Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  And in their tops the soring hauke did towre,

  Sitting like king of fowles in majesty and powre.

  VII

  And at the foote thereof, a gentle flud 55

  His silver waves did softly tumble downe,

  Unmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud;

  Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne

  Thereto approch, ne filth mote therein drowne:

  But nymphes and faeries by the bancks did sit, 60

  In the woods shade, which did the waters crowne,

  Keeping all noysome things away from it,

  And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit.

  VIII

  And on the top thereof a spacious plaine

  Did spred it selfe, to serve to all delight, 65

  Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine,

  Or else to course about their bases light;

  Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might

  Desired be, or thence to banish bale:

  So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight 70

  Did seeme to overlooke the lowly vale;

  Therefore it rightly cleeped was Mount Acidale.

  IX

  They say that Venus, when she did dispose

  Her selfe to pleasaunce, used to resort

  Unto this place, and therein to repose 75

  And rest her selfe, as in a gladsome port,

  Or with the Graces there to play and sport;

  That even her owne Cytheron, though in it

  She used most to keepe her royall court,

  And in her soveraine majesty to sit, 80

  She in regard hereof refusde and thought unfit.

  X

  Unto this place when as the Elfin knight

  Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound

  Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight,

  And many feete fast thumping th’ hollow ground, 85

  That through the woods their eccho did rebound.

  He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be;

  There he a troupe of ladies dauncing found

  Full merrily, and making gladfull glee,

  And in the midst a shepheard piping he did see. 90

  XI

  He durst not enter into th’ open greene,

  For dread of them unwares to be descryde,

  For breaking of their daunce, if he were seene;

  But in the covert of the wood did byde,

  Beholding all, yet of them unespyde. 95

  There he did see, that pleased much his sight,

  That even he him selfe his eyes envyde,

  An hundred naked maidens lilly white,

  All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight.

  XII

  All they without were raunged in a ring, 100

  And daunced round; but in the midst of them

  Three other ladies did both daunce and sing,

  The whilest the rest them round about did hemme,

  And like a girlond did in compasse stemme:

  And in the middest of those same three was placed 105

  Another damzell, as a precious gemme

  Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced,

  That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced.

  XIII

  Looke how the crowne, which Ariadne wore

  Upon her yvory forehead that same day 110

  That Theseus her unto his bridale bore,

  When the bold Centaures made that bloudy fray

  With the fierce Lapithes, which did them dismay,

  Being now placed in the firmament,

  Through the bright heaven doth her beams display, 115

  And is unto the starres an ornament,

  Which round about her move in order excellent:

  XIV

  Such was the beauty of this goodly band,

  Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell:

  But she that in the midst of them did stand 120

  Seem’d all the rest in beauty to excell,

  Crownd with a rosie girlond, that right well

  Did her beseeme. And ever, as the crew

  About her daunst, sweet flowres, that far did smell,

  And fragrant odours they uppon her threw; 125

  But most of all, those three did her with gifts endew.

  XV

  Those were the Graces, daughters of delight,

  Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to haunt

  Uppon this hill, and daunce there day and night:

  Those three to men all gifts of grace do graunt, 130

  And all that Venus in her selfe doth vaunt

  Is borrowed of them. But that faire one,

  That in the midst was placed paravaunt,

  Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone,

  That made him pipe so merrily, as never none. 135

  XVI

  She was, to weete, that jolly shepheards lasse,

  Which piped there unto that merry rout;

  That jolly shepheard which there piped was

  Poore Colin Clout (who knowes not Colin Clout?)

  He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about. 140

  Pype, jolly shepheard, pype thou now apace

  Unto thy love, that made thee low to lout;

  Thy love is present there with thee in place,

  Thy love is there advaunst to be another Grace.

  XVII

  Much wondred Calidore at this straunge sight, 145

  Whose like before his eye had never seene

  And standing long astonished in spright,

  And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene;

  Whether it were the traine of Beauties Queene,

  Or nymphes, or faeries, or enchaunted show, 150

  With which his eyes mote have deluded beene.

  Therefore resolving, what it was, to know,

  Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go.

  XVIII

  But soone as he appeared to their vew,

  They vanisht all away out of his sight, 155

  And cleane were gone, which way he never knew;

  All save the shepheard, who, for fell despight

  Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight,

  And made great mone for that unhappy turne.

  But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight 160

  For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne,

  Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne:

  XIX

  And first him greeting, thus unto him spake:

  ‘Haile, jolly shepheard, which thy joyous dayes

  Here leadest in this goodly merry make, 165

  Frequented of these gentle nymphes alwayes,

  Which to thee flocke, to heare thy lovely layes!

  Tell me, what mote these dainty damzels be,

  Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes?

  Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see: 170

  But why, when I them saw, fled they away from me?’

  XX

  ‘Not I so happy,’ answerd then that swaine,

  ‘As thou unhappy, which them thence didst chace,

  Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe;

  For being gone, none can them bring in place, 175

  But whom they of them selves list so to grace.’

  ‘Right sory I,’ saide then Sir Calidore,

  ‘That my ill fortune did them hence displace.

  But since things passed none may now restore,

  Tell me, what were they all, whose lacke thee grieves so sore.’ 180

  XXI

  Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate:

  ‘Then wote thou shepheard, whatsoever thou bee,

  That all those ladies which thou sawest late

  Are Venus damzels, all within her fee,

  But differing in honour and degree: 185

  They all are Graces, which on her depend,

 
Besides a thousand more, which ready bee

  Her to adorne, when so she forth doth wend:

  But those three in the midst doe chiefe on her attend.

  XXII

  ‘They are the daughters of sky-ruling Jove, 190

  By him begot of faire Eurynome,

  The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant grove,

  As he, this way comming from feastfull glee

  Of Thetis wedding with Æacidee,

  In sommers shade him selfe here rested weary. 195

  The first of them hight mylde Euphrosyne,

  Next faire Aglaia, last Thalia merry:

  Sweete goddesses all three, which me in mirth do cherry.

  XXIII

  ‘These three on men all gracious gifts bestow,

  Which decke the body or adorne the mynde, 200

  To make them lovely or well favoured show,

  As comely carriage, entertainement kynde,

  Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde,

  And all the complements of curtesie:

  They teach us, how to each degree and kynde 205

  We should our selves demeane, to low, to hie,

  To friends, to foes; which skill men call civility.

  XXIV

  ‘Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile,

  That we likewise should mylde and gentle be,

  And also naked are, that without guile 210

  Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see,

  Simple and true, from covert malice free:

  And eeke them selves so in their daunce they bore,

  That two of them still froward seem’d to bee,

  But one still towards shew’d her selfe afore; 215

  That good should from us goe, then come, in greater store.

  XXV

  ‘Such were those goddesses which ye did see;

  But that fourth mayd, which there amidst them traced,

  Who can aread what creature mote she bee,

  Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced 220

  With heavenly gifts from heven first enraced?

  But what so sure she was, she worthy was

  To be the fourth with those three other placed:

  Yet was she certes but a countrey lasse,

  Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe. 225

  XXVI

  ‘So farre as doth the daughter of the day

  All other lesser lights in light excell,

  So farre doth she in beautyfull array

  Above all other lasses beare the bell:

  Ne lesse in vertue, that beseemes her well, 230

  Doth she exceede the rest of all her race;

  For which the Graces, that here wont to dwell,

  Have for more honor brought her to this place,

  And graced her so much to be another Grace.

  XXVII

  ‘Another Grace she well deserves to be, 235

  In whom so many graces gathered are,

  Excelling much the meane of her degree;

  Divine resemblaunce, beauty soveraine rare,

  Firme chastity, that spight ne blemish dare;

  All which she with such courtesie doth grace, 240

  That all her peres cannot with her compare,

  But quite are dimmed when she is in place.

  She made me often pipe, and now to pipe apace.

  XXVIII

  ‘Sunne of the world, great glory of the sky,

  That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes, 245

  Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty,

  Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many layes

  As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes,

  To make one minime of thy poore handmayd,

  And underneath thy feete to place her prayse, 250

  That, when thy glory shall be farre displayd

  To future age, of her this mention may be made.’

  XXIX

  When thus that shepherd ended had his speach,

  Sayd Calidore: ‘Now sure it yrketh mee,

  That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse breach, 255

  As now the author of thy bale to be,

  Thus to bereave thy loves deare sight from thee:

  But, gentle shepheard, pardon thou my shame,

  Who rashly sought that which I mote not see.’

  Thus did the courteous knight excuse his blame, 260

  And to recomfort him all comely meanes did frame.

  XXX

  In such discourses they together spent

  Long time, as fit occasion forth them led;

  With which the knight him selfe did much content,

  And with delight his greedy fancy fed, 265

  Both of his words, which he with reason red,

  And also of the place, whose pleasures rare

  With such regard his sences ravished,

  That thence he had no will away to fare,

  But wisht that with that shepheard he mote dwelling share. 270

  XXXI

  But that envenimd sting, the which of yore

  His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart

  Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore,

  And to renue the rigour of his smart:

  Which to recure, no skill of leaches art 275

  Mote him availe, but to returne againe

  To his wounds worker, that with lovely dart

  Dinting his brest, had bred his restlesse paine,

  Like as the wounded whale to shore flies from the maine.

  XXXII

  So taking leave of that same gentle swaine, 280

  He backe returned to his rusticke wonne,

  Where his faire Pastorella did remaine:

  To whome, in sort as he at first begonne,

  He daily did apply him selfe to donne

  All dewfull service, voide of thoughts impure: 285

  Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne,

  By which he might her to his love allure,

  And liking in her yet untamed heart procure.

  XXXIII

  And evermore the shepheard Coridon,

  What ever thing he did her to aggrate, 290

  Did strive to match with strong contention,

  And all his paines did closely emulate;

  Whether it were to caroll, as they sate

  Keeping their sheepe, or games to exercize,

  Or to present her with their labours late; 295

  Through which if any grace chaunst to arize

  To him, the shepheard streight with jealousie did frize.

  XXXIV

  One day as they all three together went

  To the greene wood, to gather strawberies,

  There chaunst to them a dangerous accident: 300

  A tigre forth out of the wood did rise,

  That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize,

  And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate,

  Did runne at Pastorell her to surprize;

  Whom she beholding, now all desolate 305

  Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe her all too late.

  XXXV

  Which Coridon first hearing, ran in hast

  To reskue her, but when he saw the feend,

  Through cowherd feare he fled away as fast,

  Ne durst abide the daunger of the end; 310

  His life he steemed dearer then his frend.

  But Calidore soone comming to her ayde,

  When he the beast saw ready now to rend

  His loves deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde,

  He ran at him enraged, in stead of being frayde. 315

  XXXVI

  He had no weapon, but his shepheards hooke,

  To serve the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will;

  With which so sternely he the monster strooke,

  That to the ground astonished he fell;

  Whence ere he could recov’r, he did him quell, 320

  And hewing off his head, it presented

 
Before the feete of the faire Pastorell;

  Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted,

  A thousand times him thankt, that had her death prevented.

  XXXVII

  From that day forth she gan him to affect, 325

  And daily more her favour to augment;

  But Coridon for cowherdize reject,

  Fit to keepe sheepe, unfit for loves content:

  The gentle heart scornes base disparagement.

  Yet Calidore did not despise him quight, 330

  But usde him friendly for further intent,

  That by his fellowship he colour might

  Both his estate and love from skill of any wight.

  XXXVIII

  So well he wood her, and so well he wrought her,

  With humble service, and with daily sute, 335

  That at the last unto his will he brought her;

  Which he so wisely well did prosecute,

  That of his love he reapt the timely frute,

  And joyed long in close felicity:

  Till Fortune, fraught with malice, blinde and brute, 340

  That envies lovers long prosperity,

  Blew up a bitter storme of foule adversity.

  XXXIX

  It fortuned one day, when Calidore

  Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade)

  A lawlesse people, Brigants hight of yore, 345

  That never usde to live by plough nor spade,

  But fed on spoile and booty, which they made

  Upon their neighbours which did nigh them border,

  The dwelling of these shepheards did invade,

  And spoyld their houses, and them selves did murder, 350

  And drove away their flocks, with other much disorder.

  XL

  Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray,

  They spoyld old Melibee of all he had,

  And all his people captive led away;

  Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad, 355

  Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad,

  Most sorrowfull, most sad, that ever sight,

  Now made the spoile of theeves and Brigants bad,

  Which was the conquest of the gentlest knight

  That ever liv’d, and th’ onely glory of his might. 360

  XLI

  With them also was taken Coridon,

  And carried captive by those theeves away;

  Who in the covert of the night, that none

  Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray,

  Unto their dwelling did them close convay. 365

  Their dwelling in a little island was,

  Covered with shrubby woods, in which no way

  Appeard for people in nor out to pas,

  Nor any footing fynde for overgrowen gras.

  XLII

  For underneath the ground their way was made, 370

  Through hollow caves, that no man mote discover

  For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade

  From view of living wight, and covered over: