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At which his uncouth guise and usage quaint
The prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse
The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint;
Yet weend, by secret signes of manlinesse
Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,
That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene,
Traind up in feats of armes and knightlinesse;
Which he observ'd, by that he him had seene
To weld his naked sword and try the edges keene;

And eke by that he saw on every tree
How he the name of one engraven bad
Which likly was his liefest love to be,
From whom he now so sorely was bestad;
Which was by him BELPHEBE rightly rad:
Yet who was that Belphebe he ne wist;
Yet saw he often how he wexed glad
When he it heard, and how the ground he kist
Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist.

Tho, when he long had marked his demeanor,
And saw that all be said and did was vaine,
Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor,
Ne ought mote cease to mitigate his paine;
He left him there in languor to remaine,
Till time for him should remedy provide,
And him restore to former grace againe :
Which, for it is too long here to abide,
I will deferre the end untill another tide.

CANTO VIII.

The gentle squire recovers grace: Selaunder her guests doth staine : Corflambo chaseth Placidas,

And is by Arthure slaine.

WELL said the Wiseman, now prov'd true by this
Which to this gentle squire did happen late,
That the displeasure of the mighty is
Then death itselfe more dread and desperate;
For naught the same may calme, ne mitigate,
Till time the tempest doe thereof delay
With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can abate,
And have the sterne remembrance wypt away
Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein infixed lay.

Like as it fell to this unhappy boy,
Whose tender heart the faire Belphebe had
With one sterne looke so daunted, that no ioy
In all his life, which afterwards he lad,
He ever tasted; but with penaunce sad
And pensive sorrow pind and wore away,

Ne ever laught, ne once shew'd countenance glad;
But alwaies wept and wailed night and day,
As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish and
decay:

Till on a day, as in his wonted wise
His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle dove
To come, where he his dolors did devise,
That likewise late had lost her dearest love,
Which losse her made like passion also prove:
Who, seeing his sad plight, her tender heart
With deare compassion deeply did emmove,
That she gan mone his undeserved smart,
And with her dolefull accent beare with him a part.

Shee sitting by him, as on ground he lay,
Her mournefull notes full piteously did frame,
And thereof made a lamentable lay,
So sensibly compyld that in the same
Him seemed oft he heard his owne right name.
With that he forth would poure so plenteous teares,
And beat his breast unworthy of such blame,
And knocke his head, and rend his rugged heares,
That could have perst the hearts of tigres and of
beares.

Thus, long this gentle bird to him did use
Withouten dread of perill to repaire
Unto his wonne, and with her mournefull muse
Him to recomfort in his greatest care,
That much did case his mourning and misfare:
And every day, for guerdon of her song,
He part of his small feast to her would share;
That, at the last, of all his woe and wrong
Companion she became, and so continued long.

Upon a day, as she him sate beside,
By chance he certaine miniments forth drew,
Which yet with him as relickes did abide
Of all the bounty which Belphebe threw
On him, whilst goodly grace she did him shew:
Amongst the rest a iewell rich he found,
That was a ruby of right perfect hew,
Shap'd like a heart yet bleeding of the wound,
And with a litle golden chaine about it bound.

The same he tooke, and with a riband new,
In which his ladies colours were, did bind
About the turtles necke, that with the vew
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind.
All unawares the bird, when she did find
Herselfe so deckt, her nimble wings displaid,
And flew away as lightly as the wind:
Which sodaine accident him much dismaid; [straid.
And, looking after long, did marke which way she

But whenas long he looked had in vaine,
Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,
His weary eie returned to him againe,
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,
That both his iuell he had lost so light,
And eke his deare companion of his care.
But that sweet bird departing flew forthright,
Through the wide region of the wastfull aire,
Untill she came where wonned his Belphebe faire.

There found she her (as then it did betide)
Sitting in covert shade of arbors sweet,
After late wearie toile which she had tride
In salvage chase, to rest as seem'd her meet.
There she, alighting, fell before her feet,
And gan to her her mournfull plaint to make,
As was her wont, thinking to let her weet
The great tormenting griefe that for her sake [take.
Her gentle squire through her displeasure did per-

She, her beholding with attentive eye,
At length did marke about her purple brest
That precious iuell, which she formerly
Had knowne right well with colourd ribbands drest;
Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest
With ready hand it to have reft away:
But the swift bird obayd not her behest,
But swarv'd aside, and there againe did stay;
She follow'd her, and thought againe it to assay.

C

And ever, when she nigh approcht, the dove
Would flit a litle forward, and then stay
Till she drew neare, and then againe remove:
So tempting her still to pursue the pray,
And still from her escaping soft away:
Till that at length into that forrest wide
She drew her far, and led with slow delay:
In th' end she her unto that place did guide,
Whereas that wofull man in languor did abide.

Eftsoones she flew unto his fearelesse hand,
And there a piteous ditty new deviz'd,
As if she would have made him understand
His sorrowes cause, to be of her despis'd:
Whom when she saw in wretched weeds disguiz'd,
With heary glib deform'd, and meiger face,
Like ghost late risen from his grave agryz'd,
She knew him not, but pittied much his case,
And wisht it were in her to doe him any grace.

He, her beholding, at her feet downe fell
And kist the ground on which her sole did tread,
And washt the same with water which did well
From his moist eies, and like two streames procead;
Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread
What mister wight he was, or what he ment;
But, as one daunted with her presence dread,
Onely few ruefull lookes unto her sent,

As messengers of his true meaning and intent.

Yet nathëmore his meaning she ared,
But wondred much at his so selcouth case;
And by his persons secret seemlyhed
Well weend that he had beene some man of place,
Before misfortune did his hew deface;

That, being mov'd with ruth, she thus bespake: "Ah! wofull man, what Heavens hard disgrace, Or wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake,

Or selfe-disliked life, doth thee thus wretched make!

"If Heaven; then none may it redresse or blame,
Sith to his powre we all are subiect borne !
If wrathfuil wight; then fowle rebuke and shame
Be theirs that have so cruel! thee forlorne !
But, if through inward griefe, or wilfull scorne
Of life, it be; then better doe advise:
For he, whose daies in wilfull woe are worne,
The grace of his Creator doth despise,
That will not use his gifts for thanklesse nigardise."

When so he heard her say, eftsoones he brake,
His sodaine silence which he long had pent,
And, sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake;
"Then have they all themselves against me bent!
For Heaven, first author of my languishment,
Envying my too great felicity,
Did closely with a cruell one consent
To cloud my daies in dolefull misery,

And make me loath this life, still longing for to die.

"Ne any but yourself, O dearest dred,
Hath done this wrong, to wreake on worthlesse wight
Your high displesure, through misdeeming bred:
That, when your pleasure is to deeme aright,
Ye may redresse, and me restore to light!"
Which sory words her mightie hart did mate
With mild regard to see his ruefull plight,
That her inburning wrath she gan abate,
And him receiv'd againe to former favours state.

In which he long time afterwards did lead
An happie life with grace and good accord,
Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or envies dread,
And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare lord
The noble prince, who never heard one word
Of tydings, what did unto him betide,
Or what good fortune did to him afford;
But through the endlesse world did wander wide,
Him seeking evermore, yet no where him descride:

Till on a day, as through that wood he rode,
He chaunst to come where those two ladies late,
Emylia and Amcret, abode,

Both in full sad and sorrow full estate;
The one right feeble through the evill rate
Of food, which in her duresse she had found;
The other almost dead and desperate [wound
Through her late hurts, and through that haplesse
With which the squire, in her defence, her sore
astound.

Whom when the prince beheld, he gan to rew
The evill case in which those ladies lay;
But most was moved at the piteous vew
Of Amoret, so neare unto decay,

That her great daunger did him much dismay.
Eftsoones that pretious liquor forth he drew,
Which he in store about him kept alway,
And with few drops thereof did softly dew [anew.
Her wounds, that unto strength restor'd her soone

Tho, when they both recovered were right well,
He gan of them inquire, what evill guide
Them thether brought, and how their harmes befell:
To whom they told all that did them betide,
And how from thraldome vile they were untide,
Of that same wicked carle, by virgins hond;
Whose bloudie corse they shew'd him there beside,
And eke his cave in which they both were bond:
At which he wondred much when all those signes
he fond.

And evermore he greatly did desire

To know, what virgin did them thence unbind;
And oft of them did earnestly inquire,
Where was her won, and how he mote her find.
But, whenas nought according to his mind
He could out-learne, he them from ground did reare,
(No service lothsome to a gentle kind)
And on his warlike beast them both did beare,
Himselfe by them on foot to succour them from feare.
So when that forrest they had passed well,
A litle cotage farre away they spide,
To which they drew ere night upon them fell;
And, entring in, found none therein abide,
But one old woman sitting there beside
Upon the ground in ragged rude attyre,
With filthy lockes about her scattered wide,
Gnawing her nayles for felnesse and for yre,
And there out sucking venime to her parts entyre.

A foule and loathly creature sure in sight,
And in conditions to be loath'd no lesse :
For she was stuft with rancour and despight
Up to the throat, that oft with bitternesse
It forth would breake and gush in great excesse,
Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall
Gainst all that truth or vertue doe professe;
Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall [call.
And wickedly backbite: her name men Sclaunder

Her nature is, all goodnesse to abuse,

And causelesse crimes continually to frame,
With which she guiltlesse persons may accuse,
And steale away the crowne of their good name:
Ne ever knight so bold, ne ever dame

So chast and loyall liv'd, but she would strive
With forged cause them falsely to defame;
Ne ever thing so well was doen alive, [deprive.
But she with blame would blot, and of due praise

Her words were not, as common words are ment,
T expresse the meaning of the 'nward mind,
But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit sent
From inward parts, with cancred malice lind,
And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind; [hart,
Which passing through the eares would pierce the
And wound the soule itselfe with griefe unkind:
For, like the stings of aspes that kill with smart,
Her spightfull words did pricke and wound the inner
part.

Such was that hag, unmeet to host such guests,
Whom greatest princes court would welcome fayne:
But neede, that answers not to all requests,
Bad them not looke for better entertayne;
And eke that age despysed nicenesse vaine,
Enur'd to hardnesse and to homely fare,
Which them to warlike discipline d'd trayne,
And manly limbs endur'd with litle care
Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse misfare.
Then all that evening, welcommed with cold
And chearelesse hunger, they together spent ;
Yet found no fault, but that the hag did scold
And rayle at them with grudgefull discontent,
For lodging there without her owne consent:
Yet they endured all with patience milde,
And unto rest themselves all onely lent,
Regardlesse of that queane so base and vilde
To be uniustly blamd and bitterly revilde.
Here well I weene, whenas these rimes be red
With misregard, that some rash-witted wight,
Whose looser thought will light'y be misled,
These gentle ladies will misdeeme too light
For thus conversing with this noble knight;
Sith now of dayes such temperance is rare

And hard to finde, that heat of youthfull spright
For ought will from his greedie pleasure spare:

Then Beautie, which was made to represent

The great Creatours owne resemblance bright, Unto abuse of lawlesse lust was lent,

And made the baite of bestiall delight:

Then faire grew foule, and foule grew faire in sight;
And that, which wont to vanquish God and man,
Was made the vassall of the victors might;
Then did her glorious flowre wex dead and wan,
Despisd and troden downe of all that over-ran:

And now it is so utterly decayd,

That any bud thereof doth scarse remaine,
But if few plants, preserv'd through heavenly ayd,
In princes court doe hap to sprout againe,
Dew'd with her drops of bountie soveraine,
Which from that goodly glorious flowre proceed,
Sprung of the auncient stocke of princes straine,
Now th' onely remnant of that royall breed,
Whose noble kind at first was sure of heavenlyseed.-

Tho, soone as day discovered Heavens face
To sinfull men with darknes overdight,
This gentle crew gan from their eye-lids chace
The drowzie humour of the dampish night,
And did themselves unto their iourney dight.
So forth they yode, and forward softly paced,
That them to view had bene an uncouth sight;
How all the way the prince on footpace traced,
The ladies both on horse together fast embraced.

Soone as they thence departed were afore,
That shamefull hag, the slaunder of her sexe,
Them follow'd fast, and them reviled sore,
Him calling theefe, them whores; that much did vexe
His noble hart: thereto she did annexe
False crimes and facts, such as they never ment,
That those two ladies much asham'd did wexe:
The more did she pursue her lewd intent, [spent.
And rayl'd and rag'd, till she had all her poyson

At last, when they were passed out of sight,
Yet she did not her spightfull speach forbeare,
But after them did barke, and still backbite,
Though there were none her hatefull words to heare:
Like as a curre doth felly bite and teare
The stone, which passed straunger at him threw;
So she, them seeing past the reach of eare,
Against the stones and trees did rayle anew,

More hard for hungry steed t' abstaine from plea-Till she had duld the sting, which in her tongs end

sant lare.

But antique Age, yet in the infancie
Of time, did live then, like an innocent,
In simple truth and blamelesse chastitie;
Ne then of guile had made experiment ;
Eut, voide of vile and treacherous intent,
Held vertue, for itselfe, in soveraine awe:
Then loyall love had royall regiment,
And each unto bis lust did make a lawe,
From all forbidden things his liking to withdraw.

The Iyon there did with the lambe consort,
And eke the dove sate by the faulcons side;
Ne each of other feared fraud or tort,
But did in safe securitie abide,
Withouten perill of the stronger pride:

But when the world woxe old, it woxe warre old,
(Whereof it hight) and, having shortly tride
The traines of wit, in wickednesse woxe bold,
And dared of all sinnes the secrets to unfold.
VOL IIL

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For from his fearefull eyes two fierie beames,
More sharpe then points of needles, did proceede,
Shooting forth farre away two flaming streames,
Full of sad powre, that poysnous bale did breede
To all that on him lookt without good heed,
And secretly his enemies did slay:
Like as the basiliske, of serpents seede,
From powrefull eyes close venim doth convay
Into the lookers hart, and killeth farre away.

He all the way did rage at that same squire,
And after him full many threatnings threw,
With curses vaine in his avengefull ire:
But none of them (so fast away he flew)
Him overtooke before he came in vew:
Where when he saw the prince in armour bright,
He cald to him aloud his case to rew,
And rescue him, through succour of his might,
From that his cruell foe that him pursewd in sight.

Eftsoones the prince tooke downe those ladies twaine
From loftie steede, and mounting in their stead
Came to that squire yet trembling every vaine;
Of whom he gan enquire his cause of dread:
Who as he gan the same to him aread,
Loe! hard behind his backe his foe was prest,
With dreadfull weapon aymed at his head,
That unto death had doen him unredrest,
Had not the noble prince his readie stroke represt:

Who, thrusting boldly twixt him and the blow,
The burden of the deadly brunt did beare
Upon his shield, which lightly he did throw
Over his head, before the harme came neare:
Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous dreare
And heavie sway, that hard unto his crowne
The shield it drove, and did the covering reare:
Therewith both squire and dwarfe did tomble downe
Unto the earth, and lay long while in senselesse

swowne.

Whereat the prince, full wrath, his strong right hand
In full avengement heaved up on hie,
And stroke the Pagan with his steely brand
So sore, that to his saddle-bow thereby
He bowed low, and so a while did lie:
And sure, had not his massie yron mace
Betwixt him and his hurt bene happily,
It would have cleft him to the girding place;
Yet, as it was, it did astonish him long space.

But, when he to himselfe returnd againe,
All full of rage he gan to curse and sweare,
And vow by Mahoune that he should be slaine.
With that his murdrous mace he up did reare,
That seemed nought the souse thereof could beare,
And therewith smote at him with all his might:
But, ere that it to him approched neare,
The royall child with readie quick foresight
Did shun the proofe thereof and it avoyded light.

But, ere his hand he could recure againe
To ward his bodie from the balefull stound,
He smote at him with all his might and maine
So furiously that, ere he wist, he found
His head before him tombling on the ground;
The whiles his babling tongue did yet blaspheme
And curse his god that did him so confound;
The whiles his life ran foorth in bloudie streame,
His soule descended downe into the Stygian reame.

Which when that squire beheld, he woxe full glad
To see his foe breath out his spright in vaine:
But that same dwarfe right sorie-seem'd and sad,
And howld aloud to see his lord there slaine,
And rent his haire and scratcht his face for paine.
Then gan the prince at leasure to inquire
Of all the accident there hapned plaine,
And what he was whose eyes did flame with fire:
All which was thus to him declared by that squire.

"This mightie man," quoth he, "whom you have

slaine,

Of an huge geauntesse whylome was bred;
And by his strength rule to himselfe did gaine
Of many nations into thraldome led,
And mightie kingdomes of his force adred;
Whom yet he conquer'd not by bloudie fight,
Ne hostes of men with banners brode dispred,
But by the powre of his infectious sight,
With which he killed all that came within his might.

"Ne was he ever vanquished afore,

But ever vanquisht all with whom he fought;
Ne was there man so strong, but he downe bore;
Ne woman yet so faire, but hè her brought
Unto his bay, and captived her thought:
For most of strength and beautie his desire
Was spoyle to make, and wast them unto nought,
By casting secret flakes of lustfull fire
From his false eyes into their harts and parts entire.

"Therefore Corflambo was he cald aright,
Though namelesse there his bodie now doth lie;
Yet hath he left one daughter that is hight
The faire Pæana; who seemes outwardly
So faire as ever yet saw living eie;
And, were her vertue like her beautie bright,
She were as faire as any under skie:
But ah! she given is to vaine delight,
And eke too loose of life, and eke of love too light.

1

"So, as it fell, there was a gentle squire
That lov'd a ladie of high parentage;
But, for his meane degree might not aspire
To match so high, her friends with counsell sage
Dissuaded her from such a disparage:
But she, whose hart to love was wholly lent,
Out of his hands could not redeeme her gage,
But, firmely following her first intent, [consent.
Resolv'd with him to wend, gainst all her friends

“So twixt themselves they pointed time and place:
To which when he according did repaire,
An hard mishap and disayentrous case
Him chaunst; instead of his Æmylia faire,
This gyants sonne, that lies there on the laire
An headlesse heape, him unawares there caught;
And all dismayd through mercilesse despaire
Him wretched thrall unto his dongeon brought,
Where he remaines of all unsuccour'd and unsought.

"This gyants daughter came upon a day
Unto the prison, in her ioyous glee,

To view the thrals which there in bondage lay:
Amongst the rest she chaunced there to see
This lovely swaine, the squire of low degree;
To whom she did her liking lightly cast,
And wooed him her paramour to bee:
From day to day she woo'd and prayd him fast,
And for his love him promist liberție at last.

He, though affiyde unto a former love,
To whom his faith he firmely ment to hold,
Yet seeing not how thence he mote remove,
But by that meanes which fortune did unfold,
Her graunted love, but with affection cold,
To win her grace his libertie to get :
Yet she him still detaines in captive hold,
Fearing, least if she should him freely set,

He would her shortly leave, and former love forget.

"Yet so much favour she to him hath hight
Above the rest, that he sometimes may space
And walke about her gardens of delight,
Having a keeper still with him in place;
Which keeper is this dwarfe, her dearling base,
To whom the keyes of every prison dore
By her committed be, of speciall grace,
And at his will may whom he list restore,
And, whom he list, reserve to be afflicted more.

"Whereof, when tydings came unto mine eare,
Full inly sorie, for the fervent zeale
Which I to him as to my soule did beare,
I thether went; where I did long conceale
Myselfe, till that the dwarfe did me reveale,
And told his dame her squire of low degree
Did secretly out of her prison steale;
For me he did mistake that squire to bee;
For never two so like did living creature see,

“Then was I taken and before her brought;
Who, through the likenesse of my outward hew,
Being likewise beguiled in her thought,
Gan blame me much for being so untrew
To seeke by flight her fellowship t' eschew,
That lov'd me deare, as dearest thing alive.
Thence she commaunded me to prison new:
Whereof I glad did not gaine-say nor strive,
But suffred that same dwarfe me to her dongeon
drive.

"There did I finde mine onely faithfull frend
In heavy plight and sad perplexitie:
Whereof I sorie, yet myselfe did bend
Him to recomfort with my companie;

But him the more agreev'd I found thereby :
For all his ioy, he said, in that distresse
Was mine and his Emylias libertie.
Emylia well he lov'd, as I mote ghesse;
Yet greater love to me then her he did professe.

"But I with better reason him aviz'd,
And shew'd him how, through error and misthought
Of our like persons eath to be disguiz'd,

Or his exchange or freedom might be wrought,
Whereto full loth was he, ne would for ought
Consent that I, who stood all fearelesse free,
Should wilfully be into thraldome brought,
Till fortune did perforce it so decree :
Yet, over-ruld at last, he did to me agree.

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"Which I, that was not bent to former love
As was my friend that had her long refus'd,
Did well accept, as well it did behove,
And to the present neede it wisely usd.
My former hardnesse first I faire excusd;
And, after, promist large amends to make.
With such smooth termes her error I abusd
To my friends good more then for mine owne sake,
For whose sole libertie I love and life did stake.

"Thenceforth I found more favour at her hand;
That to her dwarfe, which had me in his charge,
She bad to lighten my too heavie band,
And graunt more scope to me to walke at large.
So on a day, as by the flowrie marge
Of a fresh streame I with that Elfe did play,
Finding no meanes how I might us enlarge,
But if that dwarfe I could with me convay,

I lightly snatcht him up and with me bore away.
"Thereat he shriekt aloud, that with his cry
The tyrant selfe came forth with yelling bray,
And me pursew'd; but nathëmore would I
Forgoe the purchase of my gotten pray,
But have perforce him hether brought away."
Thus as they talked, loe! where nigh at hand
Those ladies two, yet doubtfull through dismay,
In presence came, desirous t' understand
Tydings of all which there had hapned on the land.

Where soone as sad Emylia did espie
Her captive lovers friend, young Placidas;
All mindlesse of her wonted modestie
She to him ran, and, him with streight embras
Enfolding, said; "And lives yet Amyas ?"
"He lives," quoth he, "and his Æmylia loves."
"Then lesse," said she, "by all the woe I pas,
With which my weaker patience fortune proves;
But what mishap thus long him fro myselfe removes?"

Then gan he all this storie to renew,
And tell the course of his captivitie;
That her deare hart full deepley made to rew
And sigh full sore, to heare the miserie
In which so long he mercilesse did lie.
Then, after many teares and sorrowes spent,
She deare besought the prince of remedie;
Who thereto did with readie will consent,
And well perform'd; as shall appeare by his event.

CANTO IX.

The squire of low degree, releast,
Pæana takes to wife:
Britomart fightes with many knights;
Prince Arthur stints their strife.

HARD is the doubt, and difficult to deeme,
When all three kinds of love together meet
And doe dispart the hart with powre extreme,
Whether shall weigh the balance downe; to weet,
The deare affection unto kindred sweet,

Or raging fire of love to womankind,

Or zeale of friends combynd with vertues meet.
But of them all the band of vertuous mind,
Me seemes, the gentle hart should most assured
bind.

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