Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Whenas by chaunce he met uppon a day

  With Artegall, returning yet halfe sad

  From his late conquest which he gotten had. 95

  Who whenas each of other had a sight,

  They knew them selves, and both their persons rad:

  When Calidore thus first: ‘Haile, noblest knight

  Of all this day on ground that breathen living spright!

  V

  ‘Now tell, if please you, of the good successe 100

  Which ye have had in your late enterprize.’

  To whom Sir Artegall gan to expresse

  His whole exploite and valorous emprize,

  In order as it did to him arize.

  ‘Now, happy man!’ sayd then Sir Calidore, 105

  ‘Which have, so goodly as ye can devize,

  Atchiev’d so hard a quest as few before;

  That shall you most renowmed make for evermore.

  VI

  ‘But where ye ended have, now I begin

  To tread an endlesse trace, withouten guyde, 110

  Or good direction how to enter in,

  Or how to issue forth in waies untryde,

  In perils strange, in labours long and wide,

  In which although good fortune me befall,

  Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.’ 115

  ‘What is that quest,’ quoth then Sir Artegall,

  ‘That you into such perils presently doth call?’

  VII

  ‘The Blattant Beast,’ quoth he, ‘I doe pursew,

  And through the world incessantly doe chase,

  Till I him overtake, or else subdew: 120

  Yet know I not or how or in what place

  To find him out, yet still I forward trace.’

  ‘What is that Blattant Beast?’ then he replide.

  ‘It is a monster bred of hellishe race,’

  Then answerd he, ‘which often hath annoyd 125

  Good knights and ladies true, and many else destroyd.

  VIII

  ‘Of Cerberus whilome he was begot,

  And fell Chimæra in her darkesome den,

  Through fowle commixture of his filthy blot;

  Where he was fostred long in Stygian fen, 130

  Till he to perfect ripenesse grew, and then

  Into this wicked world he forth was sent,

  To be the plague and scourge of wretched men:

  Whom with vile tongue and venemous intent

  He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment.’ 135

  IX

  ‘Then, since the Salvage Island I did leave,’

  Sayd Artegall, ‘I such a beast did see,

  The which did seeme a thousand tongues to have,

  That all in spight and malice did agree,

  With which he bayd and loudly barkt at mee, 140

  As if that he attonce would me devoure.

  But I, that knew my selfe from perill free,

  Did nought regard his malice nor his powre,

  But he the more his wicked poyson forth did poure.’

  X

  ‘That surely is that beast,’ saide Calidore, 145

  ‘Which I pursue, of whom I am right glad

  To heare these tidings, which of none afore

  Through all my weary travell I have had:

  Yet now some hope your words unto me add.’

  ‘Now God you speed,’ quoth then Sir Artegall, 150

  ‘And keepe your body from the daunger drad:

  For ye have much adoe to deale withall.’

  So both tooke goodly leave, and parted severall.

  XI

  Sir Calidore thence travelled not long,

  When as by chaunce a comely squire he found, 155

  That thorough some more mighty enemies wrong

  Both hand and foote unto a tree was bound:

  Who, seeing him from farre, with piteous sound

  Of his shrill cries him called to his aide.

  To whom approching, in that painefull stound 160

  When he him saw, for no demaunds he staide,

  But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him saide:

  XII

  ‘Unhappy squire! what hard mishap thee brought

  Into this bay of perill and disgrace?

  What cruell hand thy wretched thraldome wrought, 165

  And thee captyved in this shamefull place?’

  To whom he answerd thus: ‘My haplesse case

  Is not occasiond through my misdesert,

  But through misfortune, which did me abase

  Unto this shame, and my young hope subvert, 170

  Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well expert.

  XIII

  ‘Not farre from hence, uppon yond rocky hill,

  Hard by a streight there stands a castle strong,

  Which doth observe a custome lewd and ill,

  And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong: 175

  For may no knight nor lady passe along

  That way, (and yet they needs must passe that way,

  By reason of the streight, and rocks among,)

  But they that ladies lockes doe shave away,

  And that knights berd for toll, which they for passage pay.’ 180

  XIV

  ‘A shamefull use as ever I did heare,’

  Sayd Calidore, ‘and to be overthrowne.

  But by what meanes did they at first it reare,

  And for what cause? tell, if thou have it knowne.’

  Sayd then that squire: ‘The lady which doth owne 185

  This castle is by name Briana hight;

  Then which a prouder lady liveth none:

  She long time hath deare lov’d a doughty knight,

  And sought to win his love by all the meanes she might.

  XV

  ‘His name is Crudor; who, through high disdaine 190

  And proud despight of his selfe pleasing mynd,

  Refused hath to yeeld her love againe,

  Untill a mantle she for him doe fynd,

  With beards of knights and locks of ladies lynd.

  Which to provide, she hath this castle dight, 195

  And therein hath a seneschall assynd,

  Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might,

  Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight.

  XVI

  ‘He this same day, as I that way did come

  With a faire damzell, my beloved deare, 200

  In execution of her lawlesse doome,

  Did set uppon us flying both for feare:

  For little bootes against him hand to reare.

  Me first he tooke, unhable to withstond,

  And whiles he her pursued every where, 205

  Till his returne unto this tree he bond:

  Ne wote I surely, whether her he yet have fond.’

  XVII

  Thus whiles they spake, they heard a ruefull shrieke

  Of one loud crying, which they streight way ghest

  That it was she, the which for helpe did seeke. 210

  Tho looking up unto the cry to lest,

  They saw that carle from farre, with hand unblest

  Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare,

  That all her garments from her snowy brest,

  And from her head her lockes he nigh did teare, 215

  Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for feare.

  XVIII

  Which Laynous sight when Calidore beheld,

  Eftsoones he loosd that squire, and so him left,

  With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld,

  For to pursue that villaine, which had reft 220

  That piteous spoile by so injurious theft.

  Whom overtaking, loude to him he cryde:

  ‘Leave, faytor, quickely that misgotten weft

  To him that hath it better justifyde,

  And turne thee soone to him of whom thou art defyde.’ 225

  XIX

  Who hearkning to that v
oice, him selfe upreard,

  And seeing him so fiercely towardes make,

  Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard,

  But rather more enrag’d for those words sake;

  And with sterne count’naunce thus unto him spake: 230

  ‘Art thou the caytive that defyest me,

  And for this mayd, whose party thou doest take,

  Wilt give thy beard, though it but little bee?

  Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free.’

  XX

  With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd 235

  On hideous strokes with most importune might,

  That oft he made him stagger as unstayd,

  And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight.

  But Calidore, that was well skild in fight,

  Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar’d, 240

  Lying in waite, how him he damadge might.

  But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward,

  He greater grew, and gan to drive at him more hard.

  XXI

  Like as a water streame, whose swelling sourse

  Shall drive a mill, within strong bancks is pent, 245

  And long restrayned of his ready course;

  So soone as passage is unto him lent,

  Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent:

  Such was the fury of Sir Calidore,

  When once he felt his foeman to relent; 250

  He fiercely him pursu’d, and pressed sore,

  Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more.

  XXII

  The heavy burden of whose dreadfull might

  When as the carle no longer could sustaine,

  His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight 255

  Toward the castle, where, if need constraine,

  His hope of refuge used to remaine.

  Whom Calidore perceiving fast to flie,

  He him pursu’d and chaced through the plaine,

  That he for dread of death gan loude to crie 260

  Unto the ward, to open to him hastilie.

  XXIII

  They from the wall him seeing so aghast,

  The gate soone opened to receive him in,

  But Calidore did follow him so fast,

  That even in the porch he him did win, 265

  And cleft his head asunder to his chin.

  The carkasse, tumbling downe within the dore,

  Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,

  That it could not be shut, whilest Calidore

  Did enter in, and slew the porter on the flore. 270

  XXIV

  With that the rest, the which the castle kept,

  About him flockt, and hard at him did lay;

  But he them all from him full lightly swept,

  As doth a steare, in heat of sommers day,

  With his long taile the bryzes brush away. 275

  Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,

  Where of the lady selfe in sad dismay

  He was ymett, who with uncomely shame

  Gan him salute, and fowle upbrayd with faulty blame.

  XXV

  ‘False traytor knight,’ sayd she, ‘no knight at all, 280

  But scorne of armes, that hast with guilty hand

  Murdred my men, and slaine my seneschall;

  Now comest thou to rob my house unmand,

  And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand?

  Yet doubt thou not, but that some better knight 285

  Then thou, that shall thy treason understand,

  Will it avenge, and pay thee with thy right:

  And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.’

  XXVI

  Much was the knight abashed at that word;

  Yet answerd thus: ‘Not unto me the shame, 290

  But to the shamefull doer it afford.

  Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame

  To punish those that doe deserve the same;

  But they that breake bands of civilitie,

  And wicked customes make, those doe defame 295

  Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.

  No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.

  XXVII

  ‘Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe

  This evill manner which ye here maintaine,

  And doe in stead thereof mild curt’sie showe 300

  To all that passe. That shall you glory gaine

  More then his love, which thus ye seeke t’ obtaine.’

  Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde:

  ‘Vile recreant! know that I doe much disdaine

  Thy courteous lore, that doest my love deride, 305

  Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde.’

  XXVIII

  ‘To take defiaunce at a ladies word,’

  Quoth he, ‘I hold it no indignity;

  But were he here, that would it with his sword

  Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.’ 310

  ‘Cowherd,’ quoth she, ‘were not that thou wouldst fly

  Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place.’

  ‘If I doe so,’ sayd he, ‘then liberty

  I leave to you, for aye me to disgrace

  With all those shames that erst ye spake me to deface.’ 315

  XXIX

  With that a dwarfe she cald to her in hast,

  And taking from her hand a ring of gould,

  A privy token which betweene them past,

  Bad him to flie with all the speed he could

  To Crudor, and desire him that he would 320

  Vouchsafe to reskue her against a knight,

  Who through strong powre had now her self in hould,

  Having late slaine her seneschall in fight,

  And all her people murdred with outragious might.

  XXX

  The dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night; 325

  But Calidore did with her there abyde

  The comming of that so much threatned knight;

  Where that discourteous dame with scornfull pryde

  And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,

  That yron heart it hardly could sustaine: 330

  Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,

  Did well endure her womanish disdaine,

  And did him selfe from fraile impatience refraine.

  XXXI

  The morrow next, before the lampe of light

  Above the earth upreard his flaming head, 335

  The dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight,

  Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread

  He would her succour, and alive or dead

  Her foe deliver up into her hand:

  Therefore he wild her doe away all dread; 340

  And that of him she mote assured stand,

  He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band.

  XXXII

  Thereof full blyth the lady streight became,

  And gan t’ augment her bitternesse much more:

  Yet no whit more appalled for the same, 345

  Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore,

  But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore;

  And having soone his armes about him dight,

  Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore;

  Where long he stayed not, when as a knight 350

  He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might.

  XXXIII

  Well weend he streight, that he should be the same

  Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine;

  Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,

  But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine. 355

  They bene ymett in middest of the plaine,

  With so fell fury and dispiteous forse,

  That neither could the others stroke sustaine,

  But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse,

  Neither of other taking
pitty nor remorse. 360

  XXXIV

  But Calidore uprose againe full light,

  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, 365

  There where she stood uppon the castle wall,

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

  And made such piteous mourning therewithall,

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

  XXXV

  Nathlesse at length him selfe he did upreare 370

  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, 375

  He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill

  Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,

  To prove if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

  XXXVI

  There then began a fearefull cruell fray

  Betwixt them two, for maystery of might: 380

  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; 385

  Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,

  Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast.

  XXXVII

  Thus long they trac’d and traverst to and fro,

  And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make

  Into the life of his malignant foe; 390

  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, 395

  Which from their riven sides forth gushed like a flood.

  XXXVIII

  At length it chaunst that both their hands on hie

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

  Thinking the utmost of their force to trie,

  And prove the finall fortune of the fight: 400

  But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight,

  And nimbler handed then his enemie,

  Prevented him before his stroke could light,

  And on the helmet smote him formerlie,

  That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie. 405

  XXXIX

  And ere he could recover foot againe,

  He following that faire advantage fast,

  His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,

  That him upon the ground he groveling cast;

  And leaping to him light, would have unlast 410