The Faerie Queene

by Edmund Spenser

  With his rude clawes the wicket open rent,

  And let her in; where of his cruell rage

  Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,

  She found them both in darkesome corner pent;

  Where that old woman day and night did pray

  Vpon her beades deuoutly penitent;

  Nine hundred Pater nosters euery day,

  And thrise nine hundred Aues she was wont to say.

  14 And to augment her painefull pennance more,

  Thrise euery weeke in ashes she did sit,

  And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore,

  And thrise three tunes did fast from any bit:

  But now for feare her beads she did forget.

  Whose needlesse dread for to remoue away,

  Faire Vna framed words and count’nance fit:

  Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray,

  That in their cotage small, that night she rest her may.

  15 The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,

  When euery creature shrowded is in sleepe;

  Sad Vna downe her laies in wearie plight,

  And at her feet the Lyon watch doth keepe:

  In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe

  For the late losse of her deare loued knight,

  And sighes, and grones, and euermore does steepe

  Her tender brest in bitter teares all night,

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

  16 Now when Aldeboran was mounted hie

  Aboue the shynie Cassiopeias chaire,

  And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie,

  One knocked at the dore, and in would fare;

  He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware,

  That readie entrance was not at his call:

  For on his backe a heauy load he bare

  Of nightly stelths and pillage seuerall,

  Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall,

  17 He was to weete a stout and sturdie thiefe,

  Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments,

  And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe,

  Which giuen was to them for good intents;

  The holy Saints of their rich vestiments

  He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept,

  And spoild the Priests of their habiliments,

  Whiles none the holy things in safety kept;

  Then he by cunning sleights in at the window crept.

  18 And all that he by right or wrong could find,

  Vnto this house he brought, and did bestow

  Vpon the daughter of this woman blind,

  Abessa daughter of Corceca slow,

  With whom he whoredome vsd, that few did know,

  And fed her fat with feast of offerings,

  And plentie, which in all the land did grow;

  Ne spared he to giue her gold and rings:

  And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

  19 Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet,

  Yet of those fearefull women none durst rize,

  The Lyon frayed them, him in to let:

  He would no longer stay him to aduize,

  But open breakes the dore in furious wize,

  And entring is; when that dissainfull beast

  Encountring fierce, him suddaine doth surprize,

  And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest,

  Vhder his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

  20 Him booteth not resist, nor succour call,

  His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand,

  Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small,

  And quite dismembred hath: the thirstie land

  Drunke vp his life; his corse left on the strand.

  His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night,

  Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to vnderstand

  The heauie hap, which on them is alight,

  Affraid, least to themselues the like mishappen might.

  21 Now when broad day the world discouered has,

  Vp Vna rose, vp rose the Lyon eke,

  And on their former iourney forward pas,

  In wayes vnknowne, her wandring knight to seeke,

  With paines farre passing that long wandring Greeke,

  That for his loue refused deitie;

  Such were the labours of this Lady meeke,

  Still seeking him, that from her still did flie,

  Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie.

  22 Soone as she parted thence, the fearefull twaine,

  That blind old woman and her daughter deare

  Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slaine,

  For anguish great they gan to rend their heare,

  And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare.

  And when they both had wept and wayld their fill,

  Then forth they ranne like two amazed deare,

  Halfe mad through malice, and reuenging will,

  To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.

  23 Whom ouertaking, they gan loudly bray,

  With hollow howling, and lamenting cry,

  Shamefully at her rayling all the way,

  And her accusing of dishonesty,

  That was the flowre of faith and chastity;

  And still amidst her rayling, she did pray,

  That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery

  Might fall on her, and follow all the way,

  And that in endlesse error she might euer stray.

  24 But when she saw her prayers nought preuaile,

  She backe returned with some labour lost;

  And in the way as she did weepe and waile,

  A knight her met in mighty armes embost,

  Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost,

  But subtill Archimag, that Vna sought

  By traynes into new troubles to haue tost:

  Of that old woman tydings he besought,

  If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought

  25 Therewith she gan her passion to renew,

  And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare,

  Saying, that harlot she too lately knew,

  That causd her shed so many a bitter teare,

  And so forth told the story of her feare:

  Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce,

  And after for that Ladie did inquire;

  Which being taught, he forward gan aduaunce

  His faire enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce.

  26 Ere long he came, where Vna traueild slow,

  And that wilde Champion wayting her besyde:

  Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show

  Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde

  Vnto an hill; from whence when she him spyde,

  By his like seeming shield, her knight by name

  She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde:

  Approching nigh, she wist it was the same,

  And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came.

  27 And weeping said, Ah my long lacked Lord,

  Where haue ye bene thus long out of my sight?

  Much feared I to haue bene quite abhord,

  Or ought haue done, that ye displeasen might,

  That should as death vnto my deare hart light:

  For since mine eye your ioyous sight did mis,

  My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night,

  And eke my night of death the shadow is;

  But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis.

  28 He thereto meeting said, My dearest Dame,

  Farre be it from your thought, and fro my will,

  To thinke that knighthood I so much should shame,

  As you to leaue, that haue me loued still,

  And chose in Faery court of meere goodwill,

  Where noblest knights were to be found on earth:

  The earth shall sooner leaue h
er kindly skill

  To bring forth fruit, and make eternall derth,

  Then I leaue you, my liefe, yborne of heauenly berth.

  29 And sooth to say, why I left you so long,

  Was for to seeke aduenture in strange place,

  Where Archimago said a felon strong

  To many knights did daily worke disgrace;

  But knight he now shall neuer more deface:

  Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please

  Well to accept, and euermore embrace

  My faithfull sendee, that by land and seas

  Haue vowd you to defend, now then your plaint appease.

  30 His louely words her seemd due recompence

  Of all her passed paines: one louing howre

  For many yeares of sorrow can dispence:

  A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre:

  She has forgot, how many a wofull stowre

  For him she late endur’d; she speakes no more

  Of past: true is, that true loue hath no powre

  To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before.

  Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.

  31 Much like, as when the beaten marinere,

  That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide,

  Oft soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare,

  And long time hauing tand his tawney hide

  With blustring breath of heauen, that none can bide,

  And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound,

  Soone as the port from farre he has espide,

  His chearefull whistle merrily doth sound,

  And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledg around.

  32 Such ioy made Vna, when her knight she found;

  And eke th’enchaunter ioyous seemd no lesse,

  Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground

  His ship farre come from watrie wildernesse,

  He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse:

  So forth they past, and all the way they spent

  Discoursing of her dreadfull late distresse,

  In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment:

  Who told her all that fell in iourney as she went.

  33 They had not ridden farre, when they might see

  One pricking towards them with hastie heat,

  Full strongly armd, and on a courser free,

  That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat,

  And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,

  When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side;

  His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat

  Cruell reuenge, which he in hart did hyde,

  And on his shield Sansloy in bloudie lines was dyde.

  34 When nigh he drew vnto this gentle payre

  And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare,

  He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare

  Himselfe to battell with his couched speare.

  Loth was that other, and did faint through feare

  To taste th’vntryed dint of deadly steele;

  But yet his Lady did so well him cheare,

  That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele;

  So bent his speare, and spurnd his horse with yron heele.

  35 But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce,

  And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare

  Through vainely crossed shield he quite did pierce,

  And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare,

  Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare:

  Yet so great was the puissance of his push,

  That from his saddle quite he did him beare:

  He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush,

  And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.

  36 Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed,

  He to him lept, in mind to reaue his life,

  And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed

  Of him, that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife;

  Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife,

  In peace may passen ouer Lethe lake,

  When mourning altars purgd with enemies life,

  The blacke infernall Furies doen aslake:

  Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.

  37 Therewith in haste his helmet gan vnlace,

  Till Vna cride, O hold that heauie hand,

  Deare Sir, what euer that thou be in place:

  Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand

  Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand:

  For he is one the truest knight aliue,

  Though conquered now he lie on lowly land,

  And whilest him fortune fauourd, faire did thriue

  In bloudie field: therefore of life him not depriue.

  38 Her piteous words might not abate his rage,

  But rudely rending vp his helmet, would

  Haue slaine him straight: but when he sees his age,

  And hoarie head of Archimago old,

  His hastie hand he doth amazed hold,

  And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight:

  For that old man well knew he, though vntold,

  In charmes and magicke to haue wondrous might,

  Ne euer wont in field, ne in round lists to fight.

  39 And said, Why Archimago, lucklesse syre,

  What doe I see? what hard mishap is this,

  That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre?

  Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,

  In stead of foe to wound my friend amis?

  He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay,

  And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his

  The cloud of death did sit. Which doen away,

  He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay.

  40 But to the virgin comes, who all this while

  Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see

  By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,

  For so misfeigning her true knight to bee;

  Yet is she now in more perplexitie,

  Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,

  From whom her booteth not at all to flie;

  Who by her cleanly garment catching hold,

  Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold.

  41 But her fierce seruant full of kingly awe

  And high disdaine, whenas his soueraine Dame

  So rudely handled by her foe he sawe,

  With gaping iawes full greedy at him came,

  And ramping on his shield, did weene the same

  Haue reft away with his sharpe rending clawes:

  But he was stout, and lust did now inflame

  His corage more, that from his griping pawes

  He hath his shield redeem’d, and foorth his swerd he drawes.

  42 O then too weake and feeble was the forse

  Of saluage beast, his puissance to withstand:

  For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,

  As euer wielded speare in warlike hand,

  And feates of armes did wisely vnderstand.

  Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest

  With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,

  And launcht his Lordly hart: with death opprest

  He roar’d aloud, whiles Me forsooke his stubborne brest

  43 Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid

  From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?

  Her faithfull gard remou’d, her hope dismaid,

  Her selfe a yeelded pray to saue or spill.

  He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill,

  With foule reproches, and disdainfull spight

  Her vildly entertaines, and will or nill,

  Beares her away vpon his courser light:

  Her prayers nought preuaile, his rage is more of might.

  44 And all the way, with great lamenting paine,

  And piteous plaints she filleth his dull eares
,

  That stony hart could riuen haue in twaine,

  And all the way she wets with flowing teares:

  But he enrag’d with rancor, nothing heares.

  Her seruile beast yet would not leaue her so,

  But followes her farre off, ne ought he feares,

  To be partaker of her wandring woe,

  More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.

  CANTO IV

  To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa

  guides the faithfull knight,

  Where brothers death to wreak Sansioy

  doth chalenge him to fight.

  1 Young knight, what euer that dost armes professe,

  And through long labours huntest after fame,

  Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse,

  In choice, and change of thy deare loued Dame,

  Least thou of her beleeue too lightly blame,

  And rash misweening doe thy hart remoue:

  For vnto knight there is no greater shame,

  Then lightnesse and inconstancie in loue;

  That doth this Redcrosse knights ensample plainly proue.

  2 Who after that he had faire Vna lorne,

  Through light misdeeming of her loialtie,

  And false Duessa in her sted had borne,

  Called Fidess’, and so supposd to bee;

  Long with her traueild, till at last they see

  A goodly building, brauely garnished,

  The house of mightie Prince it seemd to bee:

  And towards it a broad high way that led,

  All bare through peoples feet, which thither traueiled.

  3 Great troupes of people traueild thitherward

  Both day and night, of each degree and place,

  But few returned, hauing scaped hard,

  With balefull beggerie, or foule disgrace,

  Which euer after in most wretched case,

  Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay.

  Thither Duessa bad him bend his pace:

  For she is wearie of the toilesome way,

  And also nigh consumed is the lingring day.

  4 A stately Pallace built of squared bricke,

  Which cunningly was without morter laid,

  Whose wals were high, but nothing strong, nor thick,

  And golden foile all ouer them displaid.

  That purest skye with brightnesse they dismaid:

  High lifted vp were many loftie towres,

  And goodly galleries farre ouer laid,

  Full of faire windowes, and delightfull bowres;

  And on the top a Diall told the timely howres.

  5 It was a goodly heape for to behould,

  And spake the praises of the workmans wit;

  But full great pittie, that so faire a mould

  Did on so weake foundation euer sit:

  For on a sandie hill, that still did flit,

  And fall away, it mounted was full hie,