The Faerie Queene

by The Faerie Queen(Lit)

  Or ought that else your honour might maintaine,

  But that this weapons powre I well haue kend,

  To be contrarie to the worke, which ye intend.

  For that same knights owne sword this is of yore,

  Which Merlin made by his almightie art

  For that his noursling, when he knighthood swore,

  Therewith to doen his foes eternall smart.

  The metall first he mixt with Medæwart,

  That no enchauntment from his dint might saue;

  That it in flames of Aetna wrought apart,

  And seuen times dipped in the bitter waue

  Of hellish Styx, which hidden vertue to it gaue.

  The vertue is, that neither steele, nor stone

  The stroke thereof from entrance may defend;

  Ne euer may be vsed by his fone,

  Ne forst his rightfull owner to offend,

  Ne euer will it breake, ne euer bend.

  Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is hight.

  In vaine therefore, Pyrrochles, should I lend

  The same to thee, against his lord to fight,

  For sure it would deceiue thy labour, and thy might.

  Foolish old man, said then the Pagan wroth,

  That weenest words or charmes may force withstond:

  Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeue for troth,

  That I can carue with this inchaunted brond

  His Lords owne flesh. Therewith out of his hond

  That vertuous steele he rudely snatcht away,

  And Guyons shield about his wrest he bond;

  So readie dight, fierce battaile to assay,

  And match his brother proud in battailous array.

  By this that straunger knight in presence came,

  And goodly salued them; who nought againe

  Him answered, as courtesie became,

  But with sterne lookes, and stomachous disdaine,

  Gaue signes of grudge and discontentment vaine:

  Then turning to the Palmer, he gan spy

  Where at his feete, with sorrowfull demaine

  And deadly hew, an armed corse did lye,

  In whose dead face he red great magnanimity.

  Said he then to the Palmer, Reuerend syre,

  What great misfortune hath betidd this knight?

  Or did his life her fatall date expyre,

  Or did he fall by treason, or by fight?

  How euer, sure I rew his pitteous plight.

  Not one, nor other, (said the Palmer graue)

  Hath him befalne, but cloudes of deadly night

  A while his heauie eylids couer'd haue,

  And all his senses drowned in deepe senselesse waue.

  Which, those his cruell foes, that stand hereby,

  Making aduantage, to reuenge their spight,

  Would him disarme, and treaten shamefully,

  Vnworthy vsage of redoubted knight.

  But you, faire Sir, whose honorable sight

  Doth promise hope of helpe, and timely grace,

  Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight,

  And by your powre protect his feeble cace.

  First praise of knighthood is, foule outrage to deface.

  Palmer, (said he) no knight so rude, I weene,

  As to doen outrage to a sleeping ghost:

  Ne was there euer noble courage seene,

  That in aduauntage would his puissance bost:

  Honour is least, where oddes appeareth most.

  May be, that better reason will asswage

  The rash reuengers heat. Words well dispost

  Haue secret powre, t'appease inflamed rage:

  If not, leaue vnto me thy knights last patronage.

  Tho turning to those brethren, thus bespoke,

  Ye warlike payre, whose valorous great might

  It seemes, iust wrongs to vengeance doe prouoke,

  To wreake your wrath on this dead seeming knight,

  Mote ought allay the storme of your despight,

  And settle patience in so furious heat?

  Not to debate the chalenge of your right,

  But for this carkasse pardon I entreat,

  Whom fortune hath alreadie laid in lowest seat.

  To whom Cymochles said; For what art thou,

  That mak'st thy selfe his dayes-man, to prolong

  The vengeance prest? Or who shall let me now,

  On this vile bodie from to wreake my wrong,

  And make his carkasse as the outcast dong?

  Why should not that dead carrion satisfie

  The guilt, which if he liued had thus long,

  His life for due reuenge should deare abie?

  The trespasse still doth liue, albe the person die.

  Indeed (then said the Prince) the euill donne

  Dyes not, when breath the bodie first doth leaue,

  But from the grandsyre to the Nephewes sonne,

  And all his seed the curse doth often cleaue,

  Till vengeance vtterly the guilt bereaue:

  So streightly God doth iudge. But gentle knight,

  That doth against the dead his hand vpreare,

  His honour staines with rancour and despight,

  And great disparagment makes to his former might.

  Pyrrochles gan reply the second time,

  And to him said, Now felon sure I read,

  How that thou art partaker of his crime:

  Therefore by Termagaunt thou shalt be dead.

  With that his hand, more sad then lomp of lead,

  Vplifting high, he weened with Morddure,

  His owne good sword Morddure, to cleaue his head.

  The faithfull steele such treason no'uld endure,

  But swaruing from the marke, his Lords life did assure.

  Yet was the force so furious and so fell,

  That horse and man it made to reele aside;

  Nath'lesse the Prince would not forsake his sell:

  For well of yore he learned had to ride,

  But full of anger fiercely to him cride;

  False traitour miscreant, thou broken hast

  The law of armes, to strike foe vndefide.

  But thou thy treasons fruit, I hope, shalt taste

  Right sowre, & feele the law, the which thou hast defast.

  With that his balefull speare, he fiercely bent

  Against the Pagans brest, and therewith thought

  His cursed life out of her lodge haue rent:

  But ere the point arriued, where it ought,

  That seuen-fold shield, which he from Guyon brought

  He cast betwene to ward the bitter stound:

  Through all those foldes the steelehead passage wrought

  And through his shoulder pierst; wherwith to groũd

  He groueling fell, all gored in his gushing wound.

  Which when his brother saw, fraught with great griefe

  And wrath, he to him leaped furiously,

  And fowly said, By Mahoune, cursed thiefe,

  That direfull stroke thou dearely shalt aby.

  Then hurling vp his harmefull blade on hye,

  Smote him so hugely on his haughtie crest,

  That from his saddle forced him to fly:

  Else mote it needes downe to his manly brest

  Haue cleft his head in twaine, and life thence dispossest.

  Now was the Prince in daungerous distresse,

  Wanting his sword, when he on foot should fight:

  His single speare could doe him small redresse,

  Against two foes of so exceeding might,

  The least of which was match for any knight.

  And now the other, whom he earst did daunt,

  Had reard himselfe againe to cruell fight,

  Three times more furious, and more puissaunt,

  Vnmindfull of his wound, of his fate ignoraunt.

  So both attonce him charge on either side,

  With hideous strokes, and importable powre,

  Th
at forced him his ground to trauerse wide,

  And wisely watch to ward that deadly stowre:

  For in his shield, as thicke as stormie showre,

  Their strokes did raine, yet did he neuer quaile,

  Ne backward shrinke, but as a stedfast towre,

  Whom foe with double battry doth assaile,

  Them on her bulwarke beares, and bids them nought auaile.

  So stoutly he withstood their strong assay,

  Till that at last, when he aduantage spyde,

  His poinant speare he thrust with puissant sway

  At proud Cymochles, whiles his shield was wyde,

  That through his thigh the mortall steele did gryde:

  He swaruing with the force, within his flesh

  Did breake the launce, and let the head abyde:

  Out of the wound the red bloud flowed fresh,

  That vnderneath his feet soone made a purple plesh.

  Horribly then he gan to rage, and rayle,

  Cursing his Gods, and himselfe damning deepe:

  Als when his brother saw the red bloud rayle

  Adowne so fast, and all his armour steepe,

  For very felnesse lowd he gan to weepe,

  And said, Caytiue, cursse on thy cruell hond,

  That twise hath sped; yet shall it not thee keepe

  From the third brunt of this my fatall brond:

  Loe where the dreadfull Death behind thy backe doth stond.

  With that he strooke, and th'other strooke withall,

  That nothing seem'd mote beare so monstrous might:

  The one vpon his couered shield did fall,

  And glauncing downe would not his owner byte:

  But th'other did vpon his troncheon smyte,

  Which hewing quite a sunder, further way

  It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte,

  The which diuiding with importune sway,

  It seizd in his right side, and there the dint did stay.

  Wyde was the wound, and a large lukewarme flood,

  Red as the Rose, thence gushed grieuously;

  That when the Paynim spyde the streaming blood,

  Gaue him great hart, and hope of victory.

  On th'other side, in huge perplexity,

  The Prince now stood, hauing his weapon broke;

  Nought could he hurt, but still at ward did ly:

  Yet with his troncheon he so rudely stroke

  Cymochles twise, that twise him forst his foot reuoke.

  Whom when the Palmer saw in such distresse,

  Sir Guyons sword he lightly to him raught,

  And said; Faire Son, great God thy right hand blesse,

  To vse that sword so wisely as it ought.

  Glad was the knight, & with fresh courage fraught,

  When as againe he armed felt his hond;

  Then like a Lion, which hath long time saught

  His robbed whelpes, and at the last them fond

  Emongst the shepheard swaynes, then wexeth wood & yond.

  So fierce he laid about him, and dealt blowes

  On either side, that neither mayle could hold,

  Ne shield defend the thunder of his throwes:

  Now to Pyrrochles many strokes he told;

  Eft to Cymochles twise so many fold:

  Then backe againe turning his busie hond,

  Them both attonce compeld with courage bold,

  To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling brond;

  And though they both stood stiffe, yet could not both withstond.

  As saluage Bull, whom two fierce mastiues bayt,

  When rancour doth with rage him once engore,

  Forgets with warie ward them to awayt,

  But with his dreadfull hornes them driues afore,

  Or flings aloft, or treads downe in the flore,

  Breathing out wrath, and bellowing disdaine,

  That all the forrest quakes to heare him rore:

  So rag'd Prince Arthur twixt his foemen twaine,

  That neither could his mightie puissance sustaine.

  But euer at Pyrrochles when he smit,

  Who Guyons shield cast euer him before,

  Whereon the Faery Queenes pourtract was writ,

  His hand relented, and the stroke forbore,

  And his deare hart the picture gan adore,

  Which oft the Paynim sau'd from deadly stowre.

  But him henceforth the same can saue no more;

  For now arriued is his fatall howre,

  That no'te auoyded be by earthly skill or powre.

  For when Cymochles saw the fowle reproch,

  Which them appeached, prickt with guilty shame,

  And inward griefe, he fiercely gan approch,

  Resolu'd to put away that loathly blame,

  Or dye with honour and desert of fame;

  And on the hauberk stroke the Prince so sore,

  That quite disparted all the linked frame,

  And pierced to the skin, but bit no more,

  Yet made him twise to reele, that neuer moou'd afore.

  Whereat renfierst with wrath and sharpe regret,

  He stroke so hugely with his borrowd blade,

  That it empierst the Pagans burganet,

  And cleauing the hard steele, did deepe inuade

  Into his head, and cruell passage made

  Quite through his braine. He tombling downe on ground,

  Breathd out his ghost, which to th'infernall shade

  Fast flying, there eternall torment found,

  For all the sinnes, wherewith his lewd life did abound.

  Which when his german saw, the stony feare

  Ran to his hart, and all his sence dismayd,

  Ne thenceforth life ne courage did appeare,

  But as a man, whom hellish feends haue frayd,

  Long trembling still he stood: at last thus sayd;

  Traytour what hast thou doen? how euer may

  Thy cursed hand so cruelly haue swayd

  Against that knight: Harrow and well away,

  After so wicked deed why liu'st thou lenger day?

  With that all desperate as loathing light,

  And with reuenge desiring soone to dye,

  Assembling all his force and vtmost might,

  With his owne sword he fierce at him did flye,

  And strooke, and foynd, and lasht outrageously,

  Withouten reason or regard. Well knew

  The Prince, with patience and sufferaunce sly

  So hasty heat soone cooled to subdew:

  Tho when this breathlesse woxe, that batteil gan renew.

  As when a windy tempest bloweth hye,

  That nothing may withstand his stormy stowre,

  The cloudes, as things affrayd, before him flye;

  But all so soone as his outrageous powre

  Is layd, they fiercely then begin to shoure,

  And as in scorne of his spent stormy spight,

  Now all attonce their malice forth do poure;

  So did Sir Guyon[Prince Arthur] beare himselfe in fight,

  And suffred rash Pyrrochles wast his idle might.

  At last when as the Sarazin perceiu'd,

  How that straunge sword refusd, to serue his need,

  But when he stroke most strong, the dint deceiu'd,

  He flong it from him, and deuoyd of dreed,

  Vpon him lightly leaping without heed,

  Twixt his two mighty armes engrasped fast,

  Thinking to ouerthrow and downe him tred:

  But him in strength and skill the Prince surpast,

  And through his nimble sleight did vnder him down cast.

  Nought booted it the Paynim then to striue;

  For as a Bittur in the Eagles claw,

  That may not hope by flight to scape aliue,

  Still waites for death with dread and trembling aw;

  So he now subiect to the victours law,

  Did not once moue, nor vpward cast his eye,

  For vile disda
ine and rancour, which did gnaw

  His hart in twaine with sad melancholy,

  As one that loathed life, and yet despisd to dye.

  But full of Princely bounty and great mind,

  The Conquerour nought cared him to slay,

  But casting wrongs and all reuenge behind,

  More glory thought to giue life, then decay,

  And said, Paynim, this is thy dismall day;

  Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce,

  And my trew liegeman yield thy selfe for ay,

  Life will I graunt thee for thy valiaunce,

  And all thy wrongs will wipe out of my souenaunce.

  Foole (said the Pagan) I thy gift defye,

  But vse thy fortune, as it doth befall,

  And say, that I not ouercome do dye,

  But in despight of life, for death do call.

  Wroth was the Prince, and sory yet withall,

  That he so wilfully refused grace;

  Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall,

  His shining Helmet he gan soone vnlace,

  And left his headlesse body bleeding all the place.

  By this Sir Guyon from his traunce awakt,

  Life hauing maistered her sencelesse foe;

  And looking vp, when as his shield he lakt,

  And sword saw not, he wexed wondrous woe:

  But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe

  Had lost, he by him spide, right glad he grew,

  And said, Deare sir, whom wandring to and fro

  I long haue lackt, I ioy thy face to vew;

  Firme is thy faith, whom daunger neuer fro me drew.

  But read what wicked hand hath robbed mee

  Of my good sword and shield? The Palmer glad,

  With so fresh hew vprising him to see,

  Him answered; Faire sonne, be no whit sad

  For want of weapons, they shall soone be had.

  So gan he to discourse the whole debate,

  Which that straunge knight for him sustained had,

  And those two Sarazins confounded late,

  Whose carcases on ground were horribly prostrate.

  Which when he heard, and saw the tokens trew,

  His hart with great affection was embayd,

  And to the Prince bowing with reuerence dew,

  As to the Patrone of his life, thus sayd;

  My Lord, my liege, by whose most gratious ayd