The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

Faire Ladie, through foule sorrow ill bedight,

  Great pittie is to see you thus dismaid,

  And marre the blossome of your beautie bright:

  For thy appease your griefe and heauie plight,

  And tell the cause of your conceiued paine.

  For if he liue, that hath you doen despight,

  He shall you doe due recompence againe,

  Or else his wrong with greater puissance maintaine.

  Which when she heard, as in despightfull wise,

  She wilfully her sorrow did augment,

  And offred hope of comfort did despise:

  Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent,

  And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment,

  Ne would she speake, ne see, ne yet be seene,

  But hid her visage, and her head downe bent,

  Either for grieuous shame, or for great teene,

  As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed beene.

  Till her that Squire bespake, Madame my liefe,

  For Gods deare loue be not so wilfull bent,

  But doe vouchsafe now to receiue reliefe,

  The which good fortune doth to you present.

  For what bootes it to weepe and to wayment,

  When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,

  And the weake mind with double woe torment?

  When she her Squire heard speake, she gan appease

  Her voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease.

  Eftsoone she said, Ah gentle trustie Squire,

  What comfort can I wofull wretch conceaue,

  Or why should euer I henceforth desire,

  To see faire heauens face, and life not leaue,

  Sith that false Traytour did my honour reaue?

  False traytour certes (said the Faerie knight)

  I read the man, that euer would deceaue

  A gentle Ladie, or her wrong through might:

  Death were too little paine for such a foule despight.

  But now, faire Ladie, comfort to you make,

  And read, who hath ye wrought this shamefull plight.

  That short reuenge the man may ouertake,

  Where so he be, and soone vpon him light.

  Certes (saide she) I wote not how he hight,

  But vnder him a gray steede did he wield,

  Whose sides with dapled circles weren dight;

  Vpright he rode, and in his siluer shield

  He bore a bloudie Crosse, that quartred all the field.

  Now by my head (said Guyon) much I muse,

  How that same knight should do so foule amis,

  Or euer gentle Damzell so abuse:

  For may I boldly say, he surely is

  A right good knight, and true of word ywis:

  I present was, and can it witnesse well,

  When armes he swore, and streight did enterpris

  Th'aduenture of the Errant damozell,

  In which he hath great glorie wonne, as I heare tell.

  Nathlesse he shortly shall againe be tryde,

  And fairly quite him of th'imputed blame,

  Else be ye sure he dearely shall abyde,

  Or make you good amendment for the same:

  All wrongs haue mends, but no amends of shame.

  Now therefore Ladie, rise out of your paine,

  And see the saluing of your blotted name.

  Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine;

  For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine.

  Her purpose was not such, as she did faine,

  Ne yet her person such, as it was seene,

  But vnder simple shew and semblant plaine

  Lurckt false Duessa secretly vnseene,

  As a chast Virgin, that wronged beene:

  So had false Archimago her disguisd,

  To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad teene;

  And eke himselfe had craftily deuisd

  To be her Squire, and do her seruice well aguisd.

  Her late forlorne and naked he had found,

  Where she did wander in waste wildernesse,

  Lurking in rockes and caues farre vnder ground,

  And with greene mosse cou'ring her nakednesse,

  To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse;

  Sith her Prince Arthur of proud ornaments

  And borrow'd beautie spoyld. Her nathelesse

  Th'enchaunter finding fit for his intents,

  Did thus reuest, and deckt with due habiliments.

  For all he did, was to deceiue good knights,

  And draw them from pursuit of praise and fame,

  To slug in slouth and sensuall delights,

  And end their daies with irrenowmed shame.

  And now exceeding griefe him ouercame,

  To see the Redcrosse thus aduaunced hye;

  Therefore this craftie engine he did frame,

  Against his praise to stirre vp enmitye

  Of such, as vertues like mote vnto him allye.

  So now he Guyon guides an vncouth way

  Through woods & mountaines, till they came at last

  Into a pleasant dale, that lowly lay

  Betwixt two hils, whose high heads ouerplast,

  The valley did with coole shade ouercast,

  Through midst thereof a little riuer rold,

  By which there sate a knight with helme vnlast,

  Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold,

  After his trauell long, and labours manifold.

  Loe yonder he, cryde Archimage alowd,

  That wrought the shamefull fact, which I did shew;

  And now he doth himselfe in secret shrowd,

  To flie the vengeance for his outrage dew;

  But vaine: for ye shall dearely do him rew,

  So God ye speed, and send you good successe;

  Which we farre off will here abide to vew.

  So they him left, inflam'd with wrathfulnesse,

  That streight against that knight his speare he did addresse.

  Who seeing him from farre so fierce to pricke,

  His warlike armes about him gan embrace,

  And in the rest his readie speare did sticke;

  Tho when as still he saw him towards pace,

  He gan rencounter him in equall race.

  They bene ymet, both readie to affrap,

  When suddenly that warriour gan abace

  His threatned speare, as if some new mishap

  Had him betidde, or hidden daunger did entrap.

  And cryde, Mercie Sir knight, and mercie Lord,

  For mine offence and heedlesse hardiment,

  That had almost committed crime abhord,

  And with reprochfull shame mine honour shent,

  Whiles cursed steele against that badge I bent,

  The sacred badge of my Redeemers death,

  Which on your shield is set for ornament:

  But his fierce foe his steede could stay vneath,

  Who prickt with courage kene, did cruell battell breath.

  But when he heard him speake, streight way he knew

  His error, and himselfe inclyning sayd;

  Ah deare Sir Guyon, well becommeth you,

  But me behoueth rather to vpbrayd,

  Whose hastie hand so farre from reason strayd,

  That almost it did haynous violence

  On that faire image of that heauenly Mayd,

  That decks and armes your shield with faire defence:

  Your court'sie takes on you anothers due offence.

  So bene they both attone, and doen vpreare

  Their beuers bright, each other for to greete;

  Goodly comportance each to other beare,

  And entertaine themselues with court'sies meet,

  Then said the Redcrosse knight, Now mote I weet,

  Sir Guyon, why with so fierce saliaunce,

  And fell intent ye did at earst me meet;

  For sith I know your goodly gouernaunce,

  Great cause, I weene, you guid
ed, or some vncouth chaunce.

  Certes (said he) well mote I shame to tell

  The fond encheason, that me hither led.

  A false infamous faitour late befell

  Me for to meet, that seemed ill bested,

  And playnd of grieuous outrage, which he red

  A knight had wrought against a Ladie gent;

  Which to auenge, he to this place me led,

  Where you he made the marke of his intent,

  And now is fled; foule shame him follow, where he went.

  So can he turne his earnest vnto game,

  Through goodly handling and wise temperance.

  By this his aged guide in presence came;

  Who soone as on that knight his eye did glance,

  Eft soones of him had perfect cognizance,

  Sith him in Faerie court he late auizd;

  And said, Faire sonne, God giue you happie chance,

  And that deare Crosse vpon your shield deuizd,

  Wherewith aboue all knights ye goodly seeme aguizd.

  Ioy may you haue, and euerlasting fame,

  Of late most hard atchieu'ment by you donne,

  For which enrolled is your glorious name

  In heauenly Registers aboue the Sunne,

  Where you a Saint with Saints your seat haue wonne:

  But wretched we, where ye haue left your marke,

  Must now anew begin, like race to runne;

  God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy warke,

  And to the wished hauen bring thy weary barke.

  Palmer, (him answered the Redcrosse knight)

  His be the praise, that this atchieu'ment wrought,

  Who made my hand the organ of his might;

  More then goodwill to me attribute nought:

  For all I did, I did but as I ought.

  But you, faire Sir, whose pageant next ensewes,

  Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your thought,

  That home ye may report thrise happie newes;

  For well ye worthie bene for worth and gentle thewes.

  So courteous conge both did giue and take,

  With right hands plighted, pledges of good will.

  Then Guyon forward gan his voyage make,

  With his blacke Palmer, that him guided still.

  Still he him guided ouer dale and hill,

  And with his steedie staffe did point his way:

  His race with reason, and with words his will,

  From foule intemperance he oft did stay,

  And suffred not in wrath his hastie steps to stray.

  In this faire wize they traueild long yfere,

  Through many hard assayes, which did betide;

  Of which he honour still away did beare,

  And spred his glorie through all countries wide.

  At last as chaunst them by a forest side

  To passe, for succour from the scorching ray,

  They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnly cride

  With percing shriekes, and many a dolefull lay;

  Which to attend, a while their forward steps they stay.

  But if that carelesse heauens (quoth she) despise

  The doome of iust reuenge, and take delight

  To see sad pageants of mens miseries,

  As bound by them to liue in liues despight,

  Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight.

  Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to mee,

  And take away this long lent loathed light:

  Sharpe by thy wounds, but sweet the medicines bee,

  That long captiued soules from wearie thraldome free.

  But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate

  Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall,

  Sith heauen thee deignes to hold in liuing state,

  Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall,

  Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall:

  Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest,

  That cleare she dide from blemish criminall;

  Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest

  Loe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest.

  With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw,

  That through the wood reecchoed againe,

  And after gaue a grone so deepe and low,

  That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine,

  Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine;

  As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele

  Through launched, forth her bleeding life does raine,

  Whiles the sad pang approching she does feele,

  Brayes out her latest breath, and vp her eyes doth seele.

  Which when that warriour heard, dismounting straict

  From his tall steed, he rusht into the thicke,

  And soone arriued, where that sad pourtraict

  Of death and labour lay, halfe dead, halfe quicke,

  In whose white alabaster brest did sticke

  A cruell knife, that made a griesly wound,

  From which forth gusht a streme of gorebloud thick,

  That all her goodly garments staind around,

  And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassie ground.

  Pittifull spectacle of deadly smart,

  Beside a bubbling fountaine low she lay,

  Which she increased with her bleeding hart,

  And the cleane waues with purple gore did ray;

  Als in her lap a louely babe did play

  His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew;

  For in her streaming blood he did embay

  His litle hands, and tender ioynts embrew;

  Pitifull spectacle, as euer eye did view.

  Besides them both, vpon the soiled gras

  The dead corse of an armed knight was spred,

  Whose armour all with bloud besprinckled was;

  His ruddie lips did smile, and rosy red

  Did paint his chearefull cheekes, yet being ded,

  Seemd to haue beene a goodly personage,

  Now in his freshest flowre of lustie hed,

  Fit to inflame faire Lady with loues rage,

  But that fiers fate did crop the blossome of his age.

  Whom when the good Sir Guyon did behold,

  His hart gan wexe as starke, as marble stone,

  And his fresh bloud did frieze with fearefull cold,

  That all his senses seemd bereft attone:

  At last his mightie ghost gan deepe to grone,

  As Lyon grudging in his great disdaine,

  Mournes inwardly, and makes to himselfe mone:

  Till ruth and fraile affection did constraine,

  His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his inward paine.

  Out of her gored wound the cruell steele

  He lightly snatcht, and did the floudgate stop

  With his faire garment: then gan softly feele

  Her feeble pulse, to proue if any drop

  Of liuing bloud yet in her veynes did hop;

  Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faire

  To call backe life to her forsaken shop;

  So well he did her deadly wounds repaire,

  That at the last she gan to breath out liuing aire.

  Which he perceiuing greatly gan reioice,

  And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart

  Is meetest med'cine, tempred with sweet voice;

  Ay me, deare Lady, which the image art

  Of ruefull pitie, and impatient smart,

  What direfull chance, armd with reuenging fate,

  Or cursed hand hath plaid this cruell part,

  Thus fowle to hasten your vntimely date;

  Speake, O deare Lady speake: help neuer comes too late.

  Therewith her dim eie-lids she vp gan reare,

  On which the drery death did sit, as sad

  As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare;

  But when as him all in bright armour clad

  Before her standing she e
spied had,

  As one out of a deadly dreame affright,

  She weakely started, yet she nothing drad:

  Streight downe againe her selfe in great despight

  She groueling threw to ground, as hating life and light.

  The gentle knight her soone with carefull paine

  Vplifted light, and softly did vphold:

  Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunke againe,

  Till he his armes about her sides gan fold,

  And to her said; Yet if the stony cold

  Haue not all seized on your frozen hart,

  Let one word fall that may your griefe vnfold,

  And tell the secret of your mortall smart;

  He oft finds present helpe, who does his griefe impart.

  Then casting vp a deadly looke, full low,

  Shee sight from bottome of her wounded brest,

  And after, many bitter throbs did throw

  With lips full pale and foltring tongue opprest,

  These words she breathed forth from riuen chest;

  Leaue, ah leaue off, what euer wight thou bee,

  To let a wearie wretch from her dew rest,

  And trouble dying soules tranquilitee.

  Take not away now got, which none would giue to me.

  Ah farre be it (said he) Deare dame fro mee,

  To hinder soule from her desired rest,

  Or hold sad life in long captiuitee:

  For all I seeke, is but to haue redrest

  The bitter pangs, that doth your heart infest.

  Tell then, ô Lady tell, what fatall priefe

  Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest?

  That I may cast to compasse your reliefe,

  Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your griefe.

  With feeble hands then stretched forth on hye,

  As heauen accusing guiltie of her death,

  And with dry drops congealed in her eye,

  In these sad words she spent her vtmost breath:

  Heare then, ô man, the sorrowes that vneath

  My tongue can tell, so farre all sense they pas:

  Loe this dead corpse, that lies here vnderneath,

  The gentlest knight, that euer on greene gras

  Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good Sir Mortdant was.

  Was, (ay the while, that he is not so now)

  My Lord my loue; my deare Lord, my deare loue,