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For she was daughter to a noble lord

Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy

To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to his love apply,

But lov'd this fresh young knight who dwelt her ny,
Calidore brings Priscilla home;

The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne
Pursues the Blatant Beast:

And of lesse livelood and hability,
Saves Sérena, whilest Calepine

Yet full of valour the which did adorne (scorne.
By Turpine is opprest.

His meanesse much, and make her th' others riches

Truz is, that whilome that good poet sayd,

So, having both found hit occasion,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne: They met togetber in that luckelesse glade;
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd

Where that proud knight in his presumption
As by his manners; in which plaine is showne The gentle Aladine did earst invade,
Of what degree and what race he is growne:

Being unarm'd and set in secret shade.
For seldome seene a trotting stalion get

Whereof she now bethinking, gan t' advize An ambling colt, that is his proper owne:

How great a hazard she at earst had made So seldome seene that one in basenesse set [met. Of her good fame; and further gan devize (guize. Doth noble courage shew with curteous manners How she the blame might salve with coloured disBut evermore contráry hath bene tryde,

But Calidore with all good courtesie That gentle blood will gentle manners breed;

Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away As well may be in Calidore descryde,

The pensive fit of her melancholie; By late ensample of that courteous deed

And tbat old knight by all meanes did assay Done to tbat wounded knight in his great need,

To make them both as merry as he may. Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought So they the evening past till time of rest; Unto the castle where they had decreed:

When Calidore in seemly good array There of the knight, the which that castle ought,

Unto his bowre was brought, and there undrest To make abode that night he greatly was besongbt. Did sleepe all night through weary travell of his

quest. He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,

But faire Priscilla (so that lady hight) That in his youth had beene of mickle might, And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares ; But by her wounded love did watch all night,

Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe, But now weake age had dimd his candle-light:

And all the night for bitter anguish weepe, Yet was he courteous still to every wight,

And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe. And loved all that did to armes incline;

So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him, And was the father of that wounded knight,

That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine; And Aldus was his name; and his sondes, Aladine. He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,

And drove away the stound which mortally attacht

Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beare | The morrow next, when day gan to uplooke,
By a faire lady and a straunger knight,

He also gan uplooke with drery eye,
Was inly touched with compassion deare,

Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke: And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,

Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by, That he these words burst forth; " Ah! sory boy! He deepely sigh’d, and groaned inwardly, Is this the hope that to my hoary heare

To thinke of this ill state in which she stood; Tbou brings ? aie me! is this the timely joy, To which she for his sake bad weetingly Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

Now brought herselfe, and blam'd her noble blood :

For first, next after life, he tendered her good. "Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope; So tickle is the state of earthly things ;

Which she perceiving did with plenteous teares
That, ere they come unto their aymed scope, His care more then her owne compassionate,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings, Forgetfull of her owne to minde his feares :
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,

So both conspiring gan to intimate
Instead of comfort which we should embrace: Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
This is the state of Keasars and of kings !

And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place, How to save whole her hazarded estate;
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case !" For which the onely helpe now left them last

Seem'd to be Calidore: all other helpes were past. So well and wisely did that good old knight Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare, Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed, To cheare his guests whom he had stayd that night, A courteous knight and full of faithfull trust; And make their welcome to them well appeare: Therefore to bim their cause they best esteemed That to sir Calidore was easie geare;

Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust. Bat that faire lady would be cbeard for nonght, Earely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust But sigh'd and sorrow'd for her lover deare, Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay And inly did afflict ber pensive thought

All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust, With thinking to what case ber name should now Calidore rising up as fresh as day be brought :

Gan freshly him addresse unto bis former way..

But first him seemed fit that wounded knight To whom sir Calidore approaching nye,
To visite, after this nights perillous passe ;

Ere they were well aware of living wight,
And to salute him if he were in plight,

Them much abasht, but more himselfe thereby, And eke that lady his faire lovely lasse.

That he so rudely did uppon them light, There he bim found much better then he was; And troubled had their quiet loves delight: And moved speach to him of things of course, Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault, The anguish of his paine to over-passe:

Himselfe thereof he labour'd to acquite, Mongst which he namely did to him discourse And pardon crav'd for his so rash default, Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse. That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default. Of which occasion Aldine taking hold

With which his gentle words and goodly wit Gan breake to him the fortunes of his love, He sovne allayd that knights conceived displeasure, And all his disadventures to unfold;

That he besought him downe by him to sit, That Calidore it dearly deepe did move:

That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure, In th' end, bis kyndly courtesie to prove,

And of adventures, which had in his measure He him by all the bands of love besought,

Of so long waies to him befallen late. And as it mote a faithfull friend behove,

So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure To safe-conduct his love, and not for ought His long adventures gan to him relate, To leave, till to her fathers bouse he had her brought. Which he endured had through daungerous debate: Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight

Of wbicb whilest they discoursed both together, It to performe: so after little stay,

The faire Serena (so his lady bight)
That she herselfe had to the journey dight, Allur'd with myldnesse of the gentle wether
He passed forth with her in faire array,

And plesaunce of the place, the which was dight
Fearlesse who ought did thinke or ought did say, With divers flowres distinct with rare delight,
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite: Wandred about the fields, as liking led
So, as they past together on their way,

Her wavering lust after her wandring sight, He can devize this counter-cast of slight,

To make a garland to adorne her bed, To give faire colour to that ladies cause in sight. Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred. Streight to the carkasse of that knight he went,

All sodainely

out of the forrest nere (The cause of all this evill, who was slaine

The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware The day before by iust avengëment

Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there, Of noble Tristram) where it did remaine ;

And in his wide great mouth away her bare There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,

Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.

Unto the knights, and calling oft for ayde; So forth he passed thorough that daies paine, Who with the horrour of her haplesse care Till to that ladies fathers house he came;

Hastily starting up, like men dismayde, Most pensive man, through feare what of his childe Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

became. There he arriving boldly did present

The beast, with their pursuit incited more,

Into the wood was bearing her apace The fearefull lady to her father deare,

For to have spoyled her; when Calidore, Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent

Who was more light of foote and swift in chace, Of blame, as he did on his knighthood sweare,

Him overtroke in middest of his race;
Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
Of a discourteous knight, who her had reft

And, fiercely charging him with all his might,

Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place, And by outragious force away did beare:

And to betake himselfe to fearefull fight; Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left,

For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight. And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft. Most ioyfull man her sire was, her to see,

Who nathëlesse, when he the lady saw And heare th' adventure of her late mischaunce;

There left on ground, though in full evill plight, And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee

Yet knowing that her knight now neare did draw, Of his large paines in her deliveraunce

Staide not to saccour her in that affright, Did yeeld; ne lesse the lady did advaunce.

But follow'd fast the monster in his flight: Thus having ber restored trustily,

Through woods and hils he follow'd bim so fast, As he had vow'd, some small continuance

That be nould let him breath nor gather spright, He there did make, and then most carefully

But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast, Unto his first exploite he did bimselfe apply.

As if his lungs and lites were nigh asunder brast.

So, as he was pursuing of his quest,
He chaunst to come whereas a jolly knight
In covert shade himselfe did safely rest,
To solace with his lady in delight:
His warlike armes he had from him undight;
For that himselfe he thought from daunger free,
And far from envious eyes that mote him spight:
And eke the lady was full faire to see,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree.

And now by this sir Calepine, so hight,
Came to the place where he his lady found
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
Having both sides through grypt with griesly wound:
Bis weapons soone from him be threw away,
And stouping downe to her in drery swound
Upreard her fiom the ground whereon she lay,
And in bis tender armes her forced up to stay.

So well he did his busie paines apply,

“ Unknightly knight, the blemish of that name, That the faint spright he did revoke againe And blot of all that armes uppon them take, To ber fraile mansion of mortality :

Which is the badge of honour and of fame, Then up he tooke ber twixt his arınës twaine, Loe! I defie thee; and here challenge make, And setting on his steede her did sustaine

That thou for ever doe those armes forsake, With carefull hands, soft footing her beside; And be for ever held a recreant knight, Till to some place of rest they mote attaine, Unlesse thou dare, for thy deare ladies sake Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,

And for thine owne defence, on foote alight Till she recured were of those her woundës wide. To justifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.”. Now whenas Phoebus with his fiery waine

The dastard, that did heare himselfe defyde, Unto his inne began to draw apace;

Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all, Tho, wexing weary of that toylesome paine, But laught them out, as if his greater pryde In travelling on foote so long a space,

Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall; Not wont on foote with heavy armes to trace; Or had no courage, or else had no gall. Downe in a dale forby a rivers syde

So much the more was Calepine offended, He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place, That him to no revenge he forth could call, To which he meant his weary steps to guyde, But both his challenge and hiinselfe contemned, In bope there for his love some succour to provyde. Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned. But, comming to the rivers side, be found

But he, nonght weighing what he sayd or did, That hardly passable on foote it was;

Turned his steede about another way,
Therefore there still be stood as in a stound, And with his lady to the castle rid,
Ne wist which way be through the foord mote pas: Where was his won; ne did the other stay,
Thus whilest he was in this distressed case, But after went directly as he may,
Devising what to doe, he nigh espyde

For his sicke charge some barbour there to seekes
An armed knight approaching to the place, Where he arriving with the fall of day
With a faire lady lincked by his syde, [to ride. Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke
The which themselves prepard thorongh the foord And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke.
Whom Calepine saluting, as became,

But the rude porter that no manners had Besought of courtesie, in that his neede,

Did shut the gate against him in his face, For safe conducting of his sickely dame

And entraunce boldly unto him forbad: Through that same perillous foord with better heede, Nath'lesse the knight, now in so needy case, To take him up behinde upon his steed:

Gan him entreat even with submission base, To wborn that other did this taunt reture; And humbly praid to let them in that night: " Perdy, thou peasant knight mightst rightly reed Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no place Me then to be full base and evill borne,

Of lodging fit for any errant knight, If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne. Unlesse that with his lord he formerly did fight.

“ But, as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame, “ Full loth am I," quoth he, “ as now at earst So fare on foote till thou another gayne,

When day is spent, and rest us needeth inost, And let thy lady likewise doe the same,

And that this lady, both whose sides are pearst Or beare ber on thy backe with pleasing payne, With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost ; And prove thy manhood on the billowes vayne." Ne would I gladly combate with mine host, With which rude speach his lady much displeased That should to me such curtesie afford, Did him reprore, yet could bim not restrayne, Unlesse that I were thereunto enforst: And would on her owne palfrey him have eased But yet aread to me, bow hight thy lord, Por pitty of his dame whom she saw so diseased. That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the

Ford.” Sir Calepine ber thanckt; yet, inly wroth Against her knight, her gentlenesse refused, “ His name," quoth he, “ if that thou list to learne, And carelesly into the river go'th,

Is hight sir Turpine, one of mickle might As in despight to be so fowle abused

And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne Of a rude churle, whom often he accused

In all assaies to every errant knight, Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for knight ;

Because of one that wronght him fowle despight."
And, strongly wading through the waves unused, “ Ill seemes," sayd he, “ if he so valiaunt be,
With speare in th' one hand stayd himselfe upright, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight:
With th' other staide his lady up with steddy might. For seldome yet did living creature see

That curtesie and manhood ever disagree.
And all the while that same discourteous knight
Stood on the further bapcke beholding him ; “But go thy waies to him, and fro me say
At whose calamity, for more despight,

That here is at his gate an errant knight,
He laugbt, and mockt to see him like to swim. That house-rome craves; yet would be loth t' assay
But whenas Calepine came to the brim,

The proofe of battell now in doubtfull night, And saw his carriage past that perill well,

Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite: Looking at that same carle with count'nance grim, Yet, if he needes will fight, crave leave till morne, His heart witb vengeaunce inwardly did swell, And tell withall the lamentable plight And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe' In which this lady languisheth forlorne, and fell:

| That pitty craves, as be of woman was yborne"

The groome went streightway in, and to his lord Yet he him still pursew'd from place to place,
Declar'd the message which that knight did move; With full intent him cruelly to kill,
Who, sitting with his lady then at bord,

And like a wilde goate round about did chace Not onely did not his demaund approve,

Flying the fury of his bloudy will:
But both himselfe revil'd and eke his love; But his best succour and refúge was still
Albe his lady, that Blandina hight,

Behind his ladies back; who to him cryde,
Him of ungentle usage did reprove,

And called oft with prayers loud and shrill, And earnestly entreated that they might

As ever he to lady was affyde, Finde favour to be lodged there for that same night. To spare her knight, and rest with reason pacifyde: Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,

But he the more thereby enraged was, Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.

And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd ; Which answer when the groome returning brought so that at length, after long weary chace, To Calepine, his heart did inly flame

Having by chaunce a close advantage vew'd, With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,

He over-raught him, having long eschewd That he could not thereof avenged bee:

His violence in vaine; and with his spere But most for pitty of his dearest dame,

Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood enser'd Whom now in deadly daunger he did see ; In great aboundance, as a well it were, Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee. That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.

But all in vaine ; for why? no remedy

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound, He saw the present mischiefe to redresse,

But chaste him still for all his ladies cry; But th' utmost end perforce for to aby,

Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground Which that nigbts fortune would for him addresse. He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously; So downe he tooke his lady jo distresse,

The which was certes in great ieopardy, And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe, Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought, Cover'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse; And saved from his cruell villany: Whiles he himselfe all night did nought but weepe, Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought! And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe. That in another canto shall to end be brought.


The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day
Did shew itselfe in sunny beames bedight,
Serena full of dolorous dismay,
Twist darkenesse dread and hope of living light,
Upreard her head to see that chearefull sight.
Then Calepine, however inly wroth,
And greedy to avenge that vile despight,
Yet for the feeble ladies sake, full loth
To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney


Calepine by a salvage man

From Turpine reskewed is;
And, whylest an infant from a beare

He saves, his love doth misse.

He go’th on foote all armed by her side,

Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost, Upstaying still herselfe uppon her steede,

Having spent all her mastes and her groundhold, Being unbable else alone to ride;

Now farre from harbour likely to be lost, So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede: At last some fisher-barke doth neare behold, Till that at length, in his extreamest neede, That giveth comfort to her courage cold; He chaunst far off an armed knight to spy

Such was the state of this most courteous knight Pursuing him apace with greedy speede;

Being oppressed by that faytour bold, Whom well he wist to be some enemy,

That he remayned in most perilous plight, That meant to make advantage of his misery. And his sad ladie left in pitifull affright: Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew, Till that, by fortune passing all foresight, To weet what issue would thereof betyde:

A salvage man, which in those woods did wonne, Tho, whenas he approched nigh in vew,

Drawne with that ladies lond and piteous sbrigbt, By certaine signes he plainly him descryde Toward the same incessautly did ronne To be the man that with such scornfull pryde To understand what there was to be donne: Had him abusde and shamed yesterday ;

There he this most discourteous craven found Therefore, misdoubting least he should misguyde As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne, His former malice to some new assay,

Chasing the gentle Calepine around, He cast to keepe himselfe so safely as he may. Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound. By this the other came in place likewise,

The salvage man, that never till this houre And couching close his speare and all his powre, Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew, As bent to some malicious enterprise,

Seeing bis sharpe assault and cruell stoure He bad him stand t' abide the bitter stoure Was much emmoved at his perils vew, Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make avoure That even his ruder hart began to rew, Of the lewd words and deedes which he had done: And feele compassion of his evill plight, With that ran at him, as he would devoure Against his foe that did him so pursew ; His life attonce; who nought could do but shun From whom he meant to free him, if the might, The perill of his pride, or else be over-run. And him avenge of that so villenous despight.

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight, But the wyld man, contrárie to her feare,
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments,

Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
Sare such as sudden rage bim lent to smite ; And by rude tokens made to her appeare
But naked, without needfull vestiments

His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound, To clad his corpse with meete habiliments, Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground; He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,

For other language had he none nor speach, No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents : But a soft murmure and confused sound For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare, Of senselesse words (which Nature did him teach He was invulnerable made by magicke leare. T' expresse his passions) which his reason did em

peach: He stayed not t’advize which way were best His foe t assayle, or how himselfe to gard,

And comming likewise to the wounded knight, But with fierce fury and with force infest

When he beheld the streames of purple blood Upon bim ran; who being well prepard

Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight, His first assault full warily did ward,

He made great mone after his salvage mood; And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare

And, running streight into the thickest wood,

A certaine herbe from thence unto him brought, Full on the breast bim strooke, so strong and hard That forst him backe recoyle and reele areare ;

Whose vertue he by use well understood; Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare. The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,

And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched With that the wyld man more enraged grew,

thought. Like to a tygre that hath mist his pray,

Then taking up that recreants shield and speare, And with mad moode againe upon him flew, Which earst he left, he signes into them made Regarding neither speare that mote him slay, With him to wend unto his wonning neare; Nor bis fierce steed that mote him much dismay: To which he easily did them perswade. The salvage nation doth all dread despize: Farre in the forrest, by a hollow glade Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,

Covered with mossie slirubs, which spredding brode And held the same so hard, that by no wize Did underneath them make a gloomy shade, He could him force to loose, or leave his enterprize. Where foot of living creature never trodle,

Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,

wights abode. And every way did try, but all in vaine ;

Thither be brought these unacquainted guests; For he would not bis greedie grype forgoe,

To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed But hayld and puld with all his might and maine,

By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests: That from his steed bim nigh he drew againe: Who having now no use of bis long speare

But the bare ground with hoarie masse bestrowed

Must be their bed; their pillow was unsowed; So nigh at hand, nor force bis shield to straine,

And the frutes of the forrest was their feast : Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,

For their bad stuard neither plough'd nor sowed, He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

Ne fed on fesh, ne ever of wyld beast

Did taste the bloud, obaying Natures first beheast. Bat after him the wyld man ran apace, And him pursewed with importune speed,

Yet, howsoever base and meane it were, For he was swift as any bucke in chace;

They tooke it well, and thanked God for all, And, bad he not in his extreamest need

Which had them freëd from that deadly feare, Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed, And sav'd from being to that caytive thrall. He had bim overtaken in his flight.

Here they of force (as fortune now did fall) Who, ever as he saw him nigh succeed,

Compelled were themselves awhile to rest, Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,

Glad of that easement, though it were but small; And shrieked out; a thing uncomely for a knight. That, having there their wounds awhile redrest,

They mote the abler be to passe unto the rest. But, when the salvage saw his labour vaine

During which time that wyld man did apply In following of him that Aed so fast,

His best endevour and his daily paine He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe

In seeking all the woods both farre and nye With speede unto the place, whereas he last

For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine Had left that couple nere their utmost cast:

When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine. There he that knight full sorely bleeding found, And eke the ladie fearefully aghast,

So as ere long he bad that knightës wound

Recured well, and made him whole againe : Both for the perill of the present stound, And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound: Which could redresse, for it was inwardly unsound.

But that same ladies hurts no herbe he found For though she were right glad so rid to bee Now whenas Calepine was woxen strong, From that vile lozell which her late offended; Upon a day he cast abrode to wend, Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see

To take the ayre and beare the thrushes song, And perill, by this salvage man pretended ; Unarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend, Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended And without sword his person to defend; By reason that her knight was wounded sore: There him befell, unlooked for before, Therefore herselfe she wboly recommended An bard adventure with unhappie end, To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore A cruell beare, the which an infant bore, To send her succour, being of all hope forlore. Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gora

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