i^ n o\ a «> THE OR K S OP EDMUND SPENSER TEL .6 J, ' ) W © IE K S M UMD SFEH SEE OB" HIS KXILCOJl^MAH' CASTJLE. PHILAJDEIPHIA. "W^ILLltJ P. HAZAjRU. 190 CHESTKITT ST THE WORKS ov EDMUND SPENSER WITH OBSERVATIONS OK H^S LIFE AND WRITINGS. A NEW EDITION. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUMK. PHILADELPHIA: WILLIS P. HAZARD, 190 CHESTNUT STREET. 1857. CONTENTS. Observations on the Life and Writings of E'Imunci Spenser ... 3 THE FAERIE QUEENE. A LeUc-r of the Author's expounding his whole intention in the course of this worke . 3 Verses to the Autlior of the Faerie Queene 5 Sonnets addressed by the Author . • 6 BOOK I. The Legend of the Knight of the Red Crosse, or of Holinesse. Canto L 14 18 22 27 31 36 40 45 49 55 60 65 70 74 78 82 85 90 96 101 106 113 117 Canto IL • • • Canto IlL . Canto IV, Canto V. . Canto VL , Canto VIL Canto VII L « • » Canto IX. Canto X. . , Canto XI. Canto XII. BOOK II. The Legend of Sir Guyon, or of Ten Canto I. , , Canto IL . Canto III. « • • Canto IV. Canto V. • • • Canto VI. Canto VIL • • • Canto VIII. Canto IX. • • • Canto X. . Canto XL , • , Canto XIL BOOK III. The Legend of Britomartis, or of C Canto 1. . Canto IL » • • Canto IIL Canto IV. • • • Canto V. . Canto VL • • • ( anto VIL Ciinto VI IL , Canto IX. Ciinto X. ^ ^ Cnnto XL Canio xn. , astity. 126 132 136 142 147 152 157 162 167 171 177 182 BOOK IV. The Legend of Canibel and Tri&mond ship I. Canto Canto Canto Canto Canto Canto (,'anto Canto Canto Canto Canto Canto IL . IIL IV. V. VL VIL VIII. IX. X. . XL XIL BOOK V. The Legend of Artegall, Canto Canto IL . Canto III. Canto IV. Canto V. Canto VI. . Can to VII. Canto VIII. Canto IX. Canto X. . Canto XL Canto XIL or of Friend- 18'' 191 196 201 205 209 213 217 231 or of Justice. 241 244 248 252 2.56 261 •26b 269 273 278 281 287 BOOK VI. The Legend of Sir Calidore, or of Courlesie Canto I. Cauto II Canto Canto Canto C>.into Canto Canto Canto Canto Canto Canto IIL IV. . V. VI. . VIL VIIL IX. X. . XL XIL Two Cantos of Mutabilitie ; which, both for form and matter, appear to be parccd of .some following Booke of the Faerie Queene, under the Legend of Constancie Canto VI. Canto VII. Canto VIIL unperfite 292 296 300 305 308 312 316 320 325 329 333 3S7 342 347 358 CONTENTS. MISCELLANIES. Colin Clouts Corue Home Againo Virgils Gnat . . ._ . The Slieplieards Calender: containing Twelve Aeglogues, proportionable to tlie Twelve Monthes FOWKE IIVMNES. An Hyinne in Honor of Love . An Ilymne in Honor of Beautie . An Hymne of Heavenly Love. An Hvmne of Heavenly Beautie . THREE VISIONS. The Visions of Petrarch The Visions of Belhiy . . Visions of the Worlds Vanitie. Prosopopoia : or, Mother Hubberds Tale Prothalamion : or, .1 Spousall Verse Epithaiamion Poems . • • Amoretti : or Sonuets Sonnets collected from the Original Pub- lications in which they appeared Daphnaida: an Elegy upon the Death of thenobleand vertuous Douglas Howard Astrophel : a Pastoral Elegie, upon the Dfidth Of the mosi noble and valorous knight, Sir Philip Sidney . 35S 361 368 391 394 397 399 402 403 405 4or 418 420 423 424 435 436 441 The Doleful Lay of Clorinda . 443 The Mourning Muse of Thestylis . 444 A Pastorall Aeglogue upon the Death of Sir Phillip Sidney, Knight, &c. , 447 An Elegy '• or, Friends Passion for his Astrophel . . . 448 An Epitaph upon the Right Hon. Sir Phillip Sidney, Knight. . 45J Another of the Same . . 451 The Teares of the Muses . 43a The Ruir.es of Rome . . 458 'J he Ruines of Time . 462 Muiopotmos ; or, the Fate of the Butter- flie . . . 468 BRITTAIN'S IDA. Canto I. . 473 Canto II . .47.1 Canto 111. . . 475 Canto IV. . c , . 476 Canto V. . . 477 Canto VI. . . . . 478 A VIEW OF THE STATE OF IRELAND 479 GLOSSARY. OBSERVATIONS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF EDMUND SPENSER. EULOGY ON SPENSER. FROM SHAKESPEARES PASSIONATE PILGRIM. " If Mnsick and sweet Poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother. Then must tlie love be great 'twixt thee and me. Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.— DowLAND to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; Spenser, to me, whose deep conceit is such As, passing all conceit, needs no defence : Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That PhcEbus' lute, the Queen of Musick, makes; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, When as himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign, One knight loves both, and both ia thee remain." WiiiTERS on English Literature are unanimous in assigning to the reign of Elizabeth, the title of the Augustan age; an application in every way just, as, to her encourage- ment and example may be attributed the revival of letters in this country. From the death of Chaucer to the birth of Spenser, a period of nearly two centuries, but few, and those not important names had been added to the records of our literary history. The writings of Gower, Occleve, Lydgate, and Caxton, witli some few monkish legends, and the poems of Surrey, Wyatt, and Sackville, may be enumerated as among the chief addi- tions to our poetry during that stormy period when the pubhc mind was agitated by the struggles between the followers of the Church of Rome, and the advocates of the OBSERVATIONS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Reformation, In every age and country, religious dissensions have been unfavourable to tlie proixress of Literature ; and to these continued troubles may be ascribed its utter prostration in England at the commencement of the reign of Elizabeth. Her accession was hailed with no common feeling of enthusiasm by both the court and the people, who, weary of the merciless exactions of lier father from which the reign of the yoiithful Edward proved but a transient relief^ and groaning beneath the bigotry and san- guinary persecutions of her sister, beheld in their new (;ueen the harbinger of a happier season ; nor were these hopes disappointed. During the strict seclusion in Avhich she had been detained by Mary, Elizabeth had acquired, under the able tuition of tlie erudite and elegant minded Ascham, no small share of those intellectual acquirements which are usually confined to the sterner sex. Thus nurtured, her inclinations naturally leaned to the society of those who were conspicuous for either talent or learning : from among these she selected her counsellors, and, aided by their willing co-operation, laid the foundation of that impulse to literature which has increased rather than diminished under every succeeding sovereign. The forty-five years of her reign must be regarded as the brightest epoch of our national history, and may challenge the annals of Europe to rival the galaxy of men, so illustrious in arms and arts, who flourished under her auspices. It is a period which, of all others, has a peculiar charm for the sympathies of youth ; and though in after years reason and experience may in some degree temper the warmth of our imaginations, and dispose us to contemplate the character of Elizabeth m a more just and less romantic light, it must ever retain an especial place in our regards, as the age which produced such men as Spenser, Raleigh, Sidney, and Shakspeare. The life and writings of Spenser, " the fascinating poet of Faerie Land," and one of the fairest ornaments of this era, the following observations are designed to illustrate. When Sir James Mackintosh was invited by a body of London Booksellers to super- intend an edition of the Poets, from Chaucer to Cowley, he characterized the life of Spenser as one which would offer no little difficulty, on account of the paucity of mate- rials for its execution. This difficulty has certainly not been removed ; but though, un- able to present the reader with any new facts relating to the " Prince of Poets of his time, we may, perhaps, while condensing the existing information, so guide him to the beauties of our author, as to obviate the necessity of wading through the more voluminous labours of Todd and Warton. Edmund Spenser, styled the " Sunrise," as Chaucer was the " Day Starre," of English poetry, was born in the year 1553, in East Smithfield,— in " Merry London, my most kindly nurse, That to me gave this life's first native source, Though from another j)lace I take my name, A house of ancient fame." Although frequently referrmg in his poems to his gentle birth, and claiming in some of his dedications consanguinity with the noble house of Spencer, of his parentage he has left us no record. The university of Cambridge had the honour of his education ; and •hough the history of his college life partakes of the same obscurity that envelopes his origm, it has been ascertained that he was admitted a sizar of Pembroke Hall, May 20, OF EUMUiN'D SPf:\SER. J569,— that he took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 16, 1572-3,— and that of Master of Arts, June 26, 1576. We o-ather from their correspondence, that he here became intimate with the learned, but pedantic, Gabriel Harvey, of Christclmrch ; and to his critical opinions, although occasionally fantastic, he seems to h.ive paid great deference*. During his residence at Cambridge, he gave evidence of his poetical abilities, and was well known to his fellow- students as avotary of the Muses, having contributed, although anonymously, several poems to tlie " Theatre of Worldlings," pulilished in 1569. But his hopes of further advance- ment at the university having been annihilated, in consequence of a quarrel with the master of the society to which he beloni^ed, respecting some preferment unjustly conferred upon a rival, he withdrew to the North of Eugknd, where he lived as tutor in the family of one of his relatives. In this retirement he i)ecanie enamoured of the " vviddowe's daughter of the glenne," a lady of no common accomiJishments, whom he has celebrated in his poems, under the name of Rosaliuti. In one of the notes to "The Shepheards Calendar," she is said to have been one " that for her rare and singular gifts of person and mind, Spenser need not h.ive been ashamed to love." Nor was she insensible of her lover's merit; for, according to Harvey, " gentle Mistresse Rosalinde once reported him to have all the intelligences at commandnient, and another time christened him Signor Pegaso." — To this attachment we aie indebted tor many of his sweetest productions. He seems to have loved with the most fervent ardour; and has imparted to the strains in which he sang the praises of his mistress, a tone of tender entreaty inexpressibly beautiful. Of this aflair, too little is known ; but the very mysteiy in which it is enshrined, has thrown around the tradition of the poet's first love, all the " strong interest of reality, and all the charm of romance and poetry." But the passion which gave birth to so many exquisite lyrics was doomed to be unt a day-dream ; the aftections of Rosalind were transferred to another, the Menilcas of the Shepheards Calendar; and Spenser poured forth in tuneful numbers his complaint, " how he was forsaken unfaithfully; and in his stead another received disloyally." Having removed to London at the suggestion of Harvey, he there published the Shepheards Calendar in 1579. This Poem, which is composed in a style of language, nearly obsolete in the age in which it was written, is therefore accompanied by a glosse or commentary, which was furnished, together with an introductory letter to Harvey, by E. K., respecting whose identity many ingenious -conjectures have been hazarded; but every attempt at his discovery has been ineffectual : that he was an intimate and partial friend of the author, is evident. As a Pastoral, the value of the ^hephean's Calendar is considerably diminished, by being written in a quaint and antiquated dialect, and by the frequent satire on ecclesias- " Harvey," says D'Israeli, in those curious and entertaining volumes, " The Calamities of Authors," " is not unknown to the lover of poetry, from his lonn. ciion with Spenser, who loved and revered Lira. He IS the Hob^nol, whose poem is prefixed to the Faerie Queene, who introduced Spenser to Sir Philip Sidney, and besides his intimacy with the literary characters of his time, be was a Doctor of Laws, aa erudite scholar, 'and distingui^hed as a poet." The most remarkable feature of his life was his quarrel with Nash, Greene, and the most ' pregnant; Luciuaic wits who ever flourished at one time,' " for aa account of which, see the work quoted above. OBSERVATIONS ON THE LIKE AND WRITINGS tical matters, certainly incongruous in the mouths of tlie rustic heroes, who have been not inaptly styled by Campbell, " parsons in disguise." Tlie consequence of this obtrusion of Church Polemics into tlie simplicity of rural affairs has been, that the Ecloo-ues for May, July, and September, are anything but Pastorals, Indep ndent, however of these blemishes, the poem is enriched with many passages of tx.|Uisite beauty ; and in the Eclogues for January, June, October, and December, the descriptions of nature are minute and luxuriant, and may be cited as among the sweetest specimens of their class, extant in our language. Dryden and Pope have bestowed upon it tiieir most emphatic applause; and tlie former has not hesitated to place it in the same rank with the writings of Theocritus or Virgil. The novelty of its subject and its style ; it being the first poem of the kind pu])lished in I'ngland, with the exception, perhaps, of Lord Buckhurst's " Induction and Legend of Henry Duke of Buckingham"* (the allego- rical pictures of which, in the opinion of Warton, " are so beautifully drawn, that in all probability they contributed to direct, or at least to stimulate, Spenser's imagination"), excited universal attention; and such was its popularity that, during the author's life time, it passed through no less than five editions. It is supposed that some political passages in these poems, especially the alhisions to Abp. Grindall, in the Eclogue for April, excited the wrath of the great Burghley, the effects of which had no inconsiderable influence on the Poet's after-life. In vain he distinguished the minister with the most flattering adulation in one of the sonnets prefixed to the Faerie Queene : the mighty Peere remained implacable ; and it is doubtless to the loss of this noble's " grace" that he alludes in the following terse and pregnant lines from Mother Hubberds Tale : " Most miserable man, whom wicked fate Hath brouL;ht to court, to sue, for had-ywist. That few liatli found, and many one hath mist ! Full little kiiowest thou, that hast not tride. What hell it is, in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, tliat might be better spent; To wast long nights in pensive discontent ; To speed to-day, to be put buck to-morrow ; ■ To feede on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow ; To have thy princes grace, yet waiit her peeres ; To Lave thy asking, yet waite manie yeares ; To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares ; To eate thy heart through comforilesse despaires ; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne : To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. Unha{)pie wight, borne to desastrous end, That doth his life in so long tendance sjjend !" But if the Shepheards Calendar procured for its author a powerful enemy, on the other hand it secured him some no less powerful friends. Tiie poem, partly written at Pens- hurst, was dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney, who, from this period to the close of his • Published in " The Mirror for Magistrates," 1.559 — a collection of stories by different authors, on the plan of IJoccaccio's " De Casihus Virorum Illustrium." Of this Induction and Legend, Hallam.iii his In- troduction to the Literature of Europe, says, " It displays a feriility of imagination, vividness of description, and streno'th of language, not only superior to the productions of any of his predecessors, but will beat conij)arison with some of the most jioetical passages of Spenser." OF EDMUND SPENSER. career, continued the kind protector of Spenser, and obtained for him the countenance and support of his uncle the Earl of Leicester. By Leicester, Spenser was received into his house, for the furtherance, no doubt, of some literary undertaking ; probably to assist in the composition of the" Stemmata Dwc^/em/m," an account of the Earl's genealogy, on which, in one of his letters, the Poet states himself to have been em- ployed in 1580. About July in the same year, he was indebted to his patron for an appointment as secretary to Arthur Lord Grey de Wilton, then nominated Lord Deputy of Ireland, which situation he held during the two years of that nobleman's administra- tion. Lord Grey's measures with the Irish were energetic and severe, — so much so, as to have induced his recall to England : and to this event Spenser alludes in his Faerie Queene, when describing Artegall returning from the succour of Irene, as leaving his labours incomplete : — " But, ere be could reform it thoroughly, He through occasion called was away To Faerie Court, that of necessity His course of iustice he was forst to stay." Many years afterwards, he appeared as the advocate of Lord Grey ; and in his elaborate " View of the State of Ireland," has successfully vindicated his measures and his reputa- tion. In 1586, through the combined influence of this nobleman, the Earl of Leicester, and Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser received a grant of 3028 acres of land in the county of Cork, being a portion of the forfeited estates of the rebel earls of Desmond. This was tlie last kindntss which he received from his generous friend and patron Sir Philip Sidney. On the 2'2d of September of the same year, this accomplished scholar, — this gallant knight, — this '• flowre of chivalrie," received his death-wound before the walls of Zutphen, in Guelder- land, while nobly fighting the battles of the Protestant religion. He lingered till the 17th October, when he expired in the arms of his secretary and friend, Mr. William Temple. By the tenor of the grant, our poet was compelled to reside on his newly- acquired property, and accordingly fixed his residence at Kilcolman castle, about two miles distant from Doneraile. Although now presenting a very different aspect, this spot seems to have offered considerable attractions to a man of Spenser's temperament. The castle was situated on an elevation, on the north side of a fine lake, in the midst of an extensive plain, whose horizon was terminated by the distant mountains of Waterford, Ballyhoura, Nagle, and Kerry. The views from its site are most delightfid ; and in Spenser's time, when the adjacent uplands were wooded, it must have been a most plea- sant and romantic situation, to which we no doubt are indebted for many of tliose glowing descriptions of forest and pastoral scenery, with which his writings so richly abound. 'I he river Mulla flowed through his grounds. In this congenial retreat, enlivened by the society of Sir Walter Raleigh, who had succeeded Sidney as his Maecenas, Spenser finished the first part of his glorious and imperishable Faerie Queene ; and having received the critical encomium of the " Shepheard of the Ocean," accompanied his patron toEng- land, where, in 1590, he gave to the world the fruits of his matured intellect. It was published with the title of" The Faerie Queene; disposed into Twelve Bookes, fashioning XII Morall Vertues" (although in this first edition only three books were published), and, as appears from a conversation in hh friend Ludowick BiYskett's " Discourse o/ 10 OBSERVATIONS ON iriK LIKK AND WRITINGS Civil Life," was intended " to represent all the Morall Virtues, assigning to every virtue a Knight, to be patron and defender of the same ; in wliose actions, feats of armes, and chivalry, the operation of that v^irt'ie, whereof he is the protector, are to be expressed ; and the vices and unruly appetites that oppose themselves against the same, to be beaten dowue and overcome." At this period Spenser was introduced by Raleigh to Queen Elizabeth, who, in February, 1590-1, as we learn from ? patent discovered in the chapel of the Rolls, by -the indefatigable Malone, conferred upon him a yearly pension of fifty pounds, which he enjoyed till his death. It has been asserted by some of the poet's biographers, tha% attached to this pension was the office of laureat ; but it has been satisfactorily proved by Malone, that Spenser, although addressed by that title by his contemporaries, was never officially appointed to the situation. In reference to this office, Gibbon (in the 12th volume of his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire) remarks, " From Augustus to Louis, the Muse has too often been false and venal ; but I much doubt whether any age or court can produce a similar establishment of a stipendiary poet, who, in every reign, and at all events, is bound to furnish, twice a year, a measure of praise and verse, such as may be sung in the chapel, and, I beheve, in the presence of the sovereign." Setting aside the adulation whicli the appointment entailed, and which is now obsolete, we are not disposed to quarrel with the office ; for, at the least, it offers an encouragement to literary men, in the certainty of an income, no unwelcome benefit to a race not generally possessed of a superfluity of this world's gear, and though originating, no doubt, in royal vanity, it has not unfrequently lightened the sorrows and sweetened the labours of" these Foster-babes of Fame." After the publication of his poem, Spenser returned to Ireland; and during his absence from court, encouraged by the popularity into vvhich his works were rapidly advancing, his bookseller collected and printed his minor pieces, in a volume, of which ti)e following are the title and contents: — " Complaints, containing sundrie small Poemes of the World's Vanitie : viz. 1, Tiie Ruines of Time. 2, The Teares of the Muses, 3, Virgils Gnat. 4, Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubberds Tale. 5, The Ruines of Rome, by Bellay. 6, Muiopotmos, or the Fate of the Butterflie. 7, Visions of the Worlds Vanitie. 8, Bellayes Visions. 9, Petrarches Visions." These pieces, although considerably inferior to his great work, have yet participated in the fame with whieli it endowed its author, and, without reference to their intrinsic merits, have been equally lauded by his critics. This want of discrimina- tion may be attributed to the dazzle of his name, which has induced them, with a blind devotion, to heap upon his minor poems those eulogiums which can only be justly claimed by the Faerie Qucene. Of these, " Mother Hubberds Tale," tliough written in the " raw conceit of youth," is certainly the best; it abounds with satirical hits at the lead- ing features of the times, the priests and the court : the lines devoted to this latter su!)ject embody the description of the miseries of a place-hunter, already quoted. The language is bold and nervous, and the narrative in general unembarrassed. Take, for example, the following description of the ape purloining the crown, sceptre, and hide " which he had doft for heat," from the King of the Forest. To this adventure he is incited by the fox : — OF EDMUND SPENSER. n " Loath was the ape (though praised) to adventer Yet faintly gan into his worke to enter. Afraid of everie leaf that stir'd him by. And everie stick that underneath did Iv : Upon his tiptoes nicely he up went. For making noyse, and still his ears he lent To everie sound that under heaven blew. Now went, now stopt, now crept, now backward drew, That it good sport had been him to have eyde ; Yet at the last (so well he him applyde). Through his fine handling, and Ijis cleanly play, He all those royall signes had stolne away, And with the foxes helpe them borne aside Into a secret corner unespide." In the above, tlie trepidation and anxiety of the robber are admirably drawn. In " The Ruines of Time," in which he adverts to the untimely death of the Earl of Leicester, are many noble passages; and Mr. Ellis has selected one of the most spirited, for insertion in his valuable Specimens. " Muiopotmos" is one of the most ele- gant of all Spenser's minor poems, and possesses much of the lavishness of imagery and description so conspicuous in his more polished works. " The Teares of the Muses " com- prise their lament for the decay of learning. " Daphnaida," an Elegy on Douglas Howard, daughter of Henry Lord Howard, appeared Jan. 1, 1591-2 ; and in 1595, was published " Colin Clouts Come Home Againe," in which the Poet gives an account of his visit to England and his introduction to the queen, with familiar sketches of his contemporaries under feigned names. Attached to " Colin Clout" was " Astrophel," a collection of elegiac poems on the death of Sir Philip Sydney, supposed to have been written on the immediate occasion of his death. The characteristics of this work are conceit and pedantry, but often redeemed by tender sentiments and noble expressions. The best of the poems is " The Mourning Muse of Thestylis ;" and in the Ele"y, " A Friends Passion for his Astrophel," we have an atoning charm in the following graceful portrait of Sidney : — " When he descended downe to the mount His personage seemed most divine : A thousand graces one might count Upon his lovely cheerfull eine : To heare him speake and sweetly smile You were in Paradise the while. " A sweet attractive kinds of grace, A full assurance given by lookes, Continuall comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel bookes ; I trowe that countenance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible in the eie. " Was never eie did see that face, Was never eare did heare that tong. Was never minde did minde his grace. That ever thought the tra\ell longe. But eies, and eares, and ev'ry thought:, Were with his sweete perfections caught.'' 12 OBSERVATIONS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS In this collection occurs " An Elegy on Sir Philip Sidney," written by his sister, Mary Countess of Pembroke, the celebrated subject of Jonson's pregnant Epitaph : — • " Underneath this sable herse, Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast killed another Learn'd, and fair, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee." In the same year were published his " Amoretti," or Sonnets, apparently written during his courtship of a less faithless fair than Rosalind, whom he afterwards married, and by her left several children. These sonnets overflow with chaste sentiments and beautiful imagery, and are, in truth, " Such tales, as told to any maid By such a man, in the green sh ade, Were perilous to hear!" The portrait of his Elizabeth is luxuriant and characteristic : — " Fayre is my love, when her fayre golden haires With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke ; Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares ; Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke ; Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke, With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay; F'avre, whentliat cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away ; But fayrest she, when so she doth display The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight ; Throgh which her words so wise do make their way To beare the message of her gentle spright. The rest be woikes of Nature's wonderment; But this the worke of harts astonishment." In the tenth Canto of Book VI. of the Faerie Queene, she is also described ; and the poet claims for her the honours of a " Fourth (irace ;" and in the seventy-fourth sonnet classing her with his mother, and the queen, as " Ye three Elizabeths," he calls her, " The third, my love, my lifes last ornament. By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed : To speake her prayse and glory excellent, Of iill alive most vi'orthy to be praysed." But the " Epithalamion," written on his marriage with the lady of his love, far transcends everything of the like description. " It is a strain redolent of a Bridegroom's joy and of a Poet'fj fancy. — It is an intoxication of ecstacy, ardent, noble, and pure."* There is no other nuptial song of equal beauty in our language. Spenser has thrown his whole soul into this glorious lay ; and it stands confessed the very essence of his imaginative genius. Tlie "Fowre Hymneson Love and Beautie," dedicated to the Countesses of Cumberland and Warwick, the dedication to whom is not a little curious, and the " Prothalamion," in honour of the marnages of Ladies Elizabeth and Catherine Somerset, to H. GifFord and * Hallam. i OF EDMUND SPENSER. IS W. Peters, Esqis., were also published in 1596. In the first are some spirited lines in honour of beauty ; and the latter contains much poetical imagery, melodiously expressed. Having thus cursorily enumerated the chief of what are generally called Spenser's Minor Poems, we may here hazard a few words as to their general merit in relation to " The Faerie Queene." Though possessed in the highest degree of poetical feelings and imagination, Spenser was evidently of an indolent turn of mind, and required a strong excitement to exhibit his intellect in all its force. In the production of these stray pieces, these waifs, — if they may be so denominated, no such inducement was offered. Enamoured of its " dark conceit," he seems to have placed his whole hopes of fame on his Faerie Queene, and to have considered the labour bestowed on any other production, as so much stolen from his great work ; and this may perhaps account for the vast abyss whicli in general separates it from the offspring of his less disciplined muse. But thougli tnus dissenting from the judgment of those who assert that he has no faults, we reverentially concur in the dictum of Warton, that, " in reading Spenser, if the critic is^iot satisfied, yet the reader is transported." Perhaps the most vigorous of the pieces now under consideration are the fables of " The Oake and the Brier," and " The Kidde and the Foxe," in "The Shepheard's Calendar," and " Mother Hubberds Tale," " Muiopotmos,'' and the " Epithalamion." During this period Spenser had not, notwithstanding the fecundity of his muse, neg- lected the Faerie Queene ; and accordingly in 1596 appeared a new edition of the first three books, \yith the addition of a second part, containing the fourth, fifth, and sixth. These, with two imperfect cantos of" Mutabilitie," first published in the folio of 1609, as a recovered portion of the lost " Legend of Constancie," comprise all that now remains of " the XII books fashioning the XII morall vertues." The opinions of his biographers have been at variance, as to whether the poem was ever finished, or whether it was purposely left in its present incomplete state. With these opinions, the arguments in support of which must almost all originate in conjecture, we will refrain from meddling ; and while we admire the ingenious statements of Sir James Ware, Birch, and Farmer, and the no less sagacious retorts of their learned adversaries, Fenton, Dryden, and Todd, without staying to investigate their abstruse theories, we will proceed to the far more pleasing occupation of considering what remains of this immortal work. There is no despot so absolute as fashion ; and, in the days of Elizabeth, the fashion, whether in literature or manners, was derived from Italy, as now from France ; and the glowing tales of knight-errantry and magic, which Ariosto had given to the world, had strongly imbued our ancestors with a taste for the chivalric and marvellous. To this passion we are certainly indebted for the structure of the Faerie Queene ; and though Spenser has far outstripped the Italian in richness of imagery and fertility ot conception, the plot of his poem, although inferior to the Orlando, from its want of uniformity, is evidently borrowed from Ariosto. In no other respect, however, can the two be considered as rivals : in delineation of character and lavish minuteness of description, our country.nan stcfuas alone. His creations partake not of the undisciplined and libertine genius of Ariosto : tiiough perhaps too evanescent and shadow-like to retain a lasting hold on the attentioa, 14 OBSERVATIONS OX illK LI IK AND WRITINGS they possess all tlie imagined grace of the inliabitants of another world, — a region of enchantment, created by himself, in which fresh flowers are ever springing, and new beanties are presented to us at each step in our progress. The success of the Faerie Queene was instantaneous. " It became at once the delight of every accomplished gen- tleman, the model of every poet, the solace of every scholar ;"* Panegyrics were written on its author, — it strengthened his position at court, — it extended the circle of his friends, — it won for him the smiles of his sovereign, and secured him the applause of the good. Its publication exercised an influence on our literature and on our language, whose effects are even yet experienced. To enumerate its imitators would be to recount the names of the most distinguished of our poets ; for all have been more or less indebted to the inspiration of Spenser's genius. The plot of the Faerie Queene is far more entangled than is at first sight apparent ; and too many are disposed, in the more conspicuous attractions of its poetical embellishment, to forget the moral wliich is conveyed beneath its surface. Besides the moral allegory whicli is the distinguishing feature of the poem, Spenser has embodied in his story a second and political one. " Not only is Gloriana the imaginary concentration of glory sought by every true knight — she is Queen Elizabeth too: not only does King Arthur present the spirit and essence of pure chivalry — he is likewise Spenser's (unworthy) patron, the Earl of Leicester ; and many of the adventures which describe the struggles of virtue and vice, also shadow forth anecdotes and intrigues of the English court, invisible to those, as Spenser himself insinuates, " Who n'ote without a hound fine footing trace." This complication of meanings may render the Faerie Queene doubly valuable to the anti- quary v/ho can explore its secret sense; but it must always be an objection to Spenser's plan, with the common reader, that the attempt at too much ingenuity has marred the simplicity of his allegory, and deprived it in a great degree of consistency and coherence, "f The prevailing though less prominent tone of the poem betrays a mildness and gen- tleness eminently characteristic of the author's disposition : beneath the garb of his bewitching allegories we trace his desire to inculcate those virtues which are the peculiar attributes of Christianity. Spenser's feeling for sacred subjects, is admirably pourtrayed in those exquisite stanxas which form the opening of the eighth Canto of Book II. How naturally does he burst forth, " But O ! th' exceeding grace Of Higliest God that loves his creatures so. And all his workes with mercv duth emhrace, That hlessed Angels he sends to and fro. To servo to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe ! * • * • • O, why should llevenly God to min have such re**rd ! But while he thus paints, in the most vivid and alluring colours, those endearing sympathies which hallow existence ; with an energy sturlling as unexpected, ho appears as the • Ilallam f Sir Walter Scott. 1 OF EDMUND SPENSER. i5 delineator of our evil passions, depicting them in all the force of their hideous reality, and in a manner approaching the sublime. By those who have misunderstood him, it has been asserted that Spenser's poetry is all sweetness and destitute of strength. For a refutation of this opinion I need only direct the attention of the reader to the sublime descriptions of " Him who with the night durst ride, "the House of Riches, the Court of Jealousy, the Caves of Mammon and Despair: the latter, especially, is nervously written, and the choice of words, as suited to the o'lject described, admirable ; we see before us the very picture of this gloomy den. The poet was perfectly master of his art, and possessed that secret which gives one of its greatest charms to poetry, a choice of expressioii and epithet extremely apposite to the subject. Virgil has been much praised for a similar quality; but the description of the trees which form the " shadie grove," Book I, canto i, may bear comparison with any of the finest passages of the Mantuan bard. Of the sweetness of his verse every one must be sensible ; it has the melody of falling waters, apd wins upon the senses as imperceptibly. Speaking of tliis characteristic ot our poet's numbers, Campbell has elegantly said, " lie is like a speaker whose tones continue to be pleasing, though he may speak too long ; or like a painter, who makes us forget the defect of his design, by the magic of his colouring. We always rise from perusing him with melody in the mind's ear, and with pictures of romantic beauty impressed on the imagination." That the Faerie Queene has faults, every one unblindcd by prejudice, must be ready to allow; for though teeming vvith passai^'-es of grandeur, beauty, pathos, and sui)limity,yet, as a whole, it is wanting in uniformity and compactness. Each of the books might have been published as a separate poem, without injury to the remainder. Indeed, the first, esteemed as by far the best of the six, is a complete work in itself; and, but for the reappearance of rince Arthur, has little connection with the others. But even this character " appears and vanishes like a spirit, and we lose sis^ht of him too soon to consider him as the hero of the poem "* To account for the unfinisiied state of the Faerie Queene, it is said that a servant, entrusted witli his manuscripts, lost the six remaining books in the precipitate retreat from Ireland at the time of the insurrection. 'I his story is much"discountenanced by others, who suppose that it was pur- posely left incomplete. Whatever be the fact, we are inclined to consider that, for the author's fame, the poem has not lost in the curtailment, the last three books are much inferior to their predecessors ; and we may infer that the subject had already grown too tedious to the author to allow of future improvement. Spenser has been not unfrequently compared vvith >hakspeare ; vve should suppose more for the sake of contrast than from any similarity that exists between them. The one was truly, not of an age, but for all time ! the other is uniforudy tinctured with the manners of his age. " >hakspeare (as Coleridge has finely written) stands like the yew-tree in Lorton Vale, which has known so many ages tlvat it belongs to none." With Sp; user how different! In his writings we have the same fertility of imagination, the same \ ivid powers of description, the same nervous grasp of his subject ; — but that subject is • Hughes. 16 OBSERVATIONS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS ivstricted and unpervading' ; and he lavishes tlie exuberance of his invention and fancy in depicting manners and customs destined to be forgotten by succeeding generations, Shakspeare is the poel of the passions, while Spenser is the poet of habit: the one has an universal command over our intellect; the other, but a temporary one. Tlie former lakes our sympatliies by storm ; while the latter wins us by insensible degrees. We fall prostrate before the giant genius of Shakspeare ; while we become the willing captives of Spenser. He is at once the most picturesque, the most uraceful, and the most visionary of our poets. None has ever treated with a inoie masterly or more delicate handling the graceful characteristics of woman. He drew her beauties and her virtues in colours not more glowing than true, while her foibles are so lightly touched, and with so much apparent sympathy, that he makes even her failings lean to Virtue's side. The same year which brought before the public the last three books of the Faerie Queene, produced the only prose work of our author: in 1596 he presented to Queen Elizabeth his " View of the State of Ireland." This masterly performance was intcnde-d to have had a mediatory effect between the Queen and her Irish subjects, but from its bitter tone, was not likely to have a pacificatory influence, and remained in MS. till 1633, when it was published by Sir James Ware, in his collection of the writers on Ireland, from a MS. in the library of Archbishop Usher. Ledwich, the learned Irish antiquary, writes : — " Civilization having almost obliterated every vestige of our ancient manners, the remem- brance of them is only to be found in Spenser ; so that he may be considered at this day as an Irish antiquary." In the opinion of Ware, " He seems rather to have indulged the fancy and licence of a poet, than the judgment and fidelity requisite for an historian " For this work, which is disfigured by prejudice, Spenser has certainly but little claim upon Irish veneration, but it exhibits vast political knowledge, and ascribes many of the miseries of that unhappy country to their proper sources.* Besides the works we have thus enumerated, we learn from his letters, those of Harvey, and the notes of E. K., that Spenser wrote several, which are now lost; the chief of these were a" Translation of Ecclesiasticus ;' a' Translation of Canticum Canticorum ;* the * Dying Pelican;' the ' Hours of Our Lord;' the ' Sacrifice of a Sinner;' the ' Seven Psalms;' ' Dreams;' the ' English Poet;' ' Legends ;' the * Court of Cupid ;' the ' Hell of Lovers :' his ' Purgatory ;' ' Se'nnight's Slumber;' ' Pageants;' ' Nine Comedies;' ' Stemmata Dud- leiana' and ' Epithalamion Thamesis.* From this interesting catalogue, it is evident, that Spenser's muse was as prolific as she was powerful; and it is much to be regretted that not one of these seventeen pieces has ever been recovered. E. K., in the epistle to Harvey prefixed to the Shcphcards Calender, speaking of the " Dreams," " Legends," and ' Court of Cupid," says, " whose commendation to set out were verie vaine, the things though worthie of many, yet being knowne to fewe," and in the argument to the Eclogue * A MS. copy wliich belonged to Sir Arthur Chichester, Lord Deputy of Ireland, in 1605 6, occurs in one of Mr. Thorpe's Catalogues, Price £31 10s. Various other MS. copies are known, and exist one in the oublic library, at Cambridge, one among Lord Keeper Egerton's papers at Lambeth, o.ie in Trinifv College, Dublin, and one in the Gonville and Cuius College MS. OF EDMUND SPENSER. ir for October, on the subject of poetry, which he calls a " worthie and coromendaVie art : or rather no art, but a divine gift and heavenly instinct not to be gotten bv labour and learning, but adorned with both ; and poured into the witte by a certain enthousiasmos and celestiall inspiration, as the author hereof elsewhere at large dir>courseth in his booke called The English Poete, which booke being lately come to ray hands. 1 rainde also by Gods grace, upon further advisement, to publish." This advisement the worthy commentator never fulfilled, and the world is thus deprived of one ot the most interesting treatises on his art by him, whom Camden justly calls Poetarum nostri seculi facile princeps. In the Nine Comedies,* Spenser would I'.ave appeared before us in a new character, rivalling Shakspeare on his own ground, wnile in the Pageants we might have traced some of the first shadowings of the curious productions of " rare Ben." That our loss is great, all must feelingly confess who can appreciate the manner in which Spenser would have treated these various subjects, shrining them in the graceful beauty of his Faerie numbers. In this cursory review of his life, it has been our delight, while culling the flowers of his sweet poesy, to contemplate the career of Spenser still brightened by success, unclouded by sorrow and unembittered by misfortune. The discontents occasioned by the capriciousness of court favour, the vexations of — " expectation vnyne Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away. Like empty shadows," were of brief duration, and up to this period of his history, the Poet's life had been bright as a summer holiday. We have seen his name by slow but sure degrees assume that proud pre-eminence in our literature which it will for ever retain. We have beheld him" shining like a starre" among his brilliant contemporaries, claiming alike their admiration and regard — and we have lingered over the details of his domestic life sympathising in the poet's affection for his Elizabeth in whose fliir heart " Theie dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, Uns])Otted fayth, and comelv womanhood. Regard of honour and mild modesty " and envying those '* celestial threasuies, and unrevealed pleasures," which shed a radiance round his Bower of Bliss. " O Fortuna, ut nunquam perpetuo es bona !'' — In 1597 Spenser had been recommended to the Irish government by the queen, to be sheriff of Cork. His tenure of this office was soon ended. In October, the storm which was to crush at once his prosperity and his life burst forth with resistless fury. Tyrone having gained that signal victory over Sir Henry Bagnal, long remembered as the defeat of Blackwater, incited his confederates to aid him in expelling the English settlers from • la the opinion of Harvey they were superior to the Faerie Queene. In one of his letters to Spenser, he says, " to be plain, I am voyde of all judgement, if your nine Comedies, whereunto, in imitation of Herodotus, you give the names of the nine muses, (and in one mans fansie rot unworthily) come not nearer Ariostoes Corna;dies, eyther for the finenesse of plausible eloqution, or the rareness of poetical invention, than that Eirish Queene doth to his Orlando Furioso." 13 OBSERVATIONS ON THE LiFH AND WRITINGS OF SPENSER. Ireland. The Miinstfi insurgents were luacled by James Filztliomas Geraldiiie, titulai Earl of Desmond, to wliose faaiily tlie castle and estates of Kilcolman had be longed. Spenser and his family fled. One of his children was left behind, and perished in the ruins of his dwelling-, which had been fired by the rebels. Unnerved by these calamities, turning from the scene of former happiness, he made his way to London, where, after a fruitless struggle against poverty and sickness, in a lodging house in King-street, Westminster, died the poet of the Faerie Queene! He was buned in the abbey, near tlie tomb of Ciiaucer, with a splendid funeral, at the expense of the Earl of ^^sse.^. The pall was borne by poets ; and with a true poetic feelmg, tributary verses by the most illustrious of his contemporaries, with the pens that wrote tnem, were thrown into his grave. About thirty years after his death Anne Countess oi Dorsec erected a monument to his memory in Westminster Abbey. It vvas executed by Stone, at a cost of forty pounds. In Camden's little tract entitled, " R,eges, Reginse, Nobiles, et alii in Ecclesia Collegiata B. Petri Westmonasterii sepulti," 1606, 4to, we find the following notice of this monument, which was defaced by the Puritans during the civil wars, and the present one erected or restored in 1778 : — " Edmundus Spencer Londinensis, Anglicorum Poetarum nostri seculi facile princeps quod ejus poemata faventi bus Musis et victiiro genio conscripta comprobant. Obiit immatura morte anno salutis 1598, et prope Galfredum Chauccrum conditur qui foelicissmie poesin Anglicis Uteris primus illustravit. In quern haec scripta sunt Epitaphia : — " Hie prope Chaucerum situs est Spenserius, illi Proximus ingenio, proximus ut tumulo. Hie prope Cliaucerum Spensere poeta poetatn Conderis, et yersii, quam tumulo propior. Anglica te vivo vixit, plausit que Poesis Nunc moritura timet, te moriente, mori.' The inscription on the restored monument is thus: " Heare lyes (expecting the second commino-e of our Saviour Jesus) the body of Edmond Spenser, the Prince of Poets in his tyme, whose divine spirit needs noe othirwitnesse then the works which he left behinde him. He was borne in London, in the yeare 1553, and died in theyeare 1598." His contemporaries, by whom he had never been addressed without the epithet * great,' or ' learned,' vied with each other in Elegiac tributes to his memory ; and the most eminent of our later poets have successively confessed their obligations to him. Milton acknowledged to Dryden th.at Spenser was his master, and Dryden has said of h:rn, " no man was ever born with a greater genius, or had more knowledge to support it." But the enumeration of all the eulogies which gratitude or admiration has showered upon him, would too much amplify our sketch, which has already extended beyond the prescribed limit. In concluding tlicse " Observations," the writer has only to remark, that the quotations introduced have been selected rather to illustrate the particular subject under discussion, than as specimens of Spenser's " Beauties," a just appreciation of which can only be acquired by an attentive study of his writings. i THE ?AERIE QUEENE. DISPOSED INTO TWELVE BOOKES. FASHIONING XII MORALE VERTUES. TO THE MOST HIGH MIGHTIE AND MAGNIFICENT EMPRESSE EENOWNED FOE PIETIE VEETVE AND ALL GEATIOTS GOVEENMENT ELIZABETH BY THE GRACE OF GOD QVEENE OF ENGLAND FRAVNCE AND IRELAND AND OF VIRGINIA DEFENDOVR OF THE FAITH &c. HEE MOST HUMBLE SEEVAUNT EDMVND SPENSER DOTH IN ALL HUMILITIE DEDICATE PRESENT AND CONSECRATE THESE HIS LABOVRS TO LIVE WITH THE ETEENITIE OF HEE FAME, LETTER OF THE AUTHOR'S, EXPOUNDING HIS WHOLE INTENTION IN THE COURSE OF THIS WORKE; WHICH, FOR THAI 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. WAIIDEIN OF THE STANNERYES AND HER MAIESTIE3 LIEFTENAUNT OF THE COUNTY OF CORKEVVAYLLt Sir, Knowint. how doubtfully all Allegories may be construed, and this hooke of mine, which 1 have entituled The Faery Qiieene, being; a continued Allegory, or darke Conceit, I have thought good, as well for avoyding of gealous opinions and miscon- structions, as also for your better light in reading thereof, (being so by you commanded,) to discover unto you the general intention and meiining, which in the whole course thereof I have fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes, or by-acci- dents, therein occasioned. The general end, there- fore, 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, being coloured with an historical fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for variety of matter then for profile of the ensample, I chose the Historye of King Arthure, aa most fitte for the excellency of his person, being made famous by many mens former workes, and also furthest from thedaunger of envy, and susjiilion of present time. In which I have followed all the antique poets historicall ; first Homere, who in the persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled H good governour and a vertuous man, the one in his llias, the other in his Odysseis ; then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person of ^neas ; after him Ariosto comprised them both in his Orlando ; and lately Tasso dissetered them again, and formed both parts in two persons, namely, that piirt whicli they in philosophy c;dl Eilnce, or Vertues of a ])iivafe man, coloured inhis Hiiinaldu ; the other named Politice, in his Godfredo. By ensample of which excelFente poets, I labour to pourtraict in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a bra knight, perfected in the twelve private Morall Ver- tues, as Aristotle hath devised ; the which is the purpose of these first twelve bookes : which if J finde to be well accepted, I may be perhaps enco- raged to frame the other part of Polliticke Vertues in his person, after that hee came to be king. To some 1 know this methode vrill seem displeasaunt, which had rather have good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in allegorical devises. ]3ut such, me seeme, should be satisfide with the use of these days, seeing all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, thatia not delight- full and pleasing to commune seuce. For this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his iudgement, formed a communewelth, such as it should be ; but the other, in the person of C\rus, and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as might best be : so much more pro.*itable and gratious is doctrine by ensample then by rule. So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure : whom I conceive, after his long educa- tion by Timon,to whom he was by Merlin delivered to be brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igruyne, to have scene iu a dream or vision the Paery Queene, with whose excellent beautv ravished, he awaking resolved to seeke lier out , and so being by Merlin armed, and by Timoii throughly instructed, he went to seeke her forth i:i Faerye Land. In that Faery Queene [ meane Glrr SPENSER TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH. in mygenerall intention, but in my particular I con- ceive the most excellent and glorious person of our soveraine the Queene, and her kinsjdom in F^iery Land. And yet, in some places els, I do otherwise shadow her. For considerino; she beareih two persons, the one of a most royal Queene or Empresse, the other of a most vertiious and beautiful! lady, this latter part in some places 1 doe express in Bel- phrebe, fashioning her nanr.e eccor'Lnpr to your owne excellent conceipt of Cynthia: Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of Diana. So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth Magnificence in parti- cular ; which Vertue for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) it is the perfection of all the rest, and conteiiieth in it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure applyable to tliat Vertue, which I write of in that booke. But of the xii. other Vertues, 1 make xii. other knights tha patrones, for the more variety of the history : of which these three bookes contayn three. The first, of the Knight of the Redcrosse, in whom I expresse Ilolynes : the seconds of Sir Guvon. in whome 1 sette forth Temperaunce : the third of Britoraartis a lady-knight, in whom I picture Chastity. But, because the beginning of the whole worke seemeth abrupte and as depending upon otlier antecedents, it needs that ye know the occasion of these three knights severall adventures. For the methode of a poet historical is not such, as of an historiographer. For an historiographer discourserh of afl^avres orderly as they were donne, accounting as well the times as the actions ; but a poet thrusteth into the middest, even where it most concerneth him, ;in(i there recoursing to the thinges forepaste, and divining of thinges to come; maketh a pleasing analysis of all. 'i'he beginning therefore of my history, if it were to be told by an historiographer, should be the twelf'th booke, which is the last ; where I devise that the Faerv Queene kept her annual feaste xii. days ; uppon which xii. severall dayes, the occasions of the xii. severall adventures liapned, which, being under- taken by xii. severall knights, are in these xii. books severally handled and discoursed. The first was this. Jn the beginning of the feast, there presented himselfe a tall" clownishe young nii.n, 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 bee might have the atchivement of any adventure, which during that feaste should happen. That being graunted,lie rested him on tiie lloore, unfitte tiirougli his rusticity for a better place. Soone after entred a faire ladye in mourning weedes, riding on a white asse, with a dwarte behind her \eviwf, a warlike steed, that bore tiie arms of a knigiit, a.-,cl Lis sjjeare in the dwarfes hand. Shee, fallmg before the Queene of Faeries, complayiied tliat her father and mother, an ancient king and queene, had bene by an huge dragon many years shut up in a brasen castle, who thence suffred tiiem not to yssew ; and therefore besought the Faerie Queene to assvgne 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 gainesaying, ytt he earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the lady told bim, that unlesse that armour which she brought, would serve him (that is, the armour of a Christian man specified by St. Paul, V. Ephes.) that he could not succeed in that enterprise: which being forthwith put upon him with dew furnitures thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and v,-as well liked of tiie lady. And eftesoones taking on him knight- hood, 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, &c. The second day there came in a palmer bearing an infant with bloody hands, whose parents he com- playned to have bene slayn by an enchauntresse called Acrasia ; and therefore craved of the Faery Queene, to appoint him some knight to performe that adventure; which being assigned toSirGuyon, he presently went forth with that same palmer ; which is the beginning of the second booke, and the whole subiect 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 liidy, ca'Ied Amoretta, whom b? kept in most grievous torment, because she would not yield him the pleasure of her body. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that lady, presently to' 'ke on him that adventure. But being unable to jier- forme it by reason of the hard enchautitments, arter long sorrow, in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed bis love. But, by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled ; but rather as accidents then inteiitl- ments ; as the love of Biitomart, the overthrow of Marinell, the misery of Florimell, the vertuousnes of Belphoibe, the lasciviousness of Hellenora; and many the like. Thus much. Sir, I have briefly overronne to direct your understanding to tlie wel-head of the history ; that, from thence gathering the whole intention of ths conceit, ye may as in a handful gripe al the discourse, which otherwise may happily seem tedious and con- fused. So, humbly craving the continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th' eteniall establishment of your happines, 1 humbly take leave. * Yours most humbly affectionate, ED. SPENSER 23, laniiai-y 158P. VERSES AUTHOR OF THE FAERIE QUEENE. A VISION UrON THE CONCEIPT OF THE FAERY QUEENE. Me thougl-t I saw the grave where Laura lay, Witbin that temple where the vestall flame Was wont to burne ; and passing by that way To see thai buried dust of living fame, Whose tomb faire Love, and fairer \'irtue kept _; All suddeinly I saw the Faery Queene : At whose a^jprocb the soule of Fetrarke wept, And from thenceforth those Graces were not seene ; (For they this Queene attended ;) in whose steed Oblivion laid him down on Lauras herse : Hereat the hardest stones were seene to bleed, And grones cf buried ghostes the hevens did perse; Where Homtrs sprigbt did tremble all for griefe, Ai.d curst th' accesse of that celestiall theife. W. R. ANOTHER OF THE SAME. The prayse of meaner wits this Worke like profit brings, [sings. As doth the cuckoes song delisrht when Philumena If thou hast formed right true Vertues face herein, Vertue herselfe can best discerne to whom they written bic. If thou hast Beauty praysd, let her sole lookes divine Judge if ought therein be amis, and mend it by her eine. Jf Chastitie want ought, or Temperaunce her dew. Behold her princely mind aright, and write thy Queene anew. [sore Meane while she shall perceive, how far her vertues Above the reach of all that live, or such as wrote of yore : And thereby will excuse and favour thy ^uod will ; Wliose vertue cannot be exprest but by an angels quill Of me no lines are lovd, nor letters are of price, (Of all which speak our English tongue) but those of thy device. W R. To THE LEARNED SHEPHEARD. CoLT-YN, I see, by thy new taken taske. Some sacred fury hatf er.richt thy braynes, I'hat leades thy Muse in haughty verse to maske, And loathe the layes that longs to lowly swaynes ; That hltes thy notes from shepheardes unto kino-e's ; So like the lively larke that mounting singes. ° Thy lovely Rosalinde seemes now forlorne ; Acd all thy gentle flockes forgotten quight ; Thy chaunged hart now holdes thy pypes in scorne, Those prety pypes that did thy mates delight; Those trusty mates, that loved thee so well ; Whom thou gav'st mirth, as they gave thee the bell. Yet, as thou earst with thy sweete roundelayes, Didst stirre to glee ourladdes in homely bowers ; So moughtst thou now in these refyned layes Delight the daiutie eares of higher powers. And so mought they, in their deepe skanning skill. Alow and grace our Collyns flowing quill. And faire befall that Faery Queene of thine ! In whose faire eyes Love lintkt with Vertue sittes Enfusing, by those bewties fyers divine. Such high conceites into thy humble wittes. As raised hath poore pastors oaten reeUes From rusticke tunes, to chaunt heroique deedes. So mought thy Redcrosse knight with happy hand Victorious be in tliat faire ilands riglit, (Which thou dost vavle in type of Faery Land,"* Elizas blessed field, iliat Albion bight: That shieldes her friendes, and warrea her mightiefoes, Yet still with people, peace, and plentie, flowes. But, iollv shepheard, though with pleasing stile Thou feast the humour of the courtly trayne ; Let not conceipt thy settled sence beguile, Ne daunted be through envy or disdaine. Subiect thy doome to her empyring spright, From whence thy Muse, and all the world, takes light HOBYNCLL. Fayre Thamis streame, that from Ludds stately Runst paying tribute to the ocean seas, [towne Let all thy nymphes and syrens of renowns Be silent, whyle this Bryttane Orpheus playes ; iXere thy sweet banks there livesthat sacred Crowne, Whose hand strowes ]j:ilnie and never-dying haves : Let all at once, with thy soft murmuring sowne, Present her witli this worthy poets prayes ; For he hath taught hye drifts in r.hepherdes weedes. And deepe conceites now singes in Faeries deedes. U.S. SONNETS ADDRESSED BY THE AUTHOR. Grave Muses, march in triumph and with prayses ; Uur Goddesse here hath given you leave to land ; And biddes this rare dispenser of your graces Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand. Deserte iindes dew in that most princely dooms, In whose sweete hrest are all the Muses bredde ; So did that great Augustus erst in Roome With leaves of fame adorne his poets hedde. Faire be the guerdon of your Faery Queene, £"01 ->f the fairest that the world hath seene ! H. B, When stout Achilles heard of Helens rape, And what revenge the states of Greece devis'd; Thinking by sleii^ht the f itall warres to scape. In womans \- lines can in them comprise Ihose glorious ornaments of hevenly grace, \\' herewith ye triumph over feeble eye? And in subdued harts do tyrannyse ; (For thereunto doth need a golden <]uill And silver leaves, them rightly to devise ;) But to make humble jiresent of good will : Which, whenas timely meanesit purchase may, In ampler wise itselfe will forth display. E. S. TO ALL THE GRATIOUS AND BEAUTIFULL LADIES IN TH ■? eounT. The Chian peincter, when he was requir'd Topourtraict \'enus in her perfect hew ; To make his worke more absolute, desir'd Of all the fairest maides to have the vew. Much more me needs, to draw the semblant trew. Of Beauties Queene, the worlds sole wonderment. 'J"o sharpe my sence with sundry beauties vew. And steale from each snnii' jiart of ornament. If all the world to secke 1 over" ent, A fiiirer crew yet nowhere could I see . 'J'hen that brave court doth to mine eie present, I'kat the world's pride seemes gathered thereto bee Of each a part I stole by cunning tliefte : Forj^ive it me, faire 1/ames! sith lesse ye have not lefte. E. S. THE FIRST BOOKE THE FAERIE QUEENE. CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSSE, OR OF HOT.INESSE. Lo ! I, tlie man wbose I\Iuse whylome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly shepheards weeds. Am now enforst, a farre unfitter taske, For trumpets Sterne to chaunge mine oaten reeds. And sing of knights and ladies gentle deeds ; Whose praises having slept in silence long, Me, all to meane, the sacred JMuse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: Fiercewarres andfaithful loves shall moralize mysong. Help then, holy virgin ! chiefe of nyne, Thy weaker novice to perform thy will ; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The Antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights and fayrest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his undeserved wrong : O.belpe thou myweake wit, and sharpen my dull long! And thou, most dreaded impe of highest love, Faire Venus sonne.that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst rove, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart; Lay now thy deadly heben bowe apart. And, with thy mother mylde, come to mine ayde ; Come, both ; and with you bring triumphant Mart, la loves and gentle iollities arraid, After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie rage allayd. And with them eke, O goddesse heavenly bright, Mirrour of grace and majestie divine. Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth shine. Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne, And raise my thoughtes, too humble and too vile, To thinke of that true glorious type of thine, The argument of mine afflicted stile : The which to heare vouchsafe, Odearest dread,awhile CANTO I. The patron of true Holinesse Foule Errour doth defeate ; Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate. A GENTLE knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in roightie armes and silver shielde. Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine. The cruel markes of many' a bloody 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 iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, Afl cue for knightly giusts and tierce 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 hi 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 ydradr 10 THE FAERIE QUEENK. [Book I Upon a great adventure he was bond, That greatest Gloriana to liim gave, (That greatest glorious Queene of Faery lond) To winne liim worsLippe, and her grace to have, Which of iill earthly things 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 stearue. A lovely ladle rode him faire beside, Upon a lowly asse more white then snow ; Yet she much whiter ; but the same did bide Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ; And over all a blacke stole shee did throw. As one that inly mournd ; so was she sad, And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ; Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad. So pure and innocent, as that same lambe. She was in life and every vertuous lore. And b)? descent from royall lynage came Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore 'i'heir scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore, And all the world in their subjection held ; Till that infernal feend with foule uprore Forwasted all their land, and them espeld ; [peld. Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far corn- 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. And angry love an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his lemans lap so f.ist, I'hat everie wight to shroud it did constrain ; [fain. And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were Enforst to seeke come covert nigh at hand, A shadie grove not farr away they spide, That promist ayde the tempest to withstand; Whose loftie trees, yclad with sornraers pride Did S|)re(l so broad, that heavens light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starr ; Ai.d all within were |(athes and alleies wide, With footini;- worne, and leading inwjird farr: Faire harbour that them seems ; so in they entred ar. And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, loying to heare the birdes sweete harmony. Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. iNluch can they praise the trees so straight and by. The sayling pine; the cedar proud and tall ; The \ ine-propp elme ; the pojjiar never dry ; The builder oake, sole king ol forrests all ; The aspine good for staves ; the cypresse funerall ; The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours And poets sage ; the firre that weepeth still ; "J'he willow, worne of forlorne paramours ; The eugh, obedient to the benders will ; 1'he 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 fruitful olive ; and the platane round ; The carver holme; the maple, seldom inward soun • Led with delight, they thus beguile the vray, Untill the blustring storme is o-verblowne ; W^hen, weening to returne, whence they did strav, They cannot finde that path, which first was showne But wander too and fro in waies unknowne. Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne So many paths, so many turnings seene, [been That which of them to take in diverse doubt thej At last resolving forward still to fare, 'I'll! that some end they finde, or in or out, That ]iath 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 rasli provoke : The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfuU doubts : oft fire is without smoke. And perill without show ; therefore your stroke. Sir Knight, with-hold, till further tryall made." " Ah, Ladie," sayd he, " shame were to revoke The forward footing for an hidden shade : [wade." Verlue gives her selfe light tbrough darknesse for to " Yea, but," quoth she, " the perill of tbis place I better wot then 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. 'ibis is the Wandring Wood, this Errours Den, A monster vile, whinn God and man does hate : Tberetbre I read beware." " Fly, ily,'' quoth tlien I'he fearefull dwarfe ; "this is'no place for living men.' But, full of fire and greed)' hardiment, The youlhfull knight could not for ought be staide , But forth unto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: his glistring armor made A litle glooming ligbt, much like a sliade ; liy wiiicb he saw the ugly monster plaine, llalfe like a serpent liornbly disjihiiile. But tb' other halfe did woiuans shape retaine. Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. Canto L] THE FAERIE QUEENE. 11 And, as she lay upon the durtie ground, Her huge long tails her den all overspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwouud, Pointed with mortall sting : of her there bred A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed. Sucking upon her poisnous dugs; each one Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored : Soone as that uncouth lignt upon them shone. Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. Their dam upstart out of her d^n effraide. And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile About her cursed head ; whose folds dis[)laid Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile. She lookt about, and seing one in mayle, Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe ; For light she hated as the deadly bale, Av wont in desert darknes to remaine, [plaine. Where plain none might her see, nor she see any Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd, he lept As Ivon fierce upon the flying pray. And" with his trenchand blade her boldly kept From turning backe, an 1 forced her to stay: Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray. And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst, 'I'hreatniiig her angrie sting, him to dismay ; Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst ; The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder o-Iaunst. Much daunted with that dint her sence was dazd ; Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round, And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd ^Vith doubled forces high above the ground : Tho, wrapping up her wrelhed sterne arownd, Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound. That hand or foot to stirr lie strove in vaine, God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine ! His lady, sad to see his sore constraint, [bee ; Cride out, " Now, now. Sir Knight, shew what ye Add faith unto j our force, and be not faint ; Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee." That when he heard, in great perplexitie. His gall did grate for gnefe and high disdaine ; And, knitting all his force, got one hand free, W herewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, 'i hat soone to loose her wicked bands did her con- straine. Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw A floud of poyson horrible and blacke, Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw. Which stunk so vildly, that it forst him slacke His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe : iler vomit full of bookes and papers was, With loathly frog and toades, which eyes did lacke, And creeping sought way in the weedy gras : Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled has. As when old father Nilus gins to swell With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale. His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell, And overflow each plaine and lowly dale : But, when his later spring gins to avale, Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherin there breed Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male And partly femall, of his fruitful seed ; [reed. Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man The same so sore annoyed has the knight. That, wel-nigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces fade, ne c;m no lenger fight. Whose corage when the feend perceivd to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, (Deformed monsters, fowle, and bhicke as inke,) Which swarming all about his legs did crall. And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide, When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west. High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, All striving to iiifixe their feeble stiuges, That from their noyance he no where can rest; But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame Then of the certeine perill he stood in, Halfe furious unto his foe he came, Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win. Or soone to lose, before he once would lin ; And stroke at her with more then manly force. That from her body, full of filthie sin. He raft her hateful! heade without remorse: [corse. A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her Her scattred brood, soone as their parent dears They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groningfull deadly all with troublous feare Gathred themselves about her body round. 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 bloud ; [good. Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their 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 thursi, Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst. And bowels gushing forth : well worthy end Of such, as drunke her life, the which tliem nurst > Now needeth him no lenger labour sj end, [contend. His foes have slaine themselves, with whom heshonld 12 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Rook His lady seeino; all, lliat cliaunst, from farre, Approcht in liast to greet his victorie ; And saide," Faire kiiii;lit, borne under happie starre, ■\Vhc see your vanquislit foes before you lye; Well wortliie be you of that armory, Wherein ye have great glory woniie this day. 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 !" Then mounted he upon his steede againe, And with the lady backward sought to wend: 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) He passed forth, and new adventure sought: Lono' way he travelled, before he heard of ought. At length they chaunst to meet upon the way An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, His feete all bare, his beard all lioarie gray, 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 voide of malice bad ; And all the way he prayed, as he went. And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent. He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as tliat courteous was; And after asked him, if he did know Of straunge adventures, wjiich abroad did pas. "Ah! my dear Sonne," quoih he, " how s<#ould, 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 thinges to mell. " But if of daunger, which hereby doth dwell, And homebredd evil ye desire to heare, Of a straunge man I cnn you tidings tell. That wasteth all this countrie farre and neare." " Of such," saide he, " 1 cliiefly doe inquere ; And shall thee well rewarde 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.'' " Far hence," quoth he, " in wastfnll wildernesse His dwelUng is, bv which no living wight May ever passe, but thorough great distresse." " Now," saide 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 ? Tlie sunne, that measures heaven all day long. At night doth baite hissteedesthe ocean waves emong. " Tlien with the sunne take, sir, your timely rest, And with new day new worke at once begin . Untroubled night, they say, gives counsel! 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; So with that godly father to his home they went. A little lowly hermitage it was, Downe in a dale, hard by a forest's side, Far from resort of people, that did pas In traveill to and froe : a little wyde There was an lioly chappell edifyde, Wlierein the hermite dewly wont to say His holy things each morne and eventyde: Thereby a christall streame did gently play. Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway Arrived there, the litle house they fill, Ne looke for entertainement, where none was ; Rest is their feast, and all thinges 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-IMary after and before. The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast ; And the sad humor loading their eye-liddes. As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast [biddes Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to his studie goes ; and there amiddes His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes. He seeks out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy minds. Then choosing out few words most horrible, (Let none them read !) thereof did verses frame: With which, and other spelles like terrible. He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame ; And cursed Heven ; and spake rei)rochful shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. A bold bad man ! that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, prince of darknesand dead night; At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight. And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes, Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd, Awaite whereto their service he a])plyes. To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies : Of ihose he chose out two, the falsest twoo, ."^nd fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes ; 1 he one of them he gave a message too, 'i'be other by himselfe staide other worke to doo. Cahto I.] THE FAERIE QUEEXE. 13 He, making speedy way through spersed ayre, And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To INIorpheus house doth hastily repaire, Amid tlie bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawnint; day doth never peepe. His duelling is ; there Tethys his wet bed Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In silver deaw his ever-drouping bed, [spred, Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth Whose double gates he fiiideth locked fast • The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory. The othi-r all with silver overcast ; And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye, 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 conies, whom dio^vned deepe In drowsie fit he findes ; of nothing betakes keepe. And, more, to luUe him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high roc i; tumbling downs, And ever-drizling raine upon the lolt, jMixt with a murmuring wiiide, much like the sowne Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne. No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes. As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne. Might there be heard : butcarelesse Quiet lyes Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes. The messenger approching to him spake ; But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine : So sound he slept, thut nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and puslit with j)aine, Whereat began to stretch : but he againe Shooke him so bard, that forced hirn to speake. As one then in a dreame, whose dr\er braine Is tost with troubled siglits and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence brea.e. The sprite then gan more boldly him to wake. And ihreatned unto him the dreaded name Of Hecate whereat he gan to qu;ike. And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame Halfe aiigrie asked him, for what he came, " Hether," quoth he, '' me Archimago sent. He that the stubborne sprites can wisely tame. He bids thee to him send for his intent [sent." A fit false Dreame, that can delude the sleepers The god obayde; and, calling forth straight way A diverse dreame out of bis prison darke, Delivered it to him, and downe did lay His heaviy head, devoide of careful carke ; Whose sencesall were straight benurabd and starke. He, backe returning by the yvorie dure, Remounted up as li^ht as chearelull larke ; And on his litle win^e.- (he Dreame be bore In hast unto bis lord, where he him left ufore. Who all this while, with charmes and bidaen 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, Tliat weaker sence it could have ravisht quight: The makers 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 Now when that ydle Dreame was to him brought, Unto that elfin knight he bad him fly, Where he slept soundly void of evil thought, And with false shewes abuse his fantasy ; In sort as he him schooled privily. 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. Thus, well instructed, to their worke they haste ; And, comming where the knight in slomber lay. The one upon his bardie head iiim plaste, And made him dreame of loves and lustfuU play ; That nigh his m;mly hart did melt away. Bathed in wanton blis and wicked ioy : Then seemed him his lady by him lay, And to him ])laynd, how that false winged boy Her chaste hart had subdewd to learne dame Flea- suEes toy. And she her selfe, of beautie soveraigne queene, Fayre Venus, seemde unto his bed to brinj Her, whom he, waking evermore did weene To bee the chastest flowre that aye did spring On earthly brauiich, ihe daughter of a king. Now a loose leman to vile service bound : And eke the Graces seemed all to sing, Hi/meii I'u Hitmen, dauncing all around ; Whylst freshest Flora her with yvie girlond crownd. In this great passion of unwonted lust. Or wonted "eare of doing ought amis. He starleth up, as se'Mning to mistrust Some secret, ill, or hidden foe of his : Lo, there before his face his ladie is. Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke ; And as halfe blushine ofl'red Lim to kis. With gentle blandishment and lovely Jooke, [took. Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him All cleane dismayd lo see so uncouth sight. And halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise, He thought have slaine her in his fierce despiglit , But, hastie heat tempring with sufferance wise, He stayde iiis hand , and gan himselfe advise 'lo prove ids sense, iind tempt her faigned truth Wringing her hands, in weinens pitteous wise, Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth. 14 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Boox 1 And sayd, " Ah sir, my liege lord, and my love, Sliall 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? Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die. Uie is niv dew ; yet rew my wretched state, ^'ou, wiiom my hard avenging destinie Hath made iudge of my life or death indififerently : " Your owne dearesake forst me at first to leave i\ly fathers kingdom" — there she stopt with teares ; Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave, \ntl then againe bet;un ; " My weaker yeares, Captiv'd to foitune and frayle worldly feares, Flv to vour fayth for succour and sure ayde: Let me not die in languor and long teares." [may'd ? " Why, dame," quoth he, " what hath ye thus dis- What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd ? " "Loveofyourselfe,"she saide, "and deare constraint. Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie night 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' untrutli he knew, Her fawning love witii foule disd;iinefull siiight He would not shend ; but said, " Deare dame, I rew That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto yo'i 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 : Ne let vaine fears procure your needlesse smart. Where cause is none ; but to your rest depart." Not all content, yet seemd she to appease Her mournefuU plaintes, beguiled of her art, And fed with words, that could not chose but pleasf : So, slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease. 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 wearines of former fight 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. CANTO II. The guilefull great enchaunter parts The Redcrosse knight from Truth : Into whose stead faire Falshood steps. And workes him woeful! ruth. T5y this the northerne wagoner had set His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast slarre 'I'hat was in ocean waves yet never wet, ]5ut firme is fi.xt, and sendeth light from farre To all that in the wide deepe wandring arre ; And chearefull chaunticlere with his note shrill Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery cane In hast was climbing up the easterne hill, Full envious that Night so long his roome did fill : When those accursed messengers of hell, 'Jhat 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 ra-e to see his skilfull might Deluded so, gan threaten hellish |iaine And sad Proserpines wrath, tliem to affright. But, when he saw his threatning was but vaine, He cast about, and sestrcht bis baleful bokes againe. Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated Faire, And that false other spright, on whom be spred A seeming body of the subtile aire. Like a young squire, in loves and lustyhed His wanton dales that ever loosely led, Without regard of armes and dreaded fight; Those two he tooke, and in a secrete bed. Covered with darkenes and misdeeming eight, Them both together laid, to ioy in value delight. Forthwith he runnes with feigned-faithfull hast Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast ; Whom suddeidy he wakes with fearful frights, As one aghast with feends or damned sprights. And to him calls ; " Rise, rise, unhaj)pv swaine, 'I hat herewex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine : Corae.seewhereyour false lady doih her honor staiue.' Canto II.] THE FAERIE QUEENE. IS All in a maze be suddenly up start With sword in hand, and with the old man wentj Wlio soone him brought into a secret part, Where that false couple were full closely ment In wanton lust and leud embracement : Which when be saw, he burnt with gealous fire ; The eie of reason was with rage yblent ; And would have slaine them in Lis furious ire. But hardly was restreined of that aged sire. Retourning to his bed in torment great, \iid bitter anguish of his guilty sight. He could not rest ; but did his stout heart eat, And wast his inward gall with deepe despight, Vrkesome of life, and too long lingring night. At last faire Hesperus in highest skie [I'ght ; Hnd spent his lampe, and brought forth dawning I'hen up he rose, and clad him hastily; [fly. The dwarfe him brought his steed : so both away do Now when the rosy-fingered Morning faire. Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed. Had spread her purple robe through deawy aire ; And the high hils Titan discovered ; 'I'he royall virgin shooke olf drousvhed : And, rising forth out of her haser bowre, Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled. And for her dwarfe, that wont to waite each howre : — Then gau she wail andweepe to see that woeful stowre. But now seemde best the person to put on Of that good knigiit, his late beguiled guest .-^ In mighty armes he was yclad anon, And silver shield ;■ upon his coward brest A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest A bounch of heares discolourd diversly. Full ioUy knight he seemde, and wel addrest ; And, when he sale uppon his courser free, [to be Saint George himselfe ye would have deemed him But he, the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare, The true Saint George, was wandied far away. Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare : \\'\]\ 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 Suns Joy ; full large of limbe and every ioint He was, and cared not for God or man a point. Hee had a faire companion of his way, A goodly lady clad in scarlot red, Purfled witli gold and pearle of rich assay; And like a Persian mitre on her hed Shee wore, with crowns and owches garnished, The which her lavish lovers to her gave : Her wanton palfrey all was overspred With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave, \\ hose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave. And after him she rode with so much speeoe. As her slowe beast could make ; but all in vaine ; For him so far had borne his light-foot steede, Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine, 'i'hat him to follow was but fruitlesse paine : Yet she her weary limbes would never rest ; But every hil and dale, each wood and plaine, Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest. He so ungently left her, whom she loved best. But subtill Archimago, when his guests He saw divided into double parts. And L'na wandring in woods and forrests, (Th' end of his drift,) he praised his divelish arts. That had such might over true meaning harts : Vet rests not so, but other meanes doth make. How he may worke unto her further smarts : For her he hated as the Ljssing snake. And in her many troubles did most j^leasure take. He then devisde himselfe how to disguise ; For by his mighty science he could take As many formes and shapes in seeming wise, As ever Proteus to himselfe could make : 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 [spell ! The hidden powre of herbes, and might of aagick With faire disport, and courting dalliaunce, She intertainde her lover all the way : But, when she saw the knight his speare advaunce Shee soone left ofi her mirth and wanton play, And bad her knight addresse him to the iray ; His toe was nigh at hand. He, prickte with pride, And hope to winne his ladies hearte that day, Forth spurred last ; adowne his coursers side The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did ride, The knight of the Redcrosse, when him he spide Spurring so bote with rage dispiteous, Gan fairely couch his sjjtare, and towards ride : Soone meete they both, both fell and furious. That, daunted with their forces hideous, Their steeds doe stagger, and amazed stand ; And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous, Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand, Doe backe rebutte, and each to other yealdeth land. 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 Uoe meete, that, with the terror of the shocks Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a blocke, Forgetfull of the hanging victory: So stood these twaine, unmoved :is :•. rocke, Both staring fierce, and holding idi-lv 'J'he broken relitjues of their former cruelty. 10 THE FAERIE QUERNE. [B Tlie Sarazin, sore daunted witli the buffe, Snatclieth his sworti, and fiercely to him flies ; Who well it wards, and quyteth cuft" with cuff: Each others equall piiissaunce envies, And through their iron sides with cruell spies Does seeke to perce ; repining- courage yields No foote to foe : the flashing fier flies, As from a forge, out of their burning shields ; And streams of purple bloud new die the verdant fields. •' Curse on that crosse," quoth then the Sarazin, That keeps thy body from the bitter fitt ; Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin. Had not that charme from thee forwarned itt : But yet I warne thee now assured sitt, And hide thy head." Therewith upon bis crest With rigor so outrageous he smitt. That a large share it hewd out of the rest, [blest. And glauncing down his shield from blame him fairly Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive ; And, at his haughty helmet making mark, 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, Whither the soules doe fly of men, that live amis. " He, in the first flowre of my freshest age. Betrothed me unto the ouely haire Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage J Was never prince so faithfull and so fairs, Was never prince so meeke and debouaire .' But, ere mv hoped day of spousall shone, My dearest lord fell from high honors staire Into the hands of hys accursed fone, And cruelly was slaine; that shall I ever moBe ! " His blessed body, spoild of lively breath. Was afterward, I know not how, convaid, And fro me hid ; of whose most innocent death When tidings came to mee, 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 With love long time did languish, as the striken bind. " At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin To raeete me wandring ; who perforce me led With him away; but yet could never win The fort, that ladies hold in soveraigne dread. There lies he now with foule dishonor dead, Who, whihs he livde, was called proud Sansfoy, The eldest of three brethren ; all three bred Of one bad sire, whose 3'oungest is Sansioy ; [loy. And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sans- The lady, when she saw her champion fall. Like the old mines of a broken towre, Staid not to waile his woefull funerall ; But from him fled away with all her powre : Who after her as hastily gan scowre. Bidding the dwarfe with him to bring away The Sarazins shield, sigue of the concjueroure : Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay ; For present cause was none of dread her to dismay. Shee turning backe, with ruefull countenaunce, Cride, " Mercy, mercy, sir, vouchsafe to show On silly dame, subiect to hard mischaunce. And to your mighty will." Her humblesse low In so ritch weedes, and seeming glorious show, Did much emmove his stout lieroicke heart; And said, " Deare dame, your suddein overthrow Much rueth me ; but now put feare ajjart, [part." Andtel, both who ye be, and who that tooke your Melting in teares, then gan shee thus lament ; " The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre I'atli 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 wasl^ Borne the sole daughter of an empcrour ; He that tiie wide west under his rule has. And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth pas. " In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate. Now miserable I Fidessa dwell, Craving of you, in jiitty of my state, To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well." He in great passion all this while did dwell, More busying his quicke eies, her face to view. Then his dull eares, to heare what s-hee did tell ; And said, " Faire lady, hart of flint would rew The undeserved woes and sorrowes, which ye shew. " Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest, Having both found a new friend you to aid, And lost an old foe that did you molest: Better new friend then 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 feiningseemely merth, [derth. And shee coy lookes : so dainty, they say, maketh Long time they thus together travelled ; Til, weary of their way, they came at last Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcaste; And their greene leaves, trembling with every blast, Made a calmeshadovve far in compasse round • The fearfuU shepheard, often there aghast. Under them never sat, ne wont there sound His mery oaten pipe ; but shund th' unlucky ground. Canto II.] THE FAERIE QUEFXE. 17 But this good knight, soone as he them can spie, For the coole shade him thither hastly got ; For golden Phoebus, 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 ftilsed 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 tit. He ])luckt a bough ; out of whose rifte there came Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the Tlierewith a piteous yelling voice 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, And to this wretched lady, my deare love ; O too deare love, love bought with death too deare !" Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove : And with that suddein horror could no member A t last whenas the dreadfull passion Was overpast, and manhood well awake ; ^'et musing at the straunge occasion. And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake : ' ^^'hat voice of damned ghost from Limbo lake, l.)r guilefull spright wandring in empty aire, ( Both which fraile men doe oftentimes mistake,) Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches rare, And niefuU plaints, me bidding guiltlesse blood to spare 1" XXXIIT. Then, groningdeep ; " Nor damned ghost," quoth he, " Xor guileful sprite, to thee these words doth But once a man Fradubio, now a tree ; [speake ; \\ retcl'.ed man, wretched tree ! whose nature vveake A cruell witch, her cursed will to v.reake, Uihh thus transformd, and plast in open plaines, \\ here Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, And scorching sunne does dry my secret vaines ; For though a tree I seeme, ytt cold and heat me paines." XXXIV. " Say on, Fradubio. then, or man or tree," Quoth then the knight ; " by whose mischievous Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see 1 [arts He oft finds med'cine who his griefe imparts ; Bat double griefs afflict concealing harts ; As raging flames who striveth to suppresse." " Tlie author then," said he^ " of all my smarts. Is one L'uessa, a false sorceresse, [nesse. Ibia many errant knights hath broght to wretched- " In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hott The fire of love and ioy of chevalree First kindled in my brest, it was my iott To love this gentle lady, whome 3'e see Now not a lady, but a seeming tree ; With whome as once I rode accompanyde, IMe chauuced of a knight encountred bee. That had a like faire ladv by his syde ; Lyke a faire lady, but did tbwle Duessa hyde ; " Whose forged beauty he did take in hand All other dames to liave exceded farre ; I in defence of mine did likewise stand, IMine, that did then shine as the morning starre. So both to batteill fierce arraunged arre ; In which his harder fortune was to fall Under my speare ; such is tlie dye of waiTe. His ladv, left as a prise martiall, Did yield her comely person to be at my call. " So doubly lov'd of ladies unlike faire, 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 ; So hard the discord was to be agreede. Fradissa was as faire, as faire mote bee. And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee. " The wicked witch, now seeing all this while The doubtfidl ballaunce equally to sway. What not by right, she cast to win by guile ; And, by her helUsh science, raisd streight way A foggy mist that overcast the day, A nd a dull blast that breathing on her face Dimmed her former beauties shining ray. And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace : [place. Then was she I'ayre alone, when none was faire ia " 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 !' Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine, Eftsoones I thought her such as she me told, And would have ki!d her ; but with faigned paine The false witch did njy wrathfull hand withhold : So left her, where she now is turned to treen mould. " Tliensforth I tnoke Duessa for my dame. And in the witch unweeting iovd long time ; Ne ever wist, but that she was the same : Till on a day (that day is everie prime, W^hen witches wont do penance lor their crime,) I chaunst to see her in her proper hew, Batliing her selfe in origane and thyme : A fiith\^ foule old woman 1 did vew. That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew. l8 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Book I. " Her neather partes misshapen monstruous, Were liidd 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 I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away, Soone as appeard safe opportunitie : For dang'er great, if not assurd decay, I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray. " The divelish hag, by chaunges of my cheare, Perceiv'd my thought ; and, drownd in sleepie night, 'iVith wicked herbes and oyntments did besmeare My body, all through charmes and magicke might, That all my senses were bereaved quight : Then brought she me into this desert waste. And by my wretched lovers side me pight ; Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste, Banisht from living wights, our wearie daies we waste." XLV " But how long time," said then the Elfin knight, " Are you in this misformed hous to dwell?" " We maynot chaunge," quoth he, " this evill plight. Till we be bathed in a living well ; That is the terme prescribed bv the spell."' " O how," sayd he, " mote I that well out find, That may restore you to your wonted well ?" " Time and suffised fates to former kynd [unbynd." Shall us restore ; none else from hence may us The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight. Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament, And knew well all was true. But the good knight, Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment. When all this speech tlie living tree had spent. The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground. That from the blood he might be innocent. And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound : Then turning to his lady, dead with feare her fownd . Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned feare. As all unweeting of that well siie knew ; And pavnd himselfe with busie care to reare Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew. 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. CANTO III. Forsaken Truth long seekes her love. And makes the lyon mylde ; ]\Iarres blind Devotions mart, and fals In hand of leachour vylde. Noucrrr is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse, That moves more deare compassion of mind, Then beautie brought t'unworthio wretchednesse Through envies snares, i Arayd iu hab"' blacke Like to an holy monc of six unequall beasts, e counsellours did ryde, bestiall beheasts, to their kindes apply de ; at all the rest did guyde, ;se, the nourse of Sin ; e he chose to ryde, and amis thin ; k, the service to begin. £4 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Book And in his hand his portesse still he hare, That much was worne, hut therein little redd ; For of devotion he had little care, Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his daies dedd : Scarse could he once uphold his heavie hedd, To looken whetlier it were night or day. JVIav seeme the wayne was very evil ledd, When such an one had guiding of the way, That knew not, whether right he went or else astray. From worldly cares hiraselfe he did esloyne, And greatly shunned manly exercise ; From everie worke he chalenged essoyne. For contemplation sake : yet otbervvise His life he led in lawlesse riotise ; By which he grew to grievous malady : For in his lustlesse limhs, through evill guise, A shaking fever raignd continually : Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company. And hy his side rode loathsome Gluttony, Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne ; His belly was upblowne with luxury, And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne ; And like a crane his neck was long and fyne, AVith which he swallowed up excessive feast, For want whereof poore people oft did pyne : And all the way, most like a hruti^h beast. He spued up his gorge, that all did him deteast. In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad ; For other clothes he could not wear for heate : 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 hande did beare a bouzing can, 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. Unfit he was for any worldly thing. And eke unliable once to stirre or go ; Not meet to be of counsell to a king. Whose mind in meate and drinke was drowned so. That from his frend he seeldome knew his lb : Full of diseases was his carcas blew. And a drs' dropsie througli his flesh did flow. Which hy misdiet daily greater grew; Such one was Gluttony, the second ef that crew. And next to him rode lustfuU Lecliery Ujion a bearded gote, whose rugged heare. And whally eies, (the signe of ^elosy,) Was like the person se.lfe, whom he did heare : Who rough, and blacke, and filthy, did appeare ; Unscemely man to please fair ladies eye : Yet ho of l-adies oft was loved deare, Wneu fairer faces were bid standen by : O who does know the bent cf womens fantasy ! In a greene gowne lie clothed was full faire. Which underneath did hide his tillhiiK-sse ; And in his hand a burning hart he bare. Full of vaine follies and new-fanglenesse : J'or he vvas 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 waies, to bait his fleshly hookes. 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 ioyd weake wemens hearts to tempt, and prove If from their loyall loves he might them move : Which lewdnes fild him with reproachfull pain Of that foule evill, which all men reprove. That roits the marrow, and consumes the braine ; Such one was Lechery, the third of all this traine. And greedy Avarice by him did ride. Upon a caihell loaden all with gold : Two iron coffers hong on either side, With precious metall full as they might hold ; And in his lap an heap of coine he told ; For of his ^vicked pelf his god he made. And unto hell himselfe for money sold ; A ccursed usury was all his trade ; And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce waide. His lite was nigh unto deaths dore yplaste ; And thred-bare cote, and C(ibled s^.ioes, hee ware Ne scarse good morsell all his life did taste ; But both from backe and belly still did spare. To fill his bags, and richesse to cosipare ; Yet childe ne kinsman living had he none To leave them to ; but thorough daily care To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne. He led a wretched life, unto himselfe unknowne. Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suflise ; Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store ; Whose need had end, hut no end covetise ; Whose welth was want; whose plenty made him pore J Wlio had enough, yett wisiied ever more ; A vile disease ; and eke in foote and hand A grievous gout toriiu'iited him full sore ; 'i'hat well he could not touch, nor goe, nor stand ; Such one was Avarice, the fourth of ibis i'aire baud ! And next to him malicious Envy rode Upon a ravenous wolfe, ami still did chaw ]5etween his cankred teeth a venemous tode. That all the poison ran about his chaw ; But inwardly he chawed bis owne maw At neibors welth, that made him ev-er sad ; Ff)r deatli it was, when any good he saw ; And wept, that cause of weeping none he had ; But, when he heard of harine, he wexed wond''OU.- Slad. Canto IV.] THE FAERIE QUEENE. 25 All in a kirtle of discolourd say lie clutlied was, ypaynted full of eies ; And in his bosome secretly there lay An hatefull snake, the whicli his taile uptyes In many folds, and mortall sting implyes ; Still as he rode, lie guasht his teeth to see Tliose heapes of gold with griple Covetyse ; And grudged at the great felicitee Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companee. He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds, And Inni no lesse, that any like did use ; And, who with gratious bread the hungry feeds, His almes for want of faith he doth accuse : So every good to bad lie doth abuse : And eke the verse of famous poets witt ile does backebite, and spightfull poison spues From leprous mouth on all that ever writt : Such one vile Envy was, that fifte in row did sitt. And him beside rides fierce revenging AVrath, I pon a lion, loth for to be led ; And in his hand a burning brond he hath, 'I'iie which he brandisheth about his hed : His eies did hurle forth sparcles fiery red, And stared sterne on all that him beheld ; As ashes pale of hew, and seeming ded ; And on his dagger still his hand he held, [sweld. Trembling through hasty ra^e, when choler in him His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent ; Through unadvized rashnes woxen wood ; For of his hands he had no governement, Ne car'd for blood in his avengement : But, wlien the furious fitt was ovprpast, His oucU facts he often would repent ; Vet, wilfull man, he never would forecast, [hast. How many mischieves should ensue his heedlesse Full many mischiefes follow cruel! Wrath ; Abhorred Bloodshed, and tumultuous Strife, Unmanly Murder, and unthrifty Scath, Bitter Despight with llancoui s rusty knife ; ^nd fretting Griefe, the enemy of life : All these, and many evils moe haunt Ire, The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging life. The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire : Such one was Wrath, the last of this uiigxnliy tire. And, after all, upon the wagon beame Rode Satiian with a smarting whip in hand. With which he forward lasht the laesy teme. So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand. Huge routs of people did about them band, Showting for joy ; and still before their way ^ foKgy mist had covered all the land ; And, underneath their feet, all scattered lay Dead sculls and bones of men whose life had gone astray. So forth they marchen in this goodly sort, To take the solace of the open aire, And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport: Emongst the rest rode that false lady falre. The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire Of proud Lucifer', as one of the traine : But that good knight would not so nigh re})aire. Him selfe estraunging from their ioyaunce vaine. Whose fellowship seemd far unfittfor warlike swanie So, having solaced themselves a space With pleasaunce of'the breathing fields yfed. They backe retourned to the ])nncely place; Whereas an errant knight in armes j'cled. And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red Was writt Smis iny, they new arrived find : Enflam'd with fury and fiers hardyhed, He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts unkind, And nourish bloody vengeaunce in his bitter mind. Who, when the shamed shield of slaine Sansfoy He spj'-Js with that same Fary champions page, Bewr^ ri-ng him that did of late destroy His eldest brotlier ; burning all with rage. He to hiia lept, and that same envious gage Of victors glorv from him snacht away : ]5ut th' F'lfin knight, which ought that warlike wage, IJisdaind to loose the meed he wonne in fray ; And, him rencountring fierce, reskewd the nobU pray. XL. Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily. Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne. And clash their shields, and shake their swords on by ; That with their sturre they troubled all the traine : Till that great queene, upnn eternall paine Of liigh displeasure that ensewen might, Commaunded them their fury to refraine ; And, if that either to that shield had ns'ht. In equall lists they should the morrow next it rignr. " Ah dearest dame," quoth then the Paynim bold, " Pardon the error of enitiged wight, Whome great griefe made forgett the raines to hold Of reasons rule, to see this recreaunt knight, (No knight, but treacnour full of false dispight And shameful treason,) who thr(jugh guile hath slayn The prowest knight, tli-^t ever field did fight. Even stout Sanstoy, i O who can then refrayn ?) Wnose stiietd lie oeaies renverst, the more to heap disdayn. XLII. " And, to augment the glorie of his guile. His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe Is there possessed of the traytour vile ; W'ho reapes the harvest sowen by his foe, Sowen in bloodie field, and bought with woe : That — brothers hand shall dearely well reciuight. So be, O Queene, you equall favour sJiowe." Him litle answerd th' angry Elfin knight ; He never meant with words, but swords, to plead his right : 2,6 THE FAEKIE QULENE. [T'OOK But threw his gauntlet, as a sacred pledg, His cause in combat the next day to try : So been tliey parted both, with harts on edg To be aveng-'d each on his enimy. That night they pas in ioy and iolllty, Feasting and courting both in bovvre and hall ; For steward was excessive Gluttony, Tiint of his iilenty poured ibrtli to all : [them call. Which doen, the chamberlain Slowth did to rest Now wlienas dai'ksome night had all displayd [ler colei>lacke curteui over brightest skye ; The warlike youthes, on dnyntie couches layd, Did cliace away sweet sleepe from sluggish eye, To muse on meanes of hojied victory. But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace Arrested all that courtly company, Uprose Duessa from her resting place. And to the PajTiims lodging comes with silent pace Whom broad awake she findes, in troublous fitt, Fore-casting, how his foe he might annoy ; And him amoves with speaches seeming iitt, ' Ah deare Sansioy, next dearest to Sansfoy, Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new ioy ; loyous, to see his ymage in mine eye, And greevd, to thinke how foe did him destroy, I'hat was the tlowre of grace and chevalrve; Lo, his Fidessa, to thy secret faith I flye."' With gentle wordes he can her fayrely greet, And had say on the secrete of her hart : Then, sighing soft ; " I learne that little sweet Oit tempred is," quoth she, " with muchell smart : For, since my brest was launcht witli lovely dart Of deare Sansfoy I never ioyed howre, But in eternall woes my weaker hart Have wasted, loving him with all my powre, Aadforhis sake have felt full many an heavy sto^A re " At last, when perils all I weened past, And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care. Into new woes unweeting I was cast By this false faytor, who unworthie ware Ilis worthie shield, whom he with guilefull snare Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull grave • JMe silly maid awav with him he bare. And ever since hath kept in darksom cave ; For that I would not yeeld that to Sansfoy I gave. " But since faire sunn e hath sperstthatlowrlngclowd. And to my loathed life now shewes some light. Under your beames I will me safely shrowd From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight : To you th' inheritance belonges by right Of brothers prayse, to you eke longes his love. Let not his love, let not his restlesse spright, Be unreveng'd, ihat calles to you above From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth end* lesse move." Thereto said he, " Faire dame, be nought dismaid For sorrowes past ; their griefe is with them gone. Ne yet of present periU be affraid ; 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 deeji do grone: He lives, that sliall him pay his dewties last, And ouiltie Elfin blood slrall sacrifice in hast." " 0, but I feare the fickle freakes," quoth shee, '' Of Fortune false, and oddes of armes in field." " Why, dame," i|Uijtli he, " what oddes can ever bee Where both doe fight alike, to win or yield?" " Yea, but," (juotli 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 whitt reck ; ne you the like need to reherce. " But, faire Fidessa, sithens Fortunes guile, Or enimies powre, hafh now captived you, Keturne fron) « hence ve came, and rest a while, 'I'lJl morrow next, that I the Elfe subdew. And with Sanslbyes dead dowiy you endew," •' Ay me, that is a double death," she said,. •' Willi proud foes sight my sorrow to renew: Wh^^re fver Vft .1 he, my secret aide Simil follow you." So pissing forth, she hiin obaid. Canto V.] THE FAERIE QUEENE. «7 CANTO V. Tlie faithfull kniglit in equall field Subdewes liis faithlesse foe ; Whom false Duessa saves, and for His cure to hell does g-oe. The noble hart that harbours vertuous thought, And is with childe of ulorious great intent, Can never rest, untill it forth have brought Th' eternall brood of g'lorie excellent. Such restlesse passion did all night torment The flaming corage of that Faery kniglit. Devizing, how that doughtie turnament With greatest honour be atcliieven might : [light. Still did he wake, and still did watch for dawnin"- At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre , And Phoebus, fresh as brvdegrome to his mate. Came dauncing- forth, slialdng his deawie havre ; And liurld his glistring beams through gloomy a\re. Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv'd, streightway He startfd up, and did him selfe prepayre In sunbright amies, and battailous array ; For with that Pagan proud he combatt will that day. And forth he comes into tlie commune ball ; \Vhere earely waite him many a gazing eye. To weet what end to straungtr knights may fall. There many minstrales maken rnelody, To drive away the dull melancholy ; And many bardes, that to the trembling chord Can tune their timely voices cunningly ; And many chroniclers, that can record [lord Old loves, and warres for ladies doen by many a Soone after comes tlie cruell Sarazin, 111 woven maile all armed warily ; And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin Does care for looke of living creatures eye. I'hey bring them wines of Creece and Araby, And daintie s[)ices fetch from furthest Ynd, lo kindle heat of corage privily ; And in the wine a solemne oth thev bynd ' observe the sacred lawes of armes, that are assynd. At last forth comes that far renowmed queene ; With royall pomp and princely maiestie She is ybrougl.t unto a ]ialed gi-eene. And placed under stately canapee, 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 Sansfov his shield is hangd with bloody hew : those, the lawrell girlonds to the victor dew. A shrilling trompett sownded from on hye. And unto battaill bad themselves addresse : Their shining shieldes about their wrestes they tye. And burning blades about their heades doe blesse. The instruments of wrath and heavinesse : ^Vith greedy force each other doth assayle, And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse Deepe dinted furrou-es in the battled mayle : The yron walles to ward their blowes are weak and fraile. The Sarazin was stout and wondrous strong, And heaped blowes like yron hammers great ; For after blood and vengeance he did long. The knight was tiers, and full of youthly heat. And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders threat : For all for praise and honour did he fight. Beth stricken strvke, and beaten both doe beat ; That from their shields forth flvetli firie light, And helmets, hewen deepe, shew marks of eithers mi;i'ht. So til' one for wrong, the other strives for right : As when a gryfon, seized of his pray, A dragon fiers encountreth in his iiight. Through widest ayre making his ydle way, That would his rightfull ravine rend away ; \Vith hideous horror both together smight. And souce so sore, that they the heavens affray : The wise soothsayer, seeing so sad sight, Th' amazed vulgar telles of warres and mortal fic>ht So th' one for wrong, the other strives for right ; And each to deadly shame v\-oukl drive his foe : The cruell Steele so greedily doth bight In tender flesh, that sireames ked dales with .wretched knife did end. In death avowing th' innocence of lier sonne. Which hearing, his rash syre began to rend His heare, and hasty long that did offend : Th'o, gathering up the reliques of his smart, Bv Dianes meanes who was Hipjiolyts frend, Them brought to Aesculape, that by his art Did heule them all againe, and ioyned every part. Such wondrous science in mans witt to raiu When love avizd, that could the dead revive, And fates expired could renew again. Of endlesse life he might him not deprive ; But unto liell did thrust him downe alive. With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore ; Where, long remaining, he did alwaies strive Hims'"lfe with salves to health for to restore. And slake the lieavenly fire that raged evermore. There auncient Night arriving, did alight From her nigh-weary wayne, and in her amies To Aesculajiius brought the wounded knight . Whom having softly disaraid of amies, Tho gan to him discover all his harmes, Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise, If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes, A fordonne wight from dore of death mote rai^e. He would at her request prolong her nephews daies. " Ah dame," quoth he, " thou temptest me in vaine To dare tlie thing, which daily yet I rew ; And the old cause of my continued paine AVith like attempt to like end to renew. Is not enough, that, thrust from heaven dew, Here endlesse penaunce for one fault 1 pay ; But that redoubled crime witii vengeaunce nevv Thou biddest nie to eeke ? can Night defray The wrath of thundring love, that rules both Night and Day ?" XLIII. " Not so," quotli she ; " but, sith that heavens king From Jiope of heaven hath thee excluded quight. 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 far renowmed sonne Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might In medicine, that els hath to thee wonne [donne." Great pains, and greater praise, both never to be Her words prevaild ; and then the learned leach His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay, And all things els the which his art did teach . Which having seene, from thence arose away The mother of dredd Darknesse, and let stay Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure ; And, backe retourning, took her wonted way To I'oune her timely race, whilst Phoebus pure In westerne waves his weary wagon did recure. The false Duessa, leaving noyous Night, Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pryde ; Where wlien she came, she fomid the Faery knight Departed thence ; alhee (his woundl'S vv'yde Not throughly heald) unready were to ryde. Good cause he had to hasten thence away ; For on a day his wary dwarfe had spyde AVhere, in a dungeon deejie, huge nombers lay Of wiytive wretched thralls, that wayled night and day ; (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. They were by law of that proud tyrannesse, Provokt with Wiath and Envyes false surmise, Condemned to that dongeon mercilesse. Where they should live in wo, and dye in wretched nesse. Canto YI. THE FAERTE QUEENF. •SI There was that great proud king of BabyloD, That would compell all nations to adore And him, as onelv God, to call iipon ; 'I'ill, through celestiall doonie thrown out of dore. Into an oxe he was transformd of yore. There also was king Croesus, that enhaunst His hart too high through his great richesse store ; And proud x\ntiochus, the which advaunst His cursed hand gainst God, and on his altares daunst. And, them long time before, great Nimrod was, That first the world with sword and fire warrayd ; And after him old Ninus far did pas In princely pomp, of all the world obavd. There also was that mightie monarch layd Low under all, yet above all in pride. That name of native syre did fowle upbrayd. And would as Ammons sonne be magnitide ; Till, scornd of God and man, a shameful! death he dide. All these together in one heape were throwne, Like carkases of beastes in butchers stall. And, in another corner, wide were strowne The antique ruins of the Romanes fall : Great Romulus, the grandsyre of tliem all Proud Tarquin ; and too lordly Lentulus j Stout Scipio ; and stubbome Hanniball j Ambitious Sylla ; and sterne iNIarius ; High Caesar ; great Pompey ; and fiers Antoniu*. Amongst these mightie men were wemen mixt. Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their soke ; The bold Semiramis, whose sides transtixt With sonnes own blade her fowle reproches spoke ; Fayre Sthenobrea, that her selfe did choke With wilfull chord, for wanting of her will ; High-minded Cleopatra, that with stroke Of aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill : ffiH. And thousands moe the like, that did that don-eon Besides the endlesse routes of wretched-tliralles, Which thether were assembled, day by day, From all the world, after their wofull falles Through wicked pride and wasted welthes decay. But most, of all which in that dongeon lay. Fell from high princes courtes, or ladies bewres ; AVhere they in vdle pomp, or wanton play. Consumed had their goods and thriftlesse howres, And lastly thrown themselves into these heavy stowres. Whose case whenas the careful dwarfe had tould, And made ensample of their mournfull sight Unto his maister ; he ne lenger wuuld There dwell in perill of like painefull plight, But earely rose ; and, ere that dawning light Discovered had the world to heaven wyde. He by a privy posterne tooke his flight, 1 hat of no envious eyes he mote be spyde : For, doubtlesse, death ensewd if any him descyde Scarse could he footicg find in that fowle way, For many corses, like a great lay-stall. Of murdred men, which therein strowed lay Without remorse or decent funerall ; Which, al through that great Princesse Pride did fall. And came to shamefull end : and them besyde. Forth ryding underneadi the castell wall, A donghill of dead carcases he spyde ; The dreadfull spectacle of that sad House of Piyde. CANTO VI. From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace Fayre Una is releast ; Whome salvage nation does adore. And leames her wise beheast. \s when a ship, that flyes fa3Te under sayle, \n hidden rocke escaped hath unwares, rhat lay in waite her wrack for to bewaile ; Ihe mariner yet halfe amazed stares At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares Fo ioy at his foolhappie oversight : So doubly is distrest twixt ioy and cares 1 he dreadlesse corage of this Elfin knight, Having escapt so sad ensamples in liis sight. Yet sad he was, that his too hastie speede The fayre Duess' had forst him leave bemnd j And yet more sad, that Una, his deare areen. Her truth had staynd with treason so unkind ; Yet cryme in her could never creature find : But for his love, and for her owne selfe sake. She wandred had from one to other Ynd, Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake : Till her unwares the fiers Sansloy did overtake ; THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Book L Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat, Led lier away into a forest wilde ; Ami, turning Tv-rathful fyre to lustfull heat, \\ ith beastly sin thought her to have defilde, And made the vassall of his pleasures vilde. Yet first he cast by treatie, and by ti-aynes, Her to pei-suade that stubborn fort to yilde ; For greater conquest of hard love he gsynes, That workes it to his will, then he that it constraines. With fawning wordes he courted her a while ; And, looking lovely and oft sighing sore. Her constant hart did tempt with diverse guile : But wordes, and lookes, and sighes she did abhore ; As rock of diamond stedfast 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 skve. And burnt his beastly hart t'enforce her chastitye. So when he saw his flatt'ring arts to fiyle. And subtile engines bett from batteree j AVith greedy force he gan the fort assayle, Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee, And win rich spoile of ransackt chastitee. Ah heavens ! that doe this hideous act behold. And heavenly virgin thus outraged see, How can ye vengeance iust so long withhold. And nurle uot flashing flames upon that Paynim bold? The pitteous mayden, carefull, comfortlesse. Does throw outthrillmg shriekes.and slirieking crj'es, (The last vaine helpe of wemens greate distresse,) And with loud plaintes importuneth the skyes ; That molten starres doe drop like weepino- "eyes ; And Phccbus, flying so most shameful 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, \Vhere none appeares can make her selfe a way ! A wondrous way it for this lady wrouo-ht. From lyons clawes to jjlucke the gryped pray. Hfr shrill outcryes and shrieks so loud did bray, Tiiat all the woodes and forestes did resownd : A troupe of faunas and satyres far away Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd. Whiles old Sylvanus slej)t in shady aiber sowud : Who. 'vhen <;hey heard that pitteous strained voice. In has'.e torsooke their rurall merriment. And nil towardes the far rebownded noyce, 'JO weet what wight so loudly did lament. Unto the place they come incontinent . W horn when the raging Sarazin espyde, A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement, Whose like he never saw, he durst not byde; but got his ready steed, and fast away gan ryde.. The wyld wood-gods, arrived in the place, There find the virgin, doolfull, desolate, AVith ruffled rayments, and favre blubbred face. As her outrageous foe had left her late ; And trembling yet through feare of foi-mer hate • All stand amazed at so uncouth sight. And gin to pittie her unhaj)pie state ; All stand astonied at her beauty bright. In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight. She, more amazd, in double dread doth dwell. And every tender part for feare does shake : As when a greedy wolfe, through honger fell, A seely lamb far from the flock does take. Of whom he meanes his bloody feast to make, A lyon spyes fast running towards him, The innocent pra}- in hast he does forsake ; Which, quitt from death, yet quakes in every lim With chaunge of feare, to see the lyou looke so grim> Such fearefull fitt assaid her trembling hart ; Ne worde to speake, ne ioynt 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 homes 3 clad And rustick horror, all asyde doe lay ; And, gently grenning, show a semblance glad To comfort her ; and, i'eare to put away, Ttieir backwaid-beat knees teach her humbly to obay. XII. The doubtfull damzell dare not yet commiit Her single person to their barbarous truth ; But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sitt. Late learnd what harme to hasty trust ensu'th • They, in compassion of her tender youth. And wonder of her beautie soverayne, Are wonne Avith pitty and unwonted ruth ; And, all prostrate upon the lowly playne, Doe kisse her feete, and iawne on her with c:,unt'- nance fayne. XIII. Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise, And yieldes her to extreinitie of time : So friim the ground she fearlesse doth arise. And walkelh forth without suspect of crime: They, all as glad as birdes of ioyous pryme, ThoiK-e led lier forth, about her dauncing round, Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme ; And with greene braunchos strowingall the ground, Do worship her as queene with olire girlond cround. And all the way their merry pipes they sound. That all the woods with double echo ring j And with their horned feel doe weare the ground, Leaping hke wanton kids in pleasant spring. So towards old Sylvanus they her bring ; Who, with the iioyse awaked, conimeth out To weet the cause, his weake steps governing And aged limbs on cypresse stadle stout; Aud with an y vie twyue his waste is girt abou VI.] THE FAERIE QUEETVE. 33 Far off he wonders what tliem makes so glad, Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent, Or Cybeles fraiiticke rights have made them mad : They, drawing nigh, unto their god present That flowre of fayth and heautie excellent : The god himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare. Stood long amaz'd, and burnt in his intent : His owne favre Dryope now he thinks not faire, And Pholoe fowle, when her to this he doth compaire. The wood-borne people fall before her flat, And worship her as goddesse of the wood ; And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what To thinke of wi^ht so fayre ; but gazing stood In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood : Sometimes dame Venus selfe he seemes to see ; But Venus never had so sober mood : Sometimes Diana he her takes to be ; But misseth bow and shaftes, and buskins to her knee. B}^ vew of her he ginneth to revive His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse ; And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive. How favre he was, and yet not fayre to this ; And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse A gentle hvnd, the which the lovely boy Did love as life, above all worldly blisse : For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after ioy ; But pynd away in anguish and selfewild annoy. The wooddy nymphes, faire Hamadryades, Her to behold do thelher runne apace ; 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 tl>eir raalitious mind, And fly awa}' for feare of fowle disgrace-. But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind. And henceforth nothing faire, but her, on earth they find. Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse lucky mayd Did her content to please their feeble eyes ; And long time with that salvage people stayd. To gather breath in many miserves: During which time her gentle wit she plves. To teach ihem truth, which worshipt her in vaine, And made her th' image of idolatryes : But, when their bootlesse zeale she did restra>Tie From her own worship, they her asse would worship fayn. XX. It fortuned, a noble warlike knight By iust occasion to that forrest came To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right. From whence he tooke his wel-deserved name : He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame, And fild far lands with glorie of his might ; Plaine, faithluU, true, and enimy of shame. And ever lov'd to nght for ladies right : But in vaine glorious frayes he Utle did delight. A satyres sonne yborne in forrest wyld, ]5y straunge adventure as it did betyde. And there begotten of a lady myld, Fayre Thyamis, tlie daughter of Labryde ; That was in sacred bandes of wedlocke tyde To Therion, a loose, unruly swayne. Who had more ioy to raunge the forrest wyde. And chase the salvage beast with busie payne, Then serve his ladies love, and waste in plea.'su: i vayne. XXII. The forlorne mayd did with loves longing burne, 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 wandriug for to finde ; And, kindling coles of lust in brutish eye, The loyall linkes of wedlocke did unbiude, And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind. So long in secret cabin there he held Her captive to his sensuall desyre ; Till that with timely fruit her belly sweld. And bore a boy unto tliat salvage syre : Then home he suffred her for to retyre ; For ransome leaving him the late-borne chilue : Whom, till to ryper years he gan aspyre, He nousled up in life and maners wilde, Emongst wild beastes and woods, from laws of men exilde. For all he taught the tender ymp, was but To banish cowardize and bastard feare : His trembling hand he would him force to put Upon the lyon and the rugged beare ; And from the she-beares teats her whelps to teare ; And eke wyld roring buls he would him make To tame, and ryde their backes not made to beare ; And the robuckes in flight to overtake : That everie beast for feare of him did fly and quake. Thereby so fearlesse and so fell he grew, That his owne syre and maister of his guise Did often tremble at his horrid vew j And oft, for dread of hurt, would him advise The angiy beastes not rash!/ 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 eame. And, for to make his powre approved more, Wyld beastes in yron yokes he would compell; The spotted panther, and the tusked bore. The pardale swift, and the tigre cmell. The antelope and wolf, both tiers and fell ; And them constiaine in equall teme to draw. Such ioy he had their stubborne harts to quell. And sturdie courage tame with dreadfuU aw ; That his beheast they feared, as a tyrans law. S4 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [Book i. His loving motlicr came upon a day Unto tlie woodes, to see her little sonne ; And cliaunst unwares to meet him in the way, After his sportes and cruell jiastime donne j AVhen after him a lyonesse did runne. That roaring- all with rage did lowd requere Her cliildren deare, whom he away had wonne •. The lyon whelpes she saw how he did beare, And lull in ruoged amies withouten childish feare. T])o fearefull dame all qu;ilied at the siglit, And turning backe gan fast to fly away ; Untill, with love revokt from vaine affright, She hardly yet perswaded was to stay. And then to him these womaniah words gan say : " Ah, Satyrane, my dearling and ray ioy. For love of me leave oft" this dreadfull play ; To dally thus with death is no fit toy : [boy." Go, find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet In these and like delightes of bloody game He trayned was, till.ryper years he raught ; And there abode, whylst anv beast of name Walkt in that forrest, whom he had not tauglit 'J"o feare his force : and then his courage liaught Desvrd of forreine foemen to be knowne. And far abroad for straunge adventures sought; In wliich his might was never overthrowue ; But through al Faery lond his famous worth wa? blowne. ^'et evermore it was his manner faire. After long labours and adventures spent, Unto those native woods for to repaire, To see his syre and oftspring auncient. And now he thether came for like intent ; Wliere he unwares the fairest Una found, Straunge lady, in so straunge habiliment, 'leaching the Satyres, whicli her sat around, Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound. He wondred at her wisedome hevenly rare, ^\ liose like in womens witt he never knew : And, when her curtpous deeds he did compare, Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew, Blaming of Fortune, which sucli troubles thre\«, And ioyd to make proofe of her cruelty On gentle dame, so Imrtlesse and so trew . Tiicnceforth he kept her goodly company, And learnd her discipline of faith and verity. But she, all vowd unto the Redcrosse knight. His wandring ]>erill closely did lament, j\'e in this new actjuaiiitaunce could delight ; But her deare heart with anguish did torment, And all her witt in secret counsels spent, How to escaj)e. At last in privy wise 'J'o Satyrane she shewed her intent ; AV lio, glad to gain such favour, gan devise, How with that pensive maid he best might thence arise. So on a day, when satvres all were gone 'l"o 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 satyi-es to be told, Or ever hope recover her againe ; In vaine he seekes that, having, cannot liold. So fast he carried her with carefuU p.iine. That they the woods are past, and come now to ;he plaine. XXXIV. The better ])art now of tlie lingring day They traveild had, wheiiastliey far espide A weary wight forwandring by the vi-ay , And tOAards him they gan in hast to ride. To weete of newes that did abroad betyde, Or tidings of her knight of the Redcrosse; But he, tliem spying gan to turne asyde For feare, as seemd, or for some feigned losse : Rlore greedy they of newes fast towards him do crosse. A silly man, in simple weedes forvrome. And soild with dust of the long dried way ; His sandales were with toilsome travell tome. And face all tand with scorching sunny raj-. As he had traveild many a sommers day Through boyling sands of Arabie and Ynde ; And in his liand a lacobs staft'e, to stay His wearv limb-; upon ; and eke behind [bind His scrip did hang, in which his needments he dii The kniglit, approching nigh, of him inqucrd Tidings of warre, and of adventures nevr ; 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. That in his armour bare a croslet red. " Ay 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." That cruell word her tender hart so thrild. That suddcin cold did roiine through every vaine. And stony horrour all her sences hid Willi dying fitt, tliat downe she fell for paine. Tlie knight her lightly reared up againe. And comforted with curteous kind reliefe : Then, wonne from death, she bad him tellen plame The further processe of her hidden griefe : The lesser pangs can beai-e, who hatli endurd the chief. Then gan the pilgrim tluis ; " I chaunst this day, Tliis fata-11 day, tliat shall 1 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 Jiew l\Iy fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife. To see their blades so greedily imbrew, That, dronke with blood, yet thristed after life : What more? the Bidcrosse knight was slaine with Paynim knife." Canto VI. j THE FAERIE QUEENE. 35 " All ! dearest lord," quoth she, " how might that bee, And he the stoutest knight, that ever wonne ?" " All ! dearest dame," quoth he, '' how might I see The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne 1" " Where is," said Satyrane, " that Paynims sonne, That him of life, and us of ioy, hath refte ?" " Not fur away," quoth he, " he hence doth wonne, Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left Washing his bloody wounds, that through the Steele were cleft." Therewith the knight then 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, Whereas that Pagan proud himselfe 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 foule reprochfull words he boldly him defide ; 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 Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield." The Sarazin, this hearing, rose amain, And. catching up in haste his three-square shield And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field ; And, drawing nigh him, said ; " Ah ! misborn Elfe, In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent Anothers wrongs to wreak upon thy selfe : Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blent Wy name with guile and traiterous intent : That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew ; But had he beene, where erst his arms were lent, Th' enchaunter vaine his errour should not rew : But thou his errour shall, I hope, now proven trew." Therewith they gan, both furious and fell. To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile Eacl) 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 blood adowne their sides did raile ; But floods of blood could not them satisfie : Both hongred after death ; both chose to win, or die. So long they fight, and full revenge pursue, That, fainting, each themselves to breathen lett ; And, ofte refreshed, battell oft renue. As when two bores, with rancling malice mett. Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely frett ; Til breathlesse both themselves aside retire, 'Where, foming wrath, their cruelltuskes they whett, And trample th' earth, the whiles they may respire ; Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire. So fiersly, when these knights had breathed once, They gan to fight retourne ; increasing more Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce. With heaped strokes more hugely then before ; That with their drery woundes, and bloodv gore, They doth defoi-med, scarsely could bee known. By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore, Led with their noise which through the aire was thrown, [sown. Arriv'd, wher they in erth their friiitles blood ha XL VI. Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin Espide, he gan revive the memory Of his leud lusts, and late attempted sin ; And lefte the doubtfull battel hastily, To catch her, newly offred to his eie : But Satyrane, with strokes him turning, staid, And stemely bad him other business plie Then hunt the steps of pure uuspotted maid : AVherewith he al enrag'd these bitter speaches said , " O foolish faeries sonne, what fury mad Hath thee incenst to hast thy dolefull fate ? Were it not better I that lady had Then that thou hadst repented it too late ? Rlost sencelesse man he, that himselfe doth hate To love another : Lo then, for thine ayd, Hei-e take thy lovers token on thv pate." So they to fight; the whiles the "royall mayd Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afravd. But that false pilgrim, which that leasing told, Being in deed old Arthimage, did stay- in secret shadow all this to behold ; And much reioiced in their bloody fray : But, when he saw the damsell passe away. He left his stond, and her jiursewd apace. In hope to bring her to her last decav. But for to tell her lamentable cace , And eke this battels end, will need another place. 36 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [BookL CANTO VII. The Reclcrosse knight is captive made By gyaunt proud opprest : Prince Arthure meets with Una great- ly with those newes distrest. What man so wise, what earthly witt so ware, As to discry the crafty cunning traine, By which Deceit doth maske in visour faire. And cast her colours died deep in graine, To seeme like Truth, whose shape she well can faine. 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. ■WTio when, returning from the drery Night, She found not in tliat perilous Hous of Pryde, Where she had left the noble Redcrosse knight, Her hoped pray ; she would no lenger byde. But forth she went to seeke him for and wyde. Ere long she fownrl, whereas he wearie sato To rest him selfe, foreby a fountain syde, Disarmed all of yron-coted plate ; And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate. Hee feedes upon tlie cooling shade, and hayes His sweatie forehead in the breathing wynd. Which through the trembling leaves full gently playes, Wherein the chearefull bii-ds of sundry kynd I>oe chnunt sweet rnusick, to delight his mynd : The witch approching gan him fayrely greet. And with reproch of carelesnes unkynd Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet. With fowle words tempring fiiire, soure gall with hony sweet. Unkiudnesse past, they gan of solace treat. And bathe in pleasaunce of the ioyous shade, \Vliich shielded them against tlie boyling heat, And. with greene l)oughes decking a gloomy sJiade, About the fountaiiie like a girlond made ; Wliose bubbling wave did ever freshly well, Ne ever would through fervent summer fade : The sacred nymph, which tlierein wont to dwell, Was out of Dianes favor, as it then befell. The cause was this : One dav, when Phocle fayre With all her hand was following the chace, Tliis nymph, quite tyr'd with hiat of scorching ayre, Sat downe to rest in middcst of the race : Tlie goddesse wroth gan l''ou ly her disgrace. And badd the wateis, whicli i'rom her did flow, Pie such as she her selfe was then in j)lace. Tlienceforth her waters wexed dull and slow ; And all, that drinke thereof, do faint and feeble grow. Hereof this gentle knight unweeting was ; And, lying downe upon the sandie graile, Dronke of the streame, as cleare as christall glas : Eftsoones his manly forces gan to fayle, And mightie strong was turnd to feeble frayle. His chaunged powres at first themselves not felt ; Till crudled cold his corage gan assayle, And cheareful blood in fayntnes chill did melt. Which, like a fever fit, through all his bodie sweit Yet goodly court he made still to his dame, 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, Wliich through the woodloud bellowing did rebownd That all the earth for terror seemd to shake, And trees did tremble. Th' Elfe, therewith astownd, Upstarted lightly from his looser make. And his unready weapons gan in hand to take. But ere he could his armour on him dight. Or gett his shield, his monstrous enimy With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight, An hideous geaunt, homble and bye. That with his tallnesse seemd to threat the skye ; The ground eke groned under him for dreed : His living like saw never living eye, Ne durst behold ; his stature did evceed Tlie hio-ht of three the tallest sonnes of mortall seed. The greatest Earth his lincouth mother was. And blustring tEoIus his boasted syre ; [p^, Who with his breatli, which through the world doth Her hollow womb did secretly inspyre. And fild her hidden caves with stormie yre. That she conceiv'd ; and trebling the dew time. In wliich the wombes of wemen do expyre, Urought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slyme, Puft up with emptie wynd, and fild with sinful) cryme. X. So growen great, through arrogant delight. Of th' high descent whereof he was ybome. And through presumption of his matchlesse might. All other powres and knighthood he did scorne. Such now he marcheth to this man forlorne. And left to losse; his stalking steps are stayde Upon a snaggy oke, wliicli ho had torne Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made His mortall mace, wherewith his foeraen he dismayde. Canto VTT. THE FAERIE QUEENE. 3? That, when the knisjht he spvde, he gan advaunce With liun;e force and insupportable mayne, And towardes him witli ch-eadfull fury praunce ; Who haplesse, and eke liopelesse, all in raiue Did to him pace sad battaile to darrayne, Disarmd, disgraste, and mwardly dismayde ; And eke so faint in every iovut and vavne, Througli that fraile fountain, which him feeble made, That sca-sely could he weeld his bootlesse single blade. The geaunt strooke so maynly mercilesse, That could have overthrowne a stony towre ; And, were it not hevenlv grace that did him blesse, He had beene pouldred all, as thin as flowre ; But he was warv of that deadly stowre, And lightly lept from underneath the blow : Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre That with the winde it did him overthrow, And all his sences stoond, that still he lay full low. As when that divelish vron engin, wrought In deejjest hell, and framd by furies skill. With windy nitre and quick sulphur fraught, And ramd with bollet rownd, ordaind to kill, Conceiveth fvre ; the heavens it doth fill With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth choke, That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will. Through smouldry cloud of duskish stincking smoke ; That til' onlv breath him daunts, who hath escaj)C the stroke. So daunted when the geaunt saw the knight, His heavie hand he heaved up on liye, And iiim to dust thought to have battred quight, Untill Duessa loud to liim gan crve ; " O great Orgoglio, greatest under skye. Oh ! hold thy mortall hand for ladies sake ; Hold for mv sake, and doe him not to dye, But vanquisht thine eternall bondslave make. And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy leman take.' He hearkned, and did stay from further harmes, To gavne so goodly guerdon as she spake : So willinglv she came into his amies. Who her as willingly to gra' e did take, And was possessed of his newfound make. Then up he tooke the slondjred 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. From that day forth Duessa was his deare. And highly honourd in iiis haughtie eye • He gave her gold and purple pall to weare, And tripde crowne set on her head full hye. And her endowd with rovall maiestye : Then, for to make her dreaded more of men, And peoples hartes with awfuU terror tye, A monstrous beast ybredd in filthy fen [den. He chose, v.-hich he had kept long time in darksom Such one it was, as that renowmed snake Which great Alcides in Stremona slew. Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake : Whose many heades out-budding ever new Did breed him endlesse labor to subdew. But this same monster much more ugly was ; For seven great heads out of his bodv grew ! An vron brest, and back of scaly bras, And all embrevvd in blood his eyes did shine as gla3. His tayle was stretched out in wondrous length. That to the hous of hevenly gods it rauuht ; And with extorted powre, and borrow'd strength, The ever burning lamps from tijence it braught, And prowdlv threw to ground, as thiiiiis of naught And underneath his filthy feet did tread The sacred thinges, and holy heastes foretaught. Upon this dreadful! beast with sevenfold bead He sett the false Duessa, for more aw and dread. The wofull dwarfe, which saw his maisters fall, (Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed,) And valiant knight become a caytive thrall ; \Vhen all was jiast, tooke up his forlorne weed ; His mightie armour, missing m(;st at need ; His silver shield, now idle, maisterlesse ; His poynant speare, that many made to bleed ; The rueful nioniments of heavinesse ; And with them all departes,to tell his great distresse. He had not travaild long, when on the way He wofull lady, wofull Una, met Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray, Whilest .Satyrane him from piursuit did let : Who when her eyes she on the dwarf had set, And saw the signes that deadly tydinges spake. She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret. And lively breath her sad brest did forsake ; Yet might her pitteous hart be seen to pant and quakOi The messenger of so unhappie newes Would faine have dyde ; dead was his hart within Yet outwardly s^me little comfort shewes : At last, recovering hart, he does begin To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin. 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 raourne : " Ye dreary instruments of dolefull sight, That doe this dreadly spectacle behold. Why due ye lenger feed on loathed light. Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould, Sith cruell Fates tlie careful! tlireds unfould. The which my life and love togetlier tyde ? Now let the stony dart of sencelesse Cold Perce to my hart, and pas tlirou^h everie side ; And let eternall nioht so sad