The Faerie Queene quotes

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.

“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.”

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.

”

Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd, Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine.

God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine!

His Lady, sad to see his sore constraint, Cried out, “Now, now, Sir knight, shew what ye bee; Add faith unto your force, and be not faint; Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee.”

“Now,” (said the Ladie,) “draweth toward night; And well I wote, that of your later fight Ye all forwearied be; for what so strong, 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.

“Then with the Sunne take, Sir, your timely rest, And with new day new worke at once begin: Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell best.” “Right well, Sir knight, ye have advised bin,” Quoth then that aged man:

“Then with the Sunne take, Sir, your timely rest, And with new day new worke at once begin:

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 For this same night.” The knight was well content;

Arrived there, the litle 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.

With faire discourse the evening so they pas; For that olde 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.

But he, the knight whose semblaunt he did beare, 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 faithlesse Sarazin, all armde to point, 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.

“Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest, Having both found a new friend to your aid, And lost an old foe that did you molest:

Better new friend than an old foe is said.

” With chaunge of chear the seeming simple maid Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth, And yeelding soft, in that she nought gainsaid, So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth, And shee coy lookes: so dainty, they say, maketh derth.

And by her hellish science raisd streight way A foggy mist, that overcast the day, And a dull blast, that breathing on her face Dimmed her former beauties shining ray, And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace:

Then was she fayre alone, when none was faire in place.

“Then cride she out, ‘Fye, fye! deformed wight, Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine To have before bewitched all mens sight: O! leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine.’

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!

Whose yielded pryde 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.

In stead of rest she does lament and weepe, For the late losse of her deare loved knight, And sighes, and grones, and evermore does steepe Her tender brest in bitter teares all night;

All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.

Now when Aldeboran was mounted hye Above the shinie Cassiopeias chaire, And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lye, One knocked at the dore, and in would fare; He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware, That ready entraunce was not at his call;

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 sweete is worth a pound of sowre.

Shee has forgott how many a woeful stowre For him she late endurd; she speakes no more Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre To looken backe; his eies be fixt before.

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 stream of destinee, 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.

But who can turne the stream of destinee, 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.

“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 blood price that he hath spilt. But what art thou, that telst of Nephews kilt?”

And Phœbus, flying so most shamefull sight, His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes, And hydes for shame. What witt of mortal wight Can now devise to quitt a thrall from such a plight?

Eternall providence, exceeding thought, Where none appeares can make her selfe a way.

A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought, From Lyons clawes to pluck the gryped pray. Her shrill outcryes and shrieks so loud did bray, That all the woodes and forestes did resownd:

So on a day, when Satyres all were gone To do their service to Sylvanus old, The gentle virgin, left behinde alone, He led away with corage 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.

So fast he carried her with carefull paine, That they the woods are past, and come now to the plaine.

The knight her lightly reared up againe, And comforted with curteous kind reliefe: 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 chief.

Then gan the Pilgrim thus: “I chaunst this day, This fatall day that shall I ever rew, To see two knights, in travell on my way, (A sory sight) arraung’d in batteill new, Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew.

She heard with patience all unto the end, 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.

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.

For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright, Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat. But, woefull Lady, let me you intrete, For to unfold the anguish of your hart: Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete, And counsell mitigates the greatest smart:

Found never help who never would his hurts impart.

”

Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But, told, it flames; and, hidden, it does glow, I will revele what ye so much desire.

Ah, Love! lay down thy bow, the whiles I may respyre.

“It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares, When corage first does creepe in manly chest, Then first the cole of kindly heat appeares To kindle love in every living brest:

“O happy Queene of Faeries! that hast fownd, Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may Defend thine honour, and thy foes confownd.

True loves are often sown, but seldom grow on grownd.

”

The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battels, which thou boasts to win Through strife, and bloodshed, 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?

For he that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.

“Then doe no further goe, no further stray, But here ly downe, and to thy rest betake, Th’ill to prevent, that life ensewen may; For what hath life that may it loved make, And gives not rather cause it to forsake?

The fift had charge sick 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, doe most dismay The feeble soule departing hence away.

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.

This saide, adowne he looked to the grownd To have returnd; but dazed were his eyne Through passing brightnes, which did quite confound His feeble sence, and too exceeding shyne.

So darke are earthly thinges compar’d to things divine.

At last, whenas himselfe he gan to fynd, To Una back he cast him to retyre, Who him awaited still with pensive mynd. Great thankes, and goodly meed, to that good syre He thens departing gave for his paynes hyre:

Yet all these were, when no man did them know, Yet have from wisest ages hidden beene; And later times thinges more unknowne shall show.

Why then should witlesse man so much misweene, That nothing is but that which he hath seene?

What if within the Moones fayre shining spheare, What if in every other starre unseene Of other worldes he happily should heare, He wonder would much more; yet such to some appeare.

Thereto his subtile engins he does bend, His practick witt and his fayre fyled tonge, With thousand other sleightes; for well he kend His credit now in doubtfull ballaunce hong:

For hardly could bee hurt who was already stong.

Still as he went he craftie stales did lay, With cunning traynes him to entrap unwares, And privy spyals plast in all his way, To weete what course he takes, and how he fares, To ketch him at a vauntage in his snares.

But now so wise and wary was the knight By tryall of his former harmes and cares, That he descryde and shonned still his slight:

The fish that once was caught new bait wil hardly byte.

Nath’lesse th’Enchaunter would not spare his payne, In hope to win occasion to his will; Which when he long awaited had in vayne, He chaungd his mynd from one to other ill; For to all good he enimy was still.

“Nathlesse he shortly shall againe be tryde, And fairely quit him of th’imputed blame; Els, be ye sure, he dearely shall abyde, Or make you good amendment for the same:

All wrongs have mendes, but no amendes of shame.

Now therefore, Lady, rise out of your paine, And see the salving of your blotted name.” Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine, For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine.

“Yet, if the stony cold Have not all seized on your frozen hart, Let one word fall that may your grief unfold, And tell the secrete of your mortall smart:

He oft finds present helpe who does his griefe impart.

”

When raging passion with fierce tyranny Robs reason of her dew regalitie, And makes it servaunt to her basest part, The strong it weakens with infirmitie, And with bold furie armes the weakest hart:

The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through smart.

”

Poore Orphane! in the wild world scattered, As budding braunch rent from the native tree, And throwen forth, till it be withered.

Such is the state of men: Thus enter we Into this life with woe, and end with miseree!

”

Is this the joy of armes? be these the parts Of glorious knighthood, after blood to thrust, And not regard dew right and just desarts?

Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, That more to mighty hands then rightfull cause doth trust.

“And were there rightfull cause of difference, Yet were not better fayre it to accord Then with bloodguiltinesse to heape offence, And mortal vengeaunce joyne to crime abhord? O! fly from wrath; fly, O my liefest Lord!

Vaine-glorious man, when fluttring wind does blow In his light winges, is lifted up to skye; The scorne of knighthood and trew chevalrye, To thinke, without desert of gentle deed And noble worth, to be advaunced hye:

Such prayse is shame; but honour, vertues meed, Doth beare the fayrest flowre in honourable seed.

So forth they pas, a well consorted payre, Till that at length with Archimage they meet: Who seeing one, that shone in armour fayre, On goodly courser thondring with his feet, Eftsoones supposed him a person meet Of his revenge to make the instrument;

There thou maist love, and dearly loved be, And swim in pleasure, which thou here doest mis: There maist thou best be seene, and best maist see:

The wood is fit for beasts, the court is fitt for thee.

”

With hart then throbbing, and with watry eyes, “Fayre Sir” (quoth he) “what man can shun the hap, That hidden lyes unwares him to surpryse?

Misfortune waites advantage to entrap The man most wary in her whelming lap:

So me weake wretch, of many weakest one, Unweeting and unware of such mishap, She brought to mischiefe through Occasion, Where this same wicked villein did me light upon.

Long I her serv’d, and found her faithfull still, Ne ever thing could cause us disagree.

Love, that two harts makes one, makes eke one will;

Each strove to please, and others pleasure to fulfill.

“Mad man,” (said then the Palmer) “that does seeke Occasion to wrath, and cause of strife: Shee comes unsought, and shonned followes eke. Happy! who can abstaine, when Rancor rife Kindles Revenge, and threats his rusty knife.

Woe never wants where every cause is caught; And rash Occasion makes unquiet life!

” “Then loe! wher bound she sits, whom thou hast sought,” Said Guyon: “let that message to thy Lord be brought.”

Which Guyon marking said; “Be nought agriev’d, Sir knight, that thus ye now subdewed arre: Was never man, who most conquestes atchiev’d, But sometimes had the worse, and lost by warre, Yet shortly gaynd that losse exceeded farre.

Losse is no shame, nor to bee lesse then foe; But to bee lesser then himselfe doth marre Both loosers lot, and victours prayse alsoe: Vaine others ovcrthrowes who selfe doth overthrow.

“Fly, O Pyrochles! fly the dreadfull warre That in thy selfe thy lesser partes do move; Outrageous anger, and woe-working jarre, Direfull impatience, and hart-murdring love: Those, those thy foes, those warriours far remove, Which thee to endlesse bale captived lead.

“Faire Sir,” (quoth she) “be not displeasd at all. Who fares on sea may not commaund his way, Ne wind and weather at his pleasure call:

The sea is wide, and easy for to stray; The wind unstable, and doth never stay.

But here a while ye may in safety rest, Till season serve new passage to assay: Better safe port then be in seas distrest.” Therewith she laught, and did her earnest end in jest,

“Suffise it then, thou Money God,” (quoth hee) “That all thine ydle offers I refuse.

All that I need I have: what needeth mee To covet more then I have cause to use?

With such vaine shewes thy worldlinges vyle abuse; But give me leave to follow mine emprise.” Mammon was much displeasd, yet no’te he chuse But beare the rigour of his bold mesprise; And thence him forward ledd him further to entise.

Some thought to raise themselves to high degree By riches and unrighteous reward; Some by close shouldring; some by flatteree; Others through friendes; others for base regard, And all by wrong waies for themselves prepard:

Those that were up themselves kept others low; Those that were low themselves held others hard, Ne suffred them to ryse or greater grow; But every one did strive his fellow downe to throw.

Which whenas Guyon saw, he gan inquire, What meant that preace about that Ladies throne, And what she was that did so high aspyre? Him Mammon answered; “That goodly one, Whom all that folke with such contention Doe flock about, my deare, my daughter is:

Unworthie usage of redoubted knight. But you, faire Sir, whose honourable sight Doth promise hope of helpe and timely grace, Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight, And by your powre protect his feeble cace?

First prayse of knighthood is fowle outrage to deface.

”

“Palmer,” (said he) “no knight so rude, I weene, As to doen outrage to a sleeping ghost; Ne was there ever noble corage seene, That in advauntage would his puissaunce bost:

Honour is least where oddes appeareth most.

May bee, that better reason will aswage The rash revengers heat. Words, well dispost, Have secrete powre t’appease inflamed rage: If not, leave unto me thy knights last patronage.”

But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe Had lost, he by him spyde, right glad he grew, And saide; “Deare sir, whom wandring to and fro I long have lackt, I joy thy face to vew:

Firme is thy faith, whom daunger never fro me drew.

“But read, what wicked hand hath robbed mee Of my good sword and shield?” The Palmer glad With so fresh hew uprysing him to see, Him answered: “Fayre sonne, be no whit sad For want of weapons; they shall soone be had.”

And therein sat an old old man, halfe blind, And all decrepit in his feeble corse, Yet lively vigour rested in his mind, And recompenst them with a better scorse:

Weake body wel is chang’d for minds redoubled forse.

This man of infinite remembraunce was, And things foregone through many ages held, Which he recorded still as they did pas, Ne suffred them to perish through long eld, As all things els the which this world doth weld;

Tho to his daughter Regan he repayrd, Who him as first well used every way; But when of his departure she despayrd, Her bountie she abated, and his cheare empayrd.

The wretched man gan then avise too late, That love is not where most it is profest; Too truely tryde in his extremest state.

At last, resolv’d likewise to prove the rest, He to Cordelia him selfe addrest, Who with entyre affection him receav’d, As for her Syre and king her seemed best;

The enimies of Temperaunce Besiege her dwelling place: Prince Arthur them repelles, and fowle Maleger doth deface.

What warre so cruel, or what siege so sore, As that which strong affections doe apply Against the forte of reason evermore, To bring the sowle into captivity?

Their force is fiercer through infirmity Of the fraile flesh, relenting to their rage, And exercise most bitter tyranny Upon the partes brought into their bondage: No wretchednesse is like to sinfull vellenage.

Full litle wanted but he had him slaine, And of the battell balefull end had made, Had not his gentle Squire beheld his paine, And commen to his reskew, ere his bitter bane.

So greatest and most glorious thing on ground May often need the helpe of weaker hand; So feeble is mans state, and life unsound, That in assuraunce it may never stand, Till it dissolved be from earthly band.

Proofe be thou, Prince, the prowest man alyve, And noblest borne of all in Britayne land; Yet thee fierce Fortune did so nearely drive, That, had not grace thee blest, thou shouldest not survive.

Thereat they greatly were dismayd, ne wist How to direct theyr way in darkenes wide, But feard to wander in that wastefull mist, For tombling into mischiefe unespide:

Worse is the daunger hidden then descride.

Suddeinly an innumerable flight Of harmefull fowles about them fluttering cride, And with their wicked wings them ofte did smight, And sore annoyed, groping in that griesly night.

The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay: Ah! see, whoso fayre thing doest faine to see, In springing flowre the image of thy day.

Ah! see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee Doth first peepe foorth with bashfull modestee, That fairer seemes the lesse ye see her may.

Lo! see soone after how more bold and free Her bared bosome she doth broad display; Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away.

Ne more doth florish after first decay, That earst was sought to deck both bed and bowre Of many a lady’, and many a Paramowre. Gather therefore the Rose whilest yet is prime, For soone comes age that will her pride deflowre;

Gather the Rose of love whilest yet is time, Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equall crime.

He ceast; and then gan all the quire of birdes Their diverse notes t’attune unto his lay, As in approvaunce of his pleasing wordes.

For knight to leave his Lady were great shame That faithfull is, and better were to dy, All losse is lesse, and lesse the infamy, Then losse of love to him that loves but one:

Ne may love be compeld by maistery; For soone as maistery comes sweet Love anone Taketh his nimble winges, and soone away is gone.

”

but all in vaine;

For who can shun the chance that dest’ny doth ordaine?

Lo! where beyond he lyeth languishing, Deadly engored of a great wilde Bore; And by his side the Goddesse groveling Makes for him endlesse mone, and evermore With her soft garment wipes away the gore Which staynes his snowy skin with hatefull hew:

Ne reckt shee who her meaning did mistrust, For she was given all to fleshly lust, And poured forth in sensuall delight, That all regard of shame she had discust, And meet respect of honor putt to flight:

So shamelesse beauty soone becomes a loathly sight.

Faire Ladies, that to love captived arre, And chaste desires doe nourish in your mind, Let not her fault your sweete affections marre, Ne blott the bounty of all womankind, ’Mongst thousands good one wanton Dame to find: Emongst the Roses grow some wicked weeds:

Nought so of love this looser Dame did skill, But as a coale to kindle fleshly flame, Giving the bridle to her wanton will, And treading under foote her honest name:

Such love is hate, and such desire is shame.

Still did she rove at her with crafty glaunce Of her false eies, that at her hart did ayme, And told her meaning in her countenaunce; But Britomart dissembled it with ignoraunce.

Full easy was for her to have beliefe, Who by self-feeling of her feeble sexe, And by long triall of the inward griefe Wherewith imperious love her hart did vexe, Could judge what paines doe loving harts perplexe.

Who meanes no guile be guiled soonest shall, And to faire semblaunce doth light faith annex: The bird that knowes not the false fowlers call, Into his hidden nett full easely doth fall.

Forthy she would not in discourteise wise Scorne the faire offer of good will profest; For great rebuke it is love to despise, Or rudely sdeigne a gentle harts request; But with faire countenaunce, as beseemed best, Her entertaynd:

“Forthy great wonder were it, if such shame Should ever enter in his bounteous thought, Or ever doe that mote deserven blame:

The noble corage never weeneth ought That may unworthy of it selfe be thought.

Therefore, faire Damzell, be ye well aware, Least that too farre ye have your sorrow sought: You and your countrey both I wish welfare, And honour both; for each of other worthy are.”

His feeling wordes her feeble sence much pleased, And softly sunck into her molten hart: Hart that is inly hurt is greatly eased With hope of thing that may allegge his smart;

For pleasing wordes are like to Magick art, That doth the charmed Snake in slomber lay.

Such secrete ease felt gentle Britomart, Yet list the same efforce with faind gainesay; So dischord ofte in Musick makes the sweeter lay:—

“But neither God of love nor God of skye Can doe” (said she) “that which cannot be donne.”

“Things ofte impossible” (quoth she) “seeme, ere begonne.”

“These idle wordes” (said she) “doe nought aswage My stubborne smart, but more annoiaunce breed: For no, no usuall fire, no usuall rage Yt is, O Nourse! which on my life doth feed, And sucks the blood which from my hart doth bleed:

Bold Marinell of Britomart Is throwne in the Rich strond: Faire Florimell of Arthur is Long followed, but not fond.

Where is the Antique glory now become, That whylome wont in wemen to appeare?

Where be the brave atchievements doen by some? Where be the battels, where the shield and speare, And all the conquests which them high did reare, That matter made for famous Poets verse, And boastfull men so oft abasht to heare?

Yet he his mothers lore did well retaine, And ever from fayre Ladies love did fly; Yet many Ladies fayre did oft complaine, That they for love of him would algates dy: Dy, who so list for him, he was loves enimy.

But ah! who can deceive his destiny, Or weene by warning to avoyd his fate?

That, when he sleepes in most security And safest seemes, him soonest doth amate, And findeth dew effect or soone or late; So feeble is the powre of fleshly arme.

Like as a ship, whose Lodestar suddeinly Covered with cloudes her Pilott hath dismayd; His wearisome pursuit perforce he stayd, And from his loftie steed dismounting low Did let him forage. Downe himselfe he layd Upon the grassy ground to sleepe a throw:

The cold earth was his couch, the hard steele his pillow.

But gentle Sleepe envyde him any rest: In stead thereof sad sorow and disdaine Of his hard hap did vexe his noble brest, And thousand Fancies bett his ydle brayne With their light wings, the sights of semblants vaine.

The prayses of high God he faire displayes, And his large bountie rightly doth areed: Dayes dearest children be the blessed seed Which darknesse shall subdue and heaven win: Truth is his daughter; he her first did breed Most sacred virgin without spot of sinne.

Our life is day, but death with darknesse doth begin.

“O! when will day then turne to me againe, And bring with him his long expected light? O Titan! hast to reare thy joyous waine; Speed thee to spred abroad thy beames bright, And chace away this too long lingring night;

Thereat she blushing said; “Ah! gentle Squire, Nor Goddesse I, nor Angell; but the Mayd And daughter of a woody Nymphe, desire No service but thy safety and ayd; Which if thou gaine, I shal be well apayd.

Wee mortall wights, whose lives and fortunes bee To commun accidents stil open layd, Are bownd with commun bond of fraïltee, To succor wretched wights who we captived see.

”

Daily she dressed him, and did the best His grievous hurt to guarish, that she might; That shortly she his dolour hath redrest, And his foule sore reduced to faire plight: It she reduced, but himselfe destroyed quight.

O foolish physick, and unfruitfull paine, That heales up one, and makes another wound!

She his hurt thigh to him recurd againe, But hurt his hart, the which before was sound, Through an unwary dart, which did rebownd From her faire eyes and gratious countenaunce.

Still as his wound did gather, and grow hole, So still his hart woxe sore, and health decayd:

Madnesse to save a part, and lose the whole!

Still whenas he beheld the heavenly Mayd, Whiles dayly playsters to his wownd she layd, So still his Malady the more increast, The whiles her matchlesse beautie him dismayd. Ah God!

Jove laught on Venus from his soverayne see, And Phœbus with faire beames did her adorne,

And all the Graces rockt her cradle being borne.

Her berth was of the wombe of Morning dew, And her conception of the joyous Prime; And all her whole creation did her shew Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.

For every substaunce is conditioned To chaunge her hew, and sondry formes to don, Meet for her temper and complexion: For formes are variable, and decay By course of kinde and by occasion;

And that faire flowre of beautie fades away, As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny ray.

Great enimy to it, and to all the rest That in the Gardin of Adonis springs, Is wicked Tyme;

Her hart was pierst with pitty at the sight, When walking through the Gardin them she saw, Yet no’te she find redresse for such despight: For all that lives is subject to that law;

All things decay in time, and to their end doe draw.

But were it not that Time their troubler is, All that in this delightfull Gardin growes Should happy bee, and have immortall blis: For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes; And sweete love gentle fitts emongst them throwes, Without fell rancor or fond gealosy.

All wayes shee sought him to restore to plight, With herbs, with charms, with counsel, and with teares; But tears, nor charms, nor herbs, nor counsell, might Asswage the fury which his entrails teares:

So strong is passion that no reason heares.

Tho when all other helpes she saw to faile, She turnd her selfe backe to her wicked leares; And by her divelish arts thought to prevaile To bringe her backe againe, or worke her finall bale.

That sure, I weene, the hardest hart of stone Would hardly finde to aggravate her griefe;

For misery craves rather mercy then repriefe.

But that accursed Hag, her hostesse late, Had so enranckled her malitious hart, That she desyrd th’abridgement of her fate, Or long enlargement of her painefull smart.

The sight whereof in his congealed flesh Infixt such secrete sting of greedy lust, That the drie withered stocke it gan refresh, And kindled heat that soone in flame forth brust:

The driest wood is soonest burnt to dust.

Rudely to her he lept, and his rough hond Where ill became him rashly would have thrust; But she with angry scorne did him withstond, And shamefully reproved for his rudenes fond.

“Then is he not more mad,” (sayd Paridell) “That hath himselfe unto such service sold, In dolefull thraldome all his dayes to dwell?

For sure a foole I doe him firmely hold, That loves his fetters, though they were of gold.

But why doe wee devise of others ill, Whyles thus we suffer this same dotard old To keepe us out in scorne, of his owne will, And rather do not ransack all, and him selfe kill?”

So foorth they far’d; but he behind them stayd, Maulgre his host, who grudged grievously To house a guest that would be needes obayd, And of his owne him lefte not liberty:

Might wanting measure moveth surquedry.

Two things he feared, but the third was death; That fiers youngmans unruly maystery; His money, which he lov’d as living breath; And his faire wife, whom honest long he kept uneath.

“O soverayne Lord! that sit’st on hye And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed Saintes, How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty So long unwreaked of thine enimy? Or hast thou, Lord, of good mens cause no heed? Or doth thy justice sleepe and silent ly?

What booteth then the good and righteous deed, If goodnesse find no grace, nor righteousnes no meed?

“If good find grace, and righteousnes reward, Why then is Amoret in caytive band, Sith that more bounteous creature never far’d On foot upon the face of living land?

And ever in your noble hart prepense, That all the sorrow in the world is lesse Then vertues might and values confidence:

For who nill bide the burden of distresse, Must not here thinke to live; for life is wretchednesse.

“Therefore, faire Sir, doe comfort to you take, And freely read what wicked felon so Hath outrag’d you, and thrald your gentle make. Perhaps this hand may helpe to ease your woe, And wreake your sorrow on your cruell foe;

And through the roofe of her strong brasen towre Did raine into her lap an hony dew; The whiles her foolish garde, that litle knew Of such deceipt, kept th’yron dore fast bard, And watcht that none should enter nor issew:

Vaine was the watch, and bootlesse all the ward, Whenas the God to golden hew him selfe transfard.

Then was he turnd into a snowy Swan, To win faire Leda to his lovely trade: O wondrous skill! and sweet wit of the man, That her in daffadillies sleeping made From scorching heat her daintie limbes to shade;

A thousand monstrous formes therein were made, Such as false love doth oft upon him weare;

For love in thousand monstrous formes doth oft appeare.

And all about the glistring walles were hong With warlike spoiles and with victorious prayes Of mightie Conquerours and Captaines strong, Which were whilome captived in their dayes To cruell love, and wrought their owne decayes.

It is a darksome delve farre under ground, With thornes and barren brakes environd round, That none the same may easily out-win: Yet many waies to enter may be found, But none to issue forth when one is in;

For discord harder is to end then to begin.

And all within, the riven walls were hung With ragged monuments of times forepast, All which the sad effects of discord sung: There were rent robes and broken scepters plast; Altars defyld, and holy things defast; Disshivered speares, and shields ytorne in twaine;

“Lo! recreant,” (sayd he) “the fruitlesse end Of thy vaine boast, and spoile of love misgotten, Whereby the name of knighthood thou dost shend, And all true lovers with dishonor blotten:

All things not rooted well will soone be rotten.

” “Fy, fy! false knight,” (then false Duessa cryde) “Unworthy life, that love with guile hast gotten; Be thou, where ever thou do go or ryde, Loathed of ladies all, and of all knights defyde!”

Yet he to her did dayly service more, And dayly more deceived was thereby; Yet Paridell him envied therefore, As seeming plast in sole felicity:

So blind is lust false colours to descry.

But Atè soone discovering his desire, And finding now fit opportunity To stirre up strife twixt love and spight and ire, Did privily put coles unto his secret fire.

Yet all was forg’d and spred with golden foyle, That under it hidde hate and hollow guyle. Ne certes can that friendship long endure, However gay and goodly be the style, That doth ill cause or evill end enure;

For vertue is the band that bindeth harts most sure.

Thus as they marched all in close disguise Of fayned love, they chaunst to overtake Two knights that lincked rode in lovely wise, As if they secret counsels did partake;

Sad Clotho held the rocke, the whiles the thrid By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine, That cruell Atropos eftsoones undid, With cursed knife cutting the twist in twaine.

Most wretched men, whose dayes depend on thrids so vaine!

She, them saluting, there by them sate still Beholding how the thrids of life they span: And when at last she had beheld her fill, Trembling in heart, and looking pale and wan, Her cause of comming she to tell began. To whom fierce Atropos:

… To draw their dayes unto the utmost date, And doe not rather wish them soone expire, Knowing the miserie of their estate, And thousand perills which them still awate, Tossing them like a boate amid the mayne, That every houre they knocke at deathes gate?

And he that happie seemes, and least in payne, Yet is as nigh his end as he that most doth playne.

Therefore this Fay I hold but fond and vaine, The which, in seeking for her children three Long life, thereby did more prolong their paine: Yet whilest they lived none did ever see More happie creatures then they seem’d to bee;

Much was he grieved with that gracelesse chaunce; Yet from the wound no drop of bloud there fell, But wondrous paine, that did the more enhaunce His haughtie courage to avengement fell:

Smart daunts not mighty harts, but makes them more to swell.

With that, his poynant speare he fierce aventred With doubled force close underneath his shield, That through the mayles into his thigh it entred, And, there arresting, readie way did yield For bloud to gush forth on the grassie field;

The cause of both, of both their minds depends, And th’end of both likewise of both their ends: For enmitie, that of no ill proceeds But of occasion, with th’occasion ends;

And friendship, which a faint affection breeds Without regard of good, dyes like ill grounded seeds.

That well (me seemes) appeares, by that of late Twixt Cambell and Sir Triamond befell, As als by this, that now a new debate Stird up twixt Blandamour and Paridell, The which by course befals me here to tell:

so weening way to make To Ladies love, where so he came in place, And with lewd termes their lovers to deface. Whose sharpe provokement them incenst so sore, That both were bent t’avenge his usage base, And gan their shields addresse them selves afore:

For evill deedes may better then bad words be bore.

But faire Cambina with perswasions myld Did mitigate the fiercenesse of their mode, That for the present they were reconcyld, And gan to treate of deeds of armes abrode, And strange adventures, all the way they rode:

And Florimell him fowly gan revile, That for her sake refus’d to enterprize The battell, offred in so knightly wize: And Atè eke provokt him privily With love of her, and shame of such mesprize, But nought he car’d for friend or enemy;

For in base mind nor friendship dwels nor enmity.

But Cambell thus did shut up all in jest:

So he continued all that day throughout, Till evening that the Sunne gan downward bend. Then rushed forth out of the thickest rout A stranger knight, that did his glorie shend:

So nought may be esteemed happie till the end.

He at his entrance charg’d his powrefull speare At Artegall, in middest of his pryde, And therewith smote him on his Umbriere So sore, that tombling backe he downe did slyde Over his horses taile above a stryde;

First in the midst to set that fayrest Dame, To whom each one his chalenge should disclame, And he himselfe his right would eke releasse: Then, looke to whom she voluntarie came, He should without disturbance her possesse:

Sweete is the love that comes alone with willingnesse.

They all agreed: and then that snowy Mayd Was in the middest plast among them all; All on her gazing wisht, and vowd, and prayd, And to the Queene of beautie close did call, That she unto their portion might befall.

His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade, That neither day nor night from working spared, But to small purpose yron wedges made;

Those be unquiet thoughts that carefull minds invade.

In which his worke he had sixe servants prest, About the Andvile standing evermore With huge great hammers, that did never rest From heaping stroakes which thereon soused sore: All sixe strong groomes, but one then other more; For by degrees they all were disagreed;

And oft in wrath he thence againe uprose, And oft in wrath he layd him downe againe. But wheresoever he did himselfe dispose, He by no meanes could wished ease obtaine:

So every place seem’d painefull, and ech changing vaine.

And evermore, when he to sleepe did thinke, The hammers sound his senses did molest, And evermore, when he began to winke, The bellowes noyse disturb’d his quiet rest, Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest:

Yet in his soundest sleepe his dayly feare His ydle braine gan busily molest, And made him dreame those two disloyall were:

The things, that day most minds, at night doe most appeare.

With that the wicked carle, the maister Smith, A paire of red-whot yron tongs did take Out of the burning cinders, and therewith Under his side him nipt;

And, wiping out remembrance of all ill, Graunt him your grace; but so that he fulfill The penance which ye shall to him empart:

For lovers heaven must passe by sorrowes hell.

” Thereat full inly blushed Britomart, But Artegall close smyling joy’d in secret hart.

But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare, Till Glaucè thus: “Faire Sir, be nought dismayd With needlesse dread, till certaintie ye heare; For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd:

Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd.

”

Which, being whylome launcht with lovely dart, More eath was new impression to receive; How ever she her paynd with womanish art To hide her wound, that none might it perceive:

Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceive.

So well he woo’d her, and so well he wrought her, With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment, That at the length unto a bay he brought her, So as she to his speeches was content To lend an eare, and softly to relent.

Which she long listning, softly askt againe What mister wight it was that so did plaine? To whom thus aunswer’d was: “Ah, wretched wight! That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine, Unweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight:

Selfe to forget to mind another is oversight.

”

Such mortall malice wonder was to see In friends profest, and so great outrage donne: But sooth is said, and tride in each degree,

Faint friends when they fall out most cruell fomen bee.

Thus they long while continued in fight; Till Scudamour and that same Briton maide By fortune in that place did chance to light:

And gan their endlesse happinesse envye, That being free from feare and gealosye Might frankely there their loves desire possesse; Whilest I, through paines and perlous jeopardie, Was forst to seeke my lifes deare patronnesse:

Much dearer be the things which come through hard distresse.

“Yet all those sights, and all that else I saw, Might not my steps withhold, but that forthright Unto that purposd place I did me draw, Where as my love was lodged day and night, The temple of great Venus, that is hight The Queene …

But weeping day and night did him attend, And mourn’d to see her losse before her eyne, Which griev’d her more that she it could not mend:

To see an helplesse evill double griefe doth lend.

Nought could she read the roote of his disease, Ne weene what mister maladie it is, Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.

And rather then his love should suffer paine, He chose with shame to beare that Ladies head:

True love despiseth shame, when life is cald in dread.

Whom when so willing Artegall perceaved; “Not so, thou Squire,” (he sayd) “but thine I deeme The living Lady, which from thee he reaved, For worthy thou of her doest rightly seeme.

But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in pound, We are not sure they would so long remaine:

All change is perillous, and all chaunce unsound.

Therefore leave off to weigh them all againe, Till we may be assur’d they shall their course retaine.”

What though the sea with waves continuall Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all; Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought, For whatsoever from one place doth fall Is with the tide unto another brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.

“Likewise the earth is not augmented more By all that dying into it doe fade; For of the earth they formed were of yore: How ever gay their blossome or their blade Doe flourish now, they into dust shall vade.

For how canst thou those greater secrets know, That doest not know the least thing of them all?

Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

”

But all the wrongs that he therein could lay Might not it peise; yet did he labour long, And swat, and chauf d, and proved every way:

Yet all the wrongs could not a litle right downe way.

Which when he saw he greatly grew in rage, And almost would his balances have broken; But Artegall him fairely gan asswage, And said, “Be not upon thy balance wroken, For they doe nought but right or wrong betoken;

The sight whereof did all with gladnesse fill: So unto him they did addeeme the prise Of all that Tryumph. Then the trompets shrill Don Braggadochios name resounded thrise:

So courage lent a cloke to cowardise.

And then to him came fayrest Florimell, And goodly gan to greet his brave emprise, And thousand thankes him yeeld, that had so well Approv’d that day that she all others did excell.

Whom when discovered they had throughly eide, With great amazement they were stupefide; And said, that surely Florimell it was, Or if it were not Florimell so tride, That Florimell her selfe she then did pas.

So feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar has.

Which when as Marinell beheld likewise, He was therewith exceedingly dismayd, Ne wist he what to thinke, or to devise;

But Guyon did his choler pacify, Saying, “Sir knight, it would dishonour bee To you that are our judge of equity, To wreake your wrath on such a carle as hee:

It’s punishment enough that all his shame doe see.

”

For vaine it is to deeme of things aright, And makes wrong doers justice to deride, Unlesse it be perform’d with dreadlesse might;

For powre is the right hand of Justice truely hight.

Therefore whylome to knights of great emprise The charge of Justice given was in trust, That they might execute her judgements wise, And with their might beat downe licentious lust, Which proudly did impugne her sentence just:

“Most haplesse well ye may Me justly terme, that to this shame am brought, And made the scorne of Knighthod this same day: But who can scape what his owne fate hath wrought?

The worke of heavens will surpasseth humaine thought.

”

She at the first encounter on him ran With furious rage, as if she had intended Out of his breast the very heart have rended: But he, that had like tempests often tride, From that first flaw him selfe right well defended.

The more she rag’d, the more he did abide; She hewd, she foynd, she lasht, she laid on every side.

Yet still her blowes he bore, and her forbore, Weening at last to win advantage new; Yet still her crueltie increased more, And, though powre faild, her courage did accrew; Which fayling, he gan fiercely her pursew.

At sight thereof his cruell minded hart Empierced was with pittifull regard, That his sharpe sword he threw from him apart, Cursing his hand that had that visage mard:

No hand so cruell, nor no hart so hard, But ruth of beautie will it mollifie.

By this, upstarting from her swoune, she star’d A while about her with confused eye; Like one that from his dreame is waked suddenlye.

Yet was he justly damned by the doome Of his owne mouth, that spake so warelesse word, To be her thrall and service her afford: For though that he first victorie obtayned, Yet after, by abandoning his sword, He wilfull lost that he before attayned:

No fayrer conquest then that with goodwill is gayned.

Tho with her sword on him she flatling strooke, In signe of true subjection to her powre, And as her vassall him to thraldome tooke:

Ne would be taught with any termes to lerne So fond a lesson as to love againe: Die rather would he in penurious paine, And his abridged dayes in dolour wast, Then his foes love or liking entertaine. His resolution was, both first and last,

His bodie was her thrall, his hart was freely plast.

Which when the cruell Amazon perceived, She gan to storme, and rage, and rend her gall, For very fell despight which she conceived, To be so scorned of a base-borne thrall, Whose life did lie in her least eyelids fall;

For houres, but daycs; for weekes that passed were, She told but moneths, to make them seeme more few; Yet when she reckned them, still drawing neare,

Each hour did seeme a moneth, and every moneth a yeare.

But when as yet she saw him not returne, She thought to send some one to seeke him out; But none she found so fit to serve that turne, As her owne selfe, to ease her selfe of dout.

For the proud Souldan, with presumpteous cheare And countenance sublime and insolent, Sought onely slaughter and avengement; But the brave Prince for honour and for right, Gainst tortious powre and lawlesse regiment, In the behalfe of wronged weake did fight:

More in his causes truth he trusted then in might.

Like to the Thracian Tyrant, who they say Unto his horses gave his guests for meat, Till he himselfe was made their greedie pray, And torne in pieces by Alcides great;

Arthur and Artegall catch Guyle, Whom Talus doth dismay; They to Mercillaes Pallace come, And see her rich array.

What Tygre, or what other salvage wight, Is so exceeding furious and fell As wrong, when it hath arm’d it selfe with might?

Not fit mongst men that doe with reason mell, But mongst wyld beasts, and salvage woods, to dwell; Where still the stronger doth the weake devoure, And they that most in boldnesse doe excell Are dreadded most, and feared for their powre;

So thence he wished her with him to wend Unto some place where they mote rest and feede, And she take comfort which God now did send:

Good hart in evils doth the evils much amend.

“Ay me!” (sayd she) “and whether shall I goe? Are not all places full of forraine powres? My pallaces possessed of my foe, My cities sackt, and their sky-threating towres Raced and made smooth fields now full of flowres?

“But sure to me her faith she first did plight To be my love, and take me for her Lord; Till that a Tyrant, which Grandtorto hight, With golden giftes and many a guilefull word Entyced her to him for to accord.

O! who may not with gifts and words be tempted?

Sith which she hath me ever since abhord, And to my foe hath guilefully consented: Ay me, that ever guyle in wemen was invented!

To temporize is not from truth to swerve, Ne for advantage terme to entertaine, When as necessitie doth it constraine.” “Fie on such forgerie!” (sayd Artegall) “Under one hood to shadow faces twaine:

Knights ought be true, and truth is one in all: Of all things, to dissemble, fouly may befall!

”

Fie on the pelfe for which good name is sold, And honour with indignitie debased!

Dearer is love then life, and fame then gold; But dearer then them both your faith once plighted hold.

”

But, ere he coulde reforme it thoroughly, He through occasion called was away To Faerie Court, that of necessity His course of Justice he was forst to stay, And Talus to revoke from the right way In which he was that Realme for to redresse:

But envies cloud still dimmeth vertues ray.

So, having freed Irena from distresse, He tooke his leave of her there left in heavinesse.

Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can blynd The wisest sight to thinke gold that is bras;

But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd, And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd.

But where shall I in all Antiquity So faire a patterne finde, where may be seene The goodly praise of Princely curtesie, As in your selfe, O soveraine Lady Queene?

Bloud is no blemish, for it is no blame To punish those that doe deserve the same; But they that breake bands of civilitie, And wicked customes make, those doe defame Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.

No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.

“Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe This evill manner which ye here maintaine, And doe instead thereof mild curt’sie showe To all that passe: That shall you glory gaine More then his love, which thus ye seeke t’obtaine.”

“For nothing is more blamefull to a knight, That court’sie doth as well as armes professe, However strong and fortunate in fight, Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.

In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse, Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:

All flesh is frayle and full of ficklenesse, Subject to fortunes chance, still chaunging new: What haps to day to me to morrow may to you.

In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse, Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew: All flesh is frayle and full of ficklenesse, Subject to fortunes chance, still chaunging new:

What haps to day to me to morrow may to you.

“Who will not mercie unto others shew, How can he mercy ever hope to have? To pay each with his owne is right and dew;

“

Who will not mercie unto others shew, How can he mercy ever hope to have?

To pay each with his owne is right and dew; Yet since ye mercie now doe need to crave, I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to save, With these conditions which I will propound:

to beare themselves aright To all of each degree as doth behove? For whether they be placed high above Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know Their good; that none them rightly may reprove Of rudenesse for not yeelding what they owe:

Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend;

And being moov’d with pittie of my plight Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret: Whereof befell what now is in your sight.” “Now sure,” (then said Sir Calidore) “and right, Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:

Who ever thinkes through confidence of might, Or through support of count’nance proud and hault, To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault.

”

“Ill seemes,” (sayd he) “if he so valiaunt be, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight;

For seldome yet did living creature see That curtesie and manhood ever disagree.

“But go thy waies to him, and fro me say, That here is at his gate an errant Knight, That house-rome craves; yet would be loth t’assay The proofe of battell now in doubtfull night, Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:

A wofull dame ye have me termed well; So much more wofull, as my wofull plight Cannot redressed be by living wight!” “Nathlesse,” (quoth he) “if need doe not you bynd, Doe it disclose to ease your grieved spright:

Oftimes it haps that sorrowes of the mynd Find remedie unsought, which seeking cannot fynd.

”

And ranckling inward with unruly stounds, The inner parts now gan to putrify, That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery; And rather needed to be disciplinde With holesome reede of sad sobriety, To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:

Give salves to every sore, but counsell to the minde.

So, taking them apart into his cell, He to that point fit speaches gan to frame, As he the art of words knew wondrous well, And eke could doe as well as say the same; And thus he to them sayd:

“For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie To heale your selves, and must proceed alone From your owne will to cure your maladie.

Who can him cure that will be cur’d of none?

If therefore health ye seeke, observe this one: First learne your outward senses to refraine From things that stirre up fraile affection; Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk restraine From that they most affect, and in due termes containe.

that in such distresse He wist not to which side him to addresse: And evermore that craven cowherd Knight Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse, Wayting if he un wares him murther might;

For cowardize doth still in villany delight.

Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware, He to him turnd with furious intent, And him against his powre gan to prepare;

for oft it falles, that strong And valiant Knights doe rashly enterprize Either for fame, or else for exercize, A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by fight; Yet have through prowesse and their brave emprize Gotten great worship in this worldes sight:

For greater force there needs to maintaine wrong then right.

“Yet, since thy life unto this Ladie fayre I given have, live in reproch and scorne, Ne ever armes ne ever knighthood dare Hence to professe; for shame is to adorne With so brave badges one so basely borne:

Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray, And when her listed she could fawne and flatter; Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day, Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter;

Yet were her words but wynd, and all her teares but water.

Whether such grace were given her by kynd, As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde, Or learn’d the art to please, I doe not fynd:

And otherwhiles with bitter mockes and mowes He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd Was much more grievous then the others blowes:

Words sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of scorning growes.

The faire Serena, when she saw him fall Under that villaines club, then surely thought That slaine he was, or made a wretched thrall, And fled away with all the speede she mought, To seeke for safety;

So taught of nature, which doth litle need Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:

The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed; No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed.

“Therefore I doe not any one envy, Nor am envyde of any one therefore: They, that have much, feare much to loose thereby, And store of cares doth follow riches store.

“Therefore I doe not any one envy, Nor am envyde of any one therefore:

They, that have much, feare much to loose thereby, And store of cares doth follow riches store.

The litle that I have growes dayly more Without my care, but onely to attend it; My lambes doe every yeare increase their score, And my flockes father daily doth amend it. What have I, but to praise th’Almighty that doth send it!

“In vaine” (said then old Melibœ) “doe men The heavens of their fortunes fault accuse, Sith they know best what is the best for them; For they to each such fortune doe diffuse, As they doe know each can most aptly use:

For not that which men covet most is best, Nor that thing worst which men do most refuse; But fittest is, that all contented rest With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.

“It is the mynd that maketh good or ill, That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore;

Yet she no whit his presents did regard, Ne him could find to fancie in her brest: This newcome shepheard had his market mard.

Old love is litle worth when new is more prefard.

One day, when as the shepheard swaynes together Were met to make their sports and merrie glee, As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather, The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee, They fell to daunce:

Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds, That even they, the which his rivals were, Could not maligne him, but commend him needs;

For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds Good will and favour.

So it surely wrought With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the seeds Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought The fruite of joy and blisse, though long time dearely bought.

From that day forth she gan him to affect, And daily more her favour to augment; But Coridon for cowherdize reject, Fit to keepe sheepe, unfit for loves content:

The gentle heart scornes base disparagement.

Yet Calidore did not despise him quight, But usde him friendly for further intent, That by his fellowship he colour might Both his estate and love from skill of any wight.

… his will his law, Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend, She thought it best, for shadow to pretend Some shew of favour, by him gracing small, That she thereby mote either freely wend, Or at more ease continue there his thrall:

A little well is lent that gaineth more withall.

So from thenceforth, when love he to her made, With better tearmes she did him entertaine, Which gave him hope, and did him halfe perswade, That he in time her joyance should obtaine:

But she resolv’d no remedy to fynde, Nor better cheare to shew in misery, Till Fortune would her captive bonds unbynde:

Her sickenesse was not of the body, but the mynde.

During which space that she thus sicke did lie, It chaunst a sort of merchants, which were wount To skim those coastes for bondmen there to buy, And by such trafficke after gaines to hunt, Arrived in this Isle, though bare and blunt, T’inquire for …