Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  The which doth litle crave, contented to abyde.

  XVIII

  Tho when they had their hunger slaked well,

  And the fayre mayd the table ta’ne away, 155

  The gentle knight, as he that did excell

  In courtesie, and well could doe and say,

  For so great kindnesse as he found that day

  Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife;

  And drawing thence his speach another way, 160

  Gan highly to commend the happie life

  Which shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife.

  XIX

  ‘How much,’ sayd he, ‘more happie is the state,

  In which ye, father, here doe dwell at ease,

  Leading a life so free and fortunate 165

  From all the tempests of these worldly seas,

  Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease;

  Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie

  Doe them afflict, which no man can appease!

  That certes I your happinesse envie, 170

  And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.’

  XX

  ‘Surely, my sonne,’ then answer’d he againe,

  ‘If happie, then it is in this intent,

  That, having small, yet doe I not complaine

  Of want, ne wish for more it to augment, 175

  But doe my selfe, with that I have, content;

  So taught of nature, which doth litle need

  Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:

  The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;

  No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed. 180

  XXI

  ‘Therefore I doe not any one envy,

  Nor am envyde of any one therefore;

  They that have much, feare much to loose thereby,

  And store of cares doth follow riches store.

  The litle that I have growes dayly more 185

  Without my care, but onely to attend it;

  My lambes doe every yeare increase their score,

  And my flockes father daily doth amend it.

  What have I, but to praise th’ Almighty, that doth send it?

  XXII

  ‘To them that list, the worlds gay showes I leave, 190

  And to great ones such follies doe forgive,

  Which oft through pride do their owne perill weave,

  And through ambition downe themselves doe drive

  To sad decay, that might contented live.

  Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend, 195

  Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve,

  But all the night in silver sleepe I spend,

  And all the day, to what I list I doe attend.

  XXIII

  ‘Sometimes I hunt the fox, the vowed foe

  Unto my lambes, and him dislodge away; 200

  Sometimes the fawne I practise from the doe,

  Or from the goat her kidde how to convay;

  Another while I baytes and nets display,

  The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle:

  And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay 205

  My limbes in every shade, to rest from toyle,

  And drinke of every brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle.

  XXIV

  ‘The time was once, in my first prime of yeares,

  When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,

  That I disdain’d amongst mine equall peares 210

  To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire:

  For further fortune then I would inquire,

  And leaving home, to roiall court I sought;

  Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire,

  And in the princes gardin daily wrought: 215

  There I beheld such vainenesse, as I never thought.

  XXV

  ‘With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded

  With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine,

  After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded

  From native home, and spent my youth in vaine, 220

  I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine,

  And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare.

  Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe,

  I from thenceforth have learn’d to love more deare

  This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here.’ 225

  XXVI

  Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare

  Hong still upon his melting mouth attent;

  Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,

  That he was rapt with double ravishment,

  Both of his speach, that wrought him great content, 230

  And also of the object of his vew,

  On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;

  That twixt his pleasing tongue and her faire hew

  He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew.

  XXVII

  Yet to occasion meanes to worke his mind, 235

  And to insinuate his harts desire,

  He thus replyde: ‘Now surely, syre, I find,

  That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,

  Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre

  Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead, 240

  Fearelesse of foes, or Fortunes wrackfull yre,

  Which tosseth states, and under foot doth tread

  The mightie ones, affrayd of every chaunges dread.

  XXVIII

  ‘That even I, which daily doe behold

  The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won, 245

  And now have prov’d what happinesse ye hold

  In this small plot of your dominion,

  Now loath great lordship and ambition;

  And wish the heavens so much had graced mee,

  As graunt me live in like condition; 250

  Or that my fortunes might transposed bee

  From pitch of higher place unto this low degree.’

  XXIX

  ‘In vaine,’ said then old Melibœ, ‘doe men

  The heavens of their fortunes fault accuse,

  Sith they know best what is the best for them: 255

  For they to each such fortune doe diffuse,

  As they doe know each can most aptly use.

  For not that which men covet most is best,

  Nor that thing worst which men do most refuse;

  But fittest is, that all contented rest 260

  With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.

  XXX

  ‘It is the mynd that maketh good or ill,

  That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:

  For some, that hath abundance at his will,

  Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store; 265

  And other, that hath litle, askes no more,

  But in that litle is both rich and wise;

  For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore

  They are, which fortunes doe by vowes devize,

  Sith each unto himselfe his life may fortunize.’ 270

  XXXI

  ‘Since then in each mans self,’ said Calidore,

  ‘It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate,

  Give leave awhyle, good father, in this shore

  To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late

  With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate, 275

  In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine,

  That, whether quite from them for to retrate

  I shall resolve, or backe to turne againe,

  I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine.

  XXXII

  ‘Not that the burden of so bold a guest 280

  Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all;

  For your meane food shall be my daily feast,

  And this your cabin both my bowre and hall.

  Besides, for recompence hereof, I shall

  You well reward, and golden guerdon give, 285

&
nbsp; That may perhaps you better much withall,

  And in this quiet make you safer live.’

  So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it drive.

  XXXIII

  But the good man, nought tempted with the offer

  Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away, 290

  And thus bespake: ‘Sir knight, your bounteous proffer

  Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display

  That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,

  That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread.

  But, if ye algates covet to assay 295

  This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead,

  Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread.’

  XXXIV

  So there that night Sir Calidore did dwell,

  And long while after, whilest him list remaine,

  Dayly beholding the faire Pastorell, 300

  And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane.

  During which time he did her entertaine

  With all kind courtesies he could invent;

  And every day, her companie to gaine,

  When to the field she went, he with her went: 305

  So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment.

  XXXV

  But she, that never had acquainted beene

  With such queint usage, fit for queenes and kings,

  Ne ever had such knightly service seene,

  But, being bred under base shepheards wings, 310

  Had ever learn’d to love the lowly things,

  Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,

  But cared more for Colins carolings

  Then all that he could doe, or ever devize:

  His layes, his loves, his lookes she did them all despize. 315

  XXXVI

  Which Calidore perceiving, thought it best

  To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke;

  And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest

  In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke,

  In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke, 320

  That who had seene him then would have bethought

  On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke,

  When he the love of fayre Oenone sought,

  What time the golden apple was unto him brought.

  XXXVII

  So being clad, unto the fields he went 325

  With the faire Pastorella every day,

  And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,

  Watching to drive the ravenous wolfe away,

  The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play;

  And every evening helping them to fold: 330

  And otherwhiles, for need, he did assay

  In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,

  And out of them to presse the milke: love so much could.

  XXXVIII

  Which seeing Coridon, who her likewise

  Long time had lov’d, and hop’d her love to gaine, 335

  He much was troubled at that straungers guize,

  And many gealous thoughts conceiv’d in vaine,

  That this of all his labour and long paine

  Should reap the harvest, ere it ripened were;

  That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine 340

  Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there,

  That she did love a stranger swayne then him more dere.

  XXXIX

  And ever, when he came in companie

  Where Calidore was present, he would loure

  And byte his lip, and even for gealousie 345

  Was readie oft his owne hart to devoure,

  Impatient of any paramoure:

  Who on the other side did seeme so farre

  From malicing, or grudging his good houre,

  That all he could, he graced him with her, 350

  Ne ever shewed signe of rancour or of jarre.

  XL

  And oft, when Coridon unto her brought

  Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest,

  Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought,

  Or other daintie thing for her addrest, 355

  He would commend his guift, and make the best.

  Yet she no whit his presents did regard,

  Ne him could find to fancie in her brest:

  This newcome shepheard had his market mard.

  Old love is litle worth when new is more prefard. 360

  XLI

  One day when as the shepheard swaynes together

  Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee,

  As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather,

  The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee,

  They fell to daunce: then did they all agree, 365

  That Colin Clout should pipe, as one most fit;

  And Calidore should lead the ring, as hee

  That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit.

  Thereat frown’d Coridon, and his lip closely bit.

  XLII

  But Calidore, of courteous inclination, 370

  Tooke Coridon and set him in his place,

  That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion;

  For Coridon could daunce, and trimly trace.

  And when as Pastorella, him to grace,

  Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head, 375

  And plast on his, he did it soone displace,

  And did it put on Coridons in stead:

  Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead.

  XLIII

  Another time, when as they did dispose

  To practise games, and maisteries to try, 380

  They for their judge did Pastorella chose;

  A garland was the meed of victory.

  There Coridon, forth stepping openly,

  Did chalenge Calidore, to wrestling game:

  For he, through long and perfect industry, 385

  Therein well practisd was, and in the same

  Thought sure t’ avenge his grudge, and worke his foe great shame.

  XLIV

  But Calidore he greatly did mistake;

  For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,

  That with one fall his necke he almost brake, 390

  And had he not upon him fallen light,

  His dearest joynt he sure had broken quight.

  Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell

  Given to Calidore, as his due right;

  But he, that did in courtesie excell, 395

  Gave it to Coridon, and said he wonne it well.

  XLV

  Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare

  Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,

  That even they the which his rivals were

  Could not maligne him, but commend him needs: 400

  For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds

  Good will and favour. So it surely wrought

  With this faire mayd, and in her mynde the seeds

  Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought

  The fruite of joy and blisse, though long time dearely bought. 405

  XLVI

  Thus Calidore continu’d there long time,

  To winne the love of the faire Pastorell;

  Which having got, he used without crime

  Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well,

  That he, of all the rest which there did dwell, 410

  Was favoured, and to her grace commended.

  But what straunge fortunes unto him befell,

  Ere he attain’d the point by him intended,

  Shall more conveniently in other place be ended.

  Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

  Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

  Canto X

  Calidore sees the Graces daunce

  To Colins melody:

  The whiles his Pastorell is led

  Into captivity.

  I

  WHO now does follow the foule Blatant Beast,


  Whilest Calidore does follow that faire mayd,

  Unmyndfull of his vow, and high beheast

  Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd,

  That he should never leave, nor be delayd 5

  From chacing him, till he had it attchieved?

  But now entrapt of Love, which him betrayd,

  He mindeth more how he may be relieved

  With grace from her whose love his heart hath sore engrieved.

  II

  That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew 10

  His former quest, so full of toile and paine;

  Another quest, another game in vew

  He hath, the guerdon of his love to gaine:

  With whom he myndes for ever to remaine,

  And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort, 15

  Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine

  Of courtly favour, fed with light report

  Of every blaste, and sayling alwaies in the port.

  III

  Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be,

  From so high step to stoupe unto so low. 20

  For who had tasted once (as oft did he)

  The happy peace which there doth overflow,

  And prov’d the perfect pleasures which doe grow

  Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales,

  Would never more delight in painted show 25

  Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales,

  T’ entrap unwary fooles in their eternall bales.

  IV

  For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze

  Like to one sight which Calidore did vew?

  The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze, 30

  That never more they should endure the shew

  Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew.

  Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare,

  (Save onely Glorianaes heavenly hew,

  To which what can compare?) can it compare; 35

  The which, as commeth now by course, I will declare.

  V

  One day as he did raunge the fields abroad,

  Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere,

  He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,

  Unto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere 40

  To passe all others on the earth which were:

  For all that ever was by Natures skill

  Devized to worke delight was gathered there,

  And there by her were poured forth at fill,

  As if, this to adorne, she all the rest did pill. 45

  VI

  It was an hill plaste in an open plaine,

  That round about was bordered with a wood

  Of matchlesse hight, that seem’d th’ earth to disdaine;

  In which all trees of honour stately stood,

  And did all winter as in sommer bud, 50

  Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre,

  Which in their lower braunches sung aloud;