Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

Did privily put coles unto his secret fire.

  XII

  By sundry meanes thereto she prickt him forth, 100

  Now with remembrance of those spightfull speaches,

  Now with opinion of his owne more worth,

  Now with recounting of like former breaches

  Made in their friendship, as that hag him teaches:

  And ever when his passion is allayd, 105

  She it revives and new occasion reaches:

  That, on a time, as they together way’d,

  He made him open chalenge, and thus boldly sayd:

  XIII

  ‘Too boastfull Blandamour, too long I beare

  The open wrongs thou doest me day by day: 110

  Well know’st thou, when we friendship first did sweare,

  The covenant was, that every spoyle or pray

  Should equally be shard betwixt us tway:

  Where is my part, then, of this ladie bright,

  Whom to thy selfe thou takest quite away? 115

  Render therefore therein to me my right,

  Or answere for thy wrong, as shall fall out in fight.’

  XIV

  Exceeding wroth thereat was Blandamour,

  And gan this bitter answere to him make:

  ‘Too foolish Paridell, that fayrest floure 120

  Wouldst gather faine, and yet no paines wouldst take!

  But not so easie will I her forsake;

  This hand her wonne, this hand shall her defend.’

  With that they gan their shivering speares to shake,

  And deadly points at eithers breast to bend, 125

  Forgetfull each to have bene ever others frend.

  XV

  Their firie steedes with so untamed forse

  Did beare them both to fell avenges end,

  That both their speares, with pitilesse remorse,

  Through shield and mayle and haberjeon did wend, 130

  And in their flesh a griesly passage rend,

  That with the furie of their owne affret

  Each other, horse and man, to ground did send;

  Where lying still awhile, both did forget

  The perilous present stownd in which their lives were set. 135

  XVI

  As when two warlike brigandines at sea,

  With murdrous weapons arm’d to cruell fight,

  Doe meete together on the watry lea,

  They stemme ech other with so fell despight,

  That with the shocke of their owne heed-lesse might, 140

  Their wooden ribs are shaken nigh a sonder;

  They which from shore behold the dreadfull sight

  Of flashing fire, and heare the ordenance thonder,

  Do greatly stand amaz’d at such unwonted wonder.

  XVII

  At length they both upstarted in amaze, 145

  As men awaked rashly out of dreme,

  And round about themselves a while did gaze;

  Till, seeing her that Florimell did seme,

  In doubt to whom she victorie should deeme,

  Therewith their dulled sprights they edgd anew, 150

  And drawing both their swords with rage extreme,

  Like two mad mastiffes each on other flew,

  And shields did share, and mailes did rash, and helmes did hew.

  XVIII

  So furiously each other did assayle,

  As if their soules they would attonce have rent 155

  Out of their brests, that streames of bloud did rayle

  Adowne, as if their springs of life were spent;

  That all the ground with purple bloud was sprent,

  And all their armours staynd with bloudie gore;

  Yet scarcely once to breath would they relent, 160

  So mortall was their malice and so sore

  Become of fayned friendship which they vow’d afore.

  XIX

  And that which is for ladies most besitting,

  To stint all strife, and foster friendly peace,

  Was from those dames so farre and so unfitting, 165

  As that, in stead of praying them surcease,

  They did much more their cruelty encrease;

  Bidding them fight for honour of their love,

  And rather die then ladies cause release.

  With which vaine termes so much they did them move, 170

  That both resolv’d the last extremities to prove.

  XX

  There they, I weene, would fight untill this day,

  Had not a squire, even he the Squire of Dames,

  By great adventure travelled that way;

  Who seeing both bent to so bloudy games, 175

  And both of old well knowing by their names,

  Drew nigh, to weete the cause of their debate:

  And first laide on those ladies thousand blames,

  That did not seeke t’ appease their deadly hate,

  But gazed on their harmes, not pittying their estate. 180

  XXI

  And then those knights he humbly did beseech

  To stay their hands, till he a while had spoken:

  Who lookt a little up at that his speech,

  Yet would not let their battell so be broken,

  Both greedie fiers on other to be wroken. 185

  Yet he to them so earnestly did call,

  And them conjur’d by some well knowen token,

  That they at last their wrothfull hands let fall,

  Content to heare him speake, and glad to rest withall.

  XXII

  First he desir’d their cause of strife to see: 190

  They said, it was for love of Florimell.

  ‘Ah! gentle knights,’ quoth he, ‘how may that bee,

  And she so farre astray, as none can tell?’

  ‘Fond squire,’ full angry then sayd Paridell,

  ‘Seest not the ladie there before thy face?’ 195

  He looked backe, and her advizing well,

  Weend, as he said, by that her outward grace,

  That fayrest Florimell was present there in place.

  XXIII

  Glad man was he to see that joyous sight,

  For none alive but joy’d in Florimell, 200

  And lowly to her lowting, thus behight:

  ‘Fayrest of faire, that fairenesse doest excell,

  This happie day I have to greete you well,

  In which you safe I see, whom thousand late

  Misdoubted lost through mischiefe that befell; 205

  Long may you live in health and happie state.’

  She litle answer’d him, but lightly did aggrate.

  XXIV

  Then turning to those knights, he gan a new:

  ‘And you, Sir Blandamour and Paridell,

  That for this ladie present in your vew 210

  Have rays’d this cruell warre and outrage fell,

  Certes, me seemes, bene not advised well,

  But rather ought in friendship for her sake

  To joyne your force, their forces to repell

  That seeke perforce her from you both to take, 215

  And of your gotten spoyle their owne triumph to make.’

  XXV

  Thereat Sir Blandamour, with countenance sterne,

  All full of wrath, thus fiercely him bespake:

  ‘A read, thou squire, that I the man may learne,

  That dare fro me thinke Florimell to take.’ 220

  ‘Not one,’ quoth he, ‘but many doe partake

  Herein, as thus: It lately so befell,

  That Satyran a girdle did uptake

  Well knowne to appertaine to Florimell,

  Which for her sake he wore, as him beseemed well. 225

  XXVI

  ‘But when as she her selfe was lost and gone,

  Full many knights, that loved her like deare,

  Thereat did greatly grudge, that he alone

  That lost faire ladies ornament should weare,

  And gan therefore clos
e spight to him to beare: 230

  Which he to shun, and stop vile envies sting,

  Hath lately caus’d to be proclaim’d each where

  A solemne feast, with publike turneying,

  To which all knights with them their ladies are to bring.

  XXVII

  ‘And of them all she that is fayrest found 235

  Shall have that golden girdle for reward,

  And of those knights who is most stout on ground

  Shall to that fairest ladie be prefard.

  Since therefore she her selfe is now your ward,

  To you that ornament of hers pertaines 240

  Against all those that chalenge it to gard,

  And save her honour with your ventrous paines;

  That shall you win more glory then ye here find gaines.’

  XXVIII

  When they the reason of his words had hard,

  They gan abate the rancour of their rage, 245

  And with their honours and their loves regard

  The furious flames of malice to asswage.

  Tho each to other did his faith engage,

  Like faithfull friends thenceforth to joyne in one

  With all their force, and battell strong to wage 250

  Gainst all those knights, as their professed fone,

  That chaleng’d ought in Florimell, save they alone.

  XXIX

  So well accorded forth they rode together

  In friendly sort, that lasted but a while,

  And of all old dislikes they made faire weather; 255

  Yet all was forg’d and spred with golden foyle;

  That under it hidde hate and hollow guyle.

  Ne certes can that friendship long endure,

  How ever gay and goodly be the style,

  That doth ill cause or evill end enure: 260

  For vertue is the band that bindeth harts most sure.

  XXX

  Thus as they marched all in close disguise

  Of fayned love, they chaunst to overtake

  Two knights, that lincked rode in lovely wise,

  As if they secret counsels did partake; 265

  And each not farre behinde him had his make,

  To weete, two ladies of most goodly hew,

  That twixt themselves did gentle purpose make,

  Unmindfull both of that discordfull crew,

  The which with speedie pace did after them pursew. 270

  XXXI

  Who, as they now approched nigh at hand,

  Deeming them doughtie as they did appeare,

  They sent that squire afore, to understand

  What mote they be: who, viewing them more neare,

  Returned readie newes, that those same weare 275

  Two of the prowest knights in Faery Lond,

  And those two ladies their two lovers deare;

  Couragious Cambell, and stout Triamond,

  With Canacee and Cambine linckt in lovely bond.

  XXXII

  Whylome, as antique stories tellen us, 280

  Those two were foes the fellonest on ground,

  And battell made the dreddest daungerous

  That ever shrilling trumpet did resound;

  Though now their acts be no where to be found,

  As that renowmed poet them compyled 285

  With warlike numbers and heroicke sound,

  Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,

  On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

  XXXIII

  But wicked Time, that all good thoughts doth waste,

  And workes of noblest wits to nought out weare, 290

  That famous moniment hath quite defaste,

  And robd the world of threasure endlesse deare,

  The which mote have enriched all us heare.

  O cursed Eld, the cankerworme of writs!

  How may these rimes, so rude as doth appeare, 295

  Hope to endure, sith workes of heavenly wits

  Are quite devourd, and brought to nought by little bits?

  XXXIV

  Then pardon, O most sacred happie spirit,

  That I thy labours lost may thus revive,

  And steale from thee the meede of thy due merit, 300

  That none durst ever whilest thou wast alive,

  And, being dead, in vaine yet many strive:

  Ne dare I like, but through infusion sweete

  Of thine owne spirit, which doth in me survive,

  I follow here the footing of thy feete, 305

  That with thy meaning so I may the rather meete.

  XXXV

  Cambelloes sister was fayre Canacee,

  That was the learnedst ladie in her dayes,

  Well seene in everie science that mote bee,

  And every secret worke of Natures wayes, 310

  In wittie riddles, and in wise soothsayes,

  In power of herbes, and tunes of beasts and burds;

  And, that augmented all her other prayse,

  She modest was in all her deedes and words,

  And wondrous chast of life, yet lov’d of knights and lords. 315

  XXXVI

  Full many lords and many knights her loved,

  Yet she to none of them her liking lent,

  Ne ever was with fond affection moved,

  But rul’d her thoughts with goodly governement,

  For dread of blame and honours blemishment; 320

  And eke unto her lookes a law she made,

  That none of them once out of order went,

  But, like to warie centonels well stayd,

  Still watcht on every side, of secret foes affrayd.

  XXXVII

  So much the more as she refusd to love, 325

  So much the more she loved was and sought,

  That oftentimes unquiet strife did move

  Amongst her lovers, and great quarrels wrought,

  That oft for her in bloudie armes they fought.

  Which whenas Cambell, that was stout and wise, 330

  Perceiv’d would breede great mischiefe, he bethought

  How to prevent the perill that mote rise,

  And turne both him and her to honour in this wise.

  XXXVIII

  One day, when all that troupe of warlike wooers

  Assembled were, to weet whose she should bee, 335

  All mightie men and dreadfull derring dooers,

  (The harder it to make them well agree)

  Amongst them all this end he did decree;

  That of them all, which love to her did make,

  They by consent should chose the stoutest three, 340

  That with himselfe should combat for her sake,

  And of them all the victour should his sister take.

  XXXIX

  Bold was the chalenge, as himselfe was bold,

  And courage full of haughtie hardiment,

  Approved oft in perils manifold, 345

  Which he atchiev’d to his great ornament:

  But yet his sisters skill unto him lent

  Most confidence and hope of happie speed,

  Conceived by a ring which she him sent,

  That, mongst the manie vertues which we reed, 350

  Had power to staunch al wounds that mortally did bleed.

  XL

  Well was that rings great vertue knowen to all,

  That dread thereof, and his redoubted might,

  Did all that youthly rout so much appall,

  That none of them durst undertake the fight; 355

  More wise they weend to make of love delight,

  Then life to hazard for faire ladies looke,

  And yet uncertaine by such outward sight,

  Though for her sake they all that perill tooke,

  Whether she would them love, or in her liking brooke. 360

  XLI

  Amongst those knights there were three brethren bold,

  Three bolder brethren never were yborne,

  Borne of one mother in on
e happie mold,

  Borne at one burden in one happie morne;

  Thrise happie mother, and thrise happie morne, 365

  That bore three such, three such not to be fond!

  Her name was Agape, whose children werne

  All three as one; the first hight Priamond,

  The second Dyamond, the youngest Triamond.

  XLII

  Stout Priamond, but not so strong to strike, 370

  Strong Diamond, but not so stout a knight,

  But Triamond was stout and strong alike:

  On horsebacke used Triamond to fight,

  And Priamond on foote had more delight,

  But horse and foote knew Diamond to wield: 375

  With curtaxe used Diamond to smite,

  And Triamond to handle speare and shield,

  But speare and curtaxe both usd Priamond in field.

  XLIII

  These three did love each other dearely well,

  And with so firme affection were allyde, 380

  As if but one soule in them all did dwell,

  Which did her powre into three parts divyde;

  Like three faire branches budding farre and wide,

  That from one roote deriv’d their vitall sap:

  And like that roote that doth her life divide 385

  Their mother was, and had full blessed hap,

  These three so noble babes to bring forth at one clap.

  XLIV

  Their mother was a Fay, and had the skill

  Of secret things, and all the powres of nature,

  Which she by art could use unto her will, 390

  And to her service bind each living creature,

  Through secret understanding of their feature.

  Thereto she was right faire, when so her face

  She list discover, and of goodly stature;

  But she, as Fayes are wont, in privie place 395

  Did spend her dayes, and lov’d in forests wyld to space.

  XLV

  There on a day a noble youthly knight,

  Seeking adventures in the salvage wood,

  Did by great fortune get of her the sight,

  As she sate carelesse by a cristall flood, 400

  Combing her golden lockes, as seemd her good;

  And unawares upon her laying hold,

  That strove in vaine him long to have withstood,

  Oppressed her, and there (as it is told)

  Got these three lovely babes, that prov’d three champions bold. 405

  XLVI

  Which she with her long fostred in that wood,

  Till that to ripenesse of mans state they grew:

  Then, shewing forth signes of their fathers blood,

  They loved armes, and knighthood did ensew,

  Seeking adventures, where they anie knew. 410

  Which when their mother saw, she gan to dout

  Their safetie, least by searching daungers new,

  And rash provoking perils all about,

  Their days mote be abridged through their corage stout.