And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace:
Then was she fayre alone, when none was faire in place.
"Then cride she out, Fye, fye, deformed wight, Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine To have before bewitched all mens sight:
O leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine !'
Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,
Eftsoones I thought her such as she me told,
And would have kild her; but with faigned paine
The false witch did my wrathfull hand withhold:
So left her, where she now is turnd to treën mould
"Thensforth I tooke Duessa for my dame,
And in the witch unweeting ioyd long time;
Ne ever wist, but that she was the same:
Till on a day (that day is everie prime,
When witches wont do penance for their crime,)
I chaunst to see her in her proper hew,
Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme:
A filthy foule old woman I did vew,
That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew.
"Her neather partes misshapen, monstruous,
Were hidd in water, that I could not see;
But they did seeme more foul and hideous,
Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.
Thensforth from her most beastly companie
I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away,
Soone as appeard safe opportunitie :
For danger great, if not assurd decay,
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray.
VOL II.
"The divelish hag, by chaunges of my cheare,
Perceiv'd my thought; and, drownd in sleepie night,
With wicked herbes and oyntments did besmeare
My body, all through charmes and magicke might,
That all my senses were bereaved quight :
Then brought she me into this desert waste,
And by my wretched lovers side me pight;
Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste,
Banisht from living wights, our wearie daies we
waste."
"But how long time," said then the Elfin knight, "Are you in this misformed hous to dwell?" "We may not chaunge," quoth he, "this evill Till we be bathed in a living well:
That is the term prescribed by the spell." "O how," sayd he, "mote I that well out find, That may restore you to your wonted well?” "Time and suffised fates to former kynd [bynd." Shall us restore; none else from hence may us un
The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,
Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,
And knew well all was true,
But the good knight, Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment, When all his speech the living tree had spent, The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground, That from the blood he might be innocent, And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound : Then turning to his lady dead with fear he fownd.
Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned feare,
As all unweeting of that well she knew;
And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare
Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew,
And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew,
At last she up gan lift; with trembling cheare
Her up he tooke, (too simple and too trew)
And oft her kist. At length, all passed feare,
He set her on her steede, and forward forth did
beare.
Forsaken Truth long seekes her love,
And makes the lyon mylde;
Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals
In hand of leachour vylde.
NOUGHT is there under Heav'ns wide hollownesse,
That moves more deare compassion of mind,
Then beautie brought t' unworthie wretchednesse
Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind
I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd,
Or through alleageance, and fast fëalty,
Which I do owe unto all womankynd,
Feele my hart prest with so great agony,
When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy.
And now it is empassioned so deepe,
For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing,
That my frayle eies these lines with teares do steepe,
To thinke how she through guyléful handeling,
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,
Though faire as ever living wight was fayre,
Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting,
Is from her knight divorced in despayre,
And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre.
Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while
Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd,
Far from all peoples preace, as in exile,
In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd,
To secke her knight; who, subtily betrayd
Through that late vision which th' enchaunter
wrought,
Had her abandond: she, of nought affrayd,
Through woods and wastnes wide him daily sought; Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her brought.
One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,
From her unhastie beast she did alight;
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay
In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight;
From her fayre head her fillet she undight,
And layd her stole aside: her angels face,
As the great eye of Heaven, shyned bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place;
Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.
It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
A ramping lyon rushed suddenly,
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood:
Soone as the royall virgin he did spy,
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
To have attonce devourd her tender corse:
But to the pray when as he drew more ny,
His bloody rage aswaged with remorse,
And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse.
Instead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong;
As he her wronged innocence did weet.
O how can beautie maister the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong!
Whose yielded pryde and proud submission,
Still dreading death, when she had marked long,
Her hart gan melt in great compassion;
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.
"The lyon, lord of everie beast in field,"
Quoth she, "his princely puissance doth abate,
And mightie proud to humble weake does yield,
Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate :-
But he, my lyon, and my noble lord,
How does he find in cruell hart to hate
Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord
As the god of my life? why hath he me abhord ?"
Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint,
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood;
And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;
With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,
Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood,
And to her snowy palfrey got agayne,
To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne,
The lyon would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong gard
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and word;
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard :
From her fayre eyes he took commandëment,
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.
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