of Faery lond) To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave: And ever as he rode his hart did earne To prove his puissance in battell brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learne Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.

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, At length it brought them to a hollowe cave Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave, And to the Dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave.

“Be well aware,” quoth then that Ladie milde, “Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke: The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadful doubts. Oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: therefore your stroke, Sir Knight, withhold, till further tryall made.” “Ah Ladie,” (sayd he) “shame were to revoke The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertue gives herself light through darknesse for to wade.”

“Yea but” (quoth she) “the perill of this place I better wot than you: though nowe too late 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: Therefore I read beware.” “Fly, Fly!” (quoth then The fearefull Dwarfe) “this is no place for living men.”

Long time they thus together traveiled; Til, weary of their way, they came at last 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 shadowe far in compasse round: The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast, Under them never sat, ne wont there sound His mery oaten pipe, but shund th’unlucky ground.

But this good knight, soone as he them can spie, For the coole shade him thither hastly got: For golden Phœbus, now ymounted hie, 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 From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.

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; 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 rifte there came Small drops of gory blood, that trickled down the same.

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 fledd his eye was backward cast, As if his feare still followed him behynd: Als flew his steed as he his bandes had brast, And with his winged heeles did tread the wynd, As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kynd.

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head To bee unarmd, and curld uncombed heares Upstaring stiffe, dismaid with uncouth dread: Nor drop of blood in all his face appeares, Nor life in limbe; and, to increase his feares, In fowle reproch of knighthoodes fayre degree, 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.

The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast, To weet what mister wight was so dismayd. There him he findes 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, And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight? For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.”

At last he came unto a gloomy glade, Cover’d with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, Whereas he sitting found in secret shade An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight, Of griesly hew and fowle ill favour’d sight; His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard, His head and beard with sout were ill bedight, His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben seard In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard.

His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust, Was underneath enveloped with gold; Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy dust, Well yet appeared to have beene of old A worke of rich entayle and curious mould, Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery; And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, And turned upside downe, to feede his eye And covetous desire with his huge threasury.

And round about him lay on every side Great heapes of gold that never could be spent; Of which some were rude owre, not purifide Of Mulcibers devouring element; Some others were new driven, and distent Into great Ingowes and to wedges square; Some in round plates withouten moniment; But most were stampt, and in their metal bare The antique shapes of kings and kesars straunge and rare.

Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright And haste he rose for to remove aside Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight, And downe them poured through an hole full wide Into the hollow earth, them there to hide. But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd His hand that trembled as one terrifyde; And though himselfe were at the sight dismayd, Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd: