The Faerie Queene

by Edmund Spenser

  Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound,

  Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:

  For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.

  But when Briana saw that drery stound,

  There where she stood vppon the Castle wall,

  She deem’d him sure to haue bene dead on ground,

  And made such piteous mourning therewithall,

  That from the battlements she ready seem’d to fall.

  35 Nathlesse at length him selfe he did vpreare

  In. lustlesse wise, as if against his will,

  Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,

  And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill

  Of his late fall, a while he rested still:

  But when he saw his foe before in vew,

  He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill

  Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,

  To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

  36 There then began a fearefull cruell fray

  Betwixt them two, for maystery of might.

  For both were wondrous practicke in that play,

  And passing well expert in single fight,

  And both inflam’d with furious despight:

  Which as it still encreast, so still increast

  Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;

  Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,

  Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast

  37 Thus long they trac’d and trauerst to and fro,

  And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make

  Into the life of his malignant foe;

  They hew’d their helmes, and plates asunder brake,

  As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake

  Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood,

  That at the last like to a purple lake

  Of bloudy gore congeal’d about them stood,

  Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood.

  38 At length it chaunst, that both their hands on hie,

  At once did heaue, with all their powre and might,

  Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie,

  And proue the finall fortune of the fight:

  But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight,

  And nimbler handed, then his enemie,

  Preuented him before his stroke could light,

  And on the helmet smote him formerlie,

  That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie.

  39 And ere he could recouer foot againe,

  He following that faire aduantage fast,

  His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,

  That him vpon the ground he groueling cast;

  And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast

  His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way.

  Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast,

  Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay,

  But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.

  40 With that his mortall hand a while he stayd,

  And hauing somewhat calm’d his wrathfull heat

  With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;

  And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,

  That menaced me from the field to beat,

  Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne,

  Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,

  But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne,

  The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne.

  41 For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,

  That court’sie doth as well as armes professe,

  How euer strong and fortunate in fight,

  Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.

  In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,

  Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:

  All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse,

  Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;

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

  42 Who will not mercie vnto others shew,

  How can he mercy euer hope to haue?

  To pay each with his owne is right and dew.

  Yet since ye mercie now doe need to craue,

  I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue;

  With these conditions, which I will propound:

  First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue

  Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground;

  Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound.

  43 The wretched man, that all this while did dwell

  In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,

  And promist to performe his precept well,

  And whatsoeuer else he would requere.

  So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare

  By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,

  To take Briana for his louing fere,

  Withouten dowre or composition;

  But to release his former foule condition.

  44 All which accepting, and with faithfull oth

  Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,

  He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth,

  And swore to him true fealtie for aye.

  Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay

  The sad Briana, which all this beheld:

  Who comming forth yet full of late affray,

  Sir Calidore vpcheard, and to her teld

  All this accord, to which he Crudor had compeld.

  45 Whereof she now more glad, then sory earst,

  All ouercome with infinite affect,

  For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst

  Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,

  Before his feet her selfe she did proiect,

  And him adoring as her liues deare Lord,

  With all due thankes, and dutifull respect,

  Her selfe acknowledg’d bound for that accord,

  By which he had to her both life and loue restord.

  46 So all returning to the Castle glad,

  Most ioyfully she them did entertaine,

  Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,

  To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,

  By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:

  And after all, vnto Sir Calidore

  She freely gaue that Castle for his paine,

  And her selfe bound to him for euermore;

  So wondrously now chaung’d, from that she was afore.

  47 But Calidore himselfe would not retaine

  Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,

  But gaue them straight vnto that Squire againe,

  Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,

  And to his damzell as their rightfull meed,

  For recompence of all their former wrong:

  There he remaind with them right well agreed,

  Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,

  And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

  CANTO II

  Calidore sees young Tristram slay

  A proud discourteous knight,

  He makes him Squire, and of him homes

  his state and present plight.

  1 What vertue is so fitting for a knight,

  Or for a Ladie, whom a knight should loue,

  As Curtesie, to beare themselues aright

  To all of each degree, as doth behoue?

  For whether they be placed high aboue,

  Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know

  Their good, that none them rightly may reproue

  Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:

  Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

  2 Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend:

  For some so goodly gracious are by kind,

  That euery action doth them much commend,

  And in the eyes of men great liking fi
nd;

  Which others, that haue greater skill in mind,

  Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine.

  For euerie thing, to which one is indin’d,

  Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:

  Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine.

  3 That well in courteous Calidore appeares,

  Whose euery act and deed, that he did say,

  Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes,

  And both the eares did steale the hart away.

  He now againe is on his former way,

  To follow his first quest, when as he spyde

  A tall young man from thence not farre away,

  Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,

  Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.

  4 And them beside a Ladie faire he saw,

  Standing alone on foot, in foule array:

  To whom himselfe he hastily did draw,

  To weet the cause of so vncomely fray,

  And to depart them, if so be he may.

  But ere he came in place, that youth had kild

  That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;

  Which when he saw, his hart was inly child

  With great amazement, & his thought with wonder fild.

  5 Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee

  A goodly youth of amiable grace,

  Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see

  Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face

  That sure he deem’d him borne of noble race.

  All in a woodmans iacket he was clad

  Of Lincolne greene, belayd with siluer lace;

  And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,

  And by his side his hunters home he hanging had.

  6 Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,

  Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part,

  As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;

  In his right hand he held a trembling dart,

  Whose fellow he before had sent apart;

  And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,

  With which he wont to launch the saluage hart

  Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare

  That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare.

  7 Whom Calidore a while well hauing vewed,

  At length bespake; what meanes this, gentle swaine?

  Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed

  In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,

  By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?

  Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken

  The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,

  Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,

  So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

  8 For not I him as this his Ladie here

  May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,

  Ne surely thus vnarm’d I likely were;

  But he me first, through pride and puissance strong

  Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.

  Perdie great blame, (then said Sir Calidore)

  For armed knight a wight vnarm’d to wrong.

  But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore

  Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne vprore.

  9 That shall I sooth (said he) to you declare.

  I whose vnryper yeares are yet vnfit

  For thing of weight, or worke of greater care,

  Doe spend my dayes, and bend my carelesse wit

  To saluage chace, where I thereon may hit

  In all this forrest, and wyld wooddie raine:

  Where, as this day I was enraunging it,

  I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine,

  Together with his Ladie, passing on the plaine.

  10 The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,

  And this his Ladie, (that him ill became,)

  On her faire feet by his horse side did pas

  Through thicke and thin, vnfit for any Dame.

  Yet not content, more to increase his shame,

  When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,

  He with his speare, that was to him great blame,

  Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe,

  Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe.

  11 Which when I saw, as they me passed by,

  Much was I moued in indignant mind,

  And gan to blame him for such cruelty

  Towards a Ladie, whom with vsage kind

  He rather should haue taken vp behind.

  Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,

  Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find,

  And me in lieu thereof reuil’d againe,

  Threatning to chastize me, as doth t’a chyld pertaine.

  12 Which I no lesse disdayning, backe returned

  His scornefull taunts vnto his teeth againe,

  That he streight way with haughtie choler burned,

  And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine;

  Which I enforst to beare though to my paine,

  Cast to requite, and with a slender dart,

  Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,

  Strooke him, as seemeth, vnderneath the hart,

  That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.

  13 Much did Sir Calidore admyre his speach

  Tempred so well, but more admyr’d the stroke

  That through the mayles had made so strong a breach

  Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke

  His wrath on him, that first occasion broke.

  Yet rested not, but further gan inquire

  Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke,

  Were soothly so, and that th’vnrighteous ire

  Of her owne knight, had giuen him his owne due hire.

  14 Of all which, when as she could nought deny,

  But cleard that stripling of th’imputed blame,

  Sayd then Sir Calidore; neither will I

  Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:

  For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame,

  And what he did, he did him selfe to saue:

  Against bodi which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.

  For knights and all men this by nature haue,

  Towards all womenkind them kindly to behaue.

  15 But sith that he is gone irreuocable,

  Please it you Ladie, to vs to aread,

  What cause could make him so dishonourable,

  To driue you so on foot vnfit to tread,

  And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead?

  Certes Sir knight (sayd she) full loth I were

  To rayse a lyuing blame against the dead:

  But since it me concernes, my selfe to clere,

  I will the truth discouer, as it chaunst whylere.

  16 This day, as he and I together roade

  Vpon our way, to which we weren bent,

  We chaunst to come foreby a couert glade

  Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent

  Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment,

  Of their franke loues, free from all gealous spyes:

  Faire was the Ladie sure, that mote content

  An hart, not carried with too curious eyes,

  And vnto him did shew all louely courtesyes.

  17 Whom when my knight did see so louely faire,

  He inly gan her louer to enuy,

  And wish, that he part of his spoyle might share.

  Whereto when as my presence he did spy

  To be a let, he bad me by and by

  For to alight: but when as I was loth,

  My loues owne par t to leaue so suddenly,

  He with strong hand down from his steed me throw’th,

  And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight

  [go’th.

 
; 18 Vnarm’d all was the knight, as then more meete

  For Ladies seruice, and for loues delight,

  Then fearing any foeman there to meete:

  Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight

  Himselfe to yeeld his loue, or else to fight.

  Whereat the other starting vp dismayd,

  Yet boldly answer’d, as he rightly might;

  To leaue his loue he should be ill apayd,

  In which he had good right gaynst all, that it gainesayd.

  19 Yet since he was not presently in plight

  Her to defend, or his to iustifie,

  He him requested, as he was a knight,

  To lend him day his better right to trie,

  Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,

  Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot,

  Ne time would giue, nor any termes aby,

  But at him flew, and with his speare him smot;

  From which to thinke to saue himselfe, it booted not.

  20 Meanewhile his Ladie, which this outrage saw,

  Whilest they together for the quarrey stroue,

  Into the couert did her selfe withdraw,

  And closely hid her selfe within the groue.

  My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger droue

  And left sore wounded: but when her he mist,

  He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan roue

  And range through all the wood, where so he wist

  She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list

  21 But when as her he by no meanes could find,

  After long search and chauff, he turned backe

  Vnto the place, where me he left behind:

  There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke

  Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke

  To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong.

  Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe,

  Stroue to appease him, and perswaded long:

  But still his passion grew more violent and strong.

  22 Then as it were t’auenge his wrath on mee,

  When forward we should fare, he flat refused

  To take me vp (as this young man did see)

  Vpon his steed, for no iust cause accused,

  But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,

  Pounching me with the butt end of his speare,

  In vaine complayning, to be so abused.

  For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,

  But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare.

  23 So passed we, till this young man vs met,

  And being moou’d with pittie of my plight,

  Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret:

  Whereof befell, what now is in your sight.

  Now sure (then said Sir Calidore) and right

  Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault: