The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,
And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,
As if his cry did meane for helpe to call
To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill,
Percing his hart, with pities point did thrill;
That after him he ran with zealous haste
'To rescue th' infant, ere he did him kill:
Whom though he saw now somewhat overpast,
Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.

Well then him chaunst his heavy armes to want,
Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,
And hinder him from libertie to pant:
For having long time, as his daily weed,
Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,
Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,
That Nke an hauke, which feeling herselfe freed
From bels and iesses which did let her flight,
Him seem'd his feet did fly and in their speed de-
light.

So well he sped him, that the wearie beare
Ere long he overtooke and forst to stay;
And, without weapon him assayling neare,
Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.
Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his pray
Upon him turned, and, with greedie force
And furie, to be crossed in his way,
Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse
To be aveng'd on him and to devoure his corse.

But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd,
But catching up in hand a ragged stone
Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)
Upon him ran, and thrust it all attone
Into his gaping throte, that made him grone
And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,
Being unable to digest that bone;

Ne could it upward come, nor downward passe,
Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

Then tooke he up betwixt his armës twaine
The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;
Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,
From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,
And from his face the filth that did it ray;
And every litle limbe he searcht around,
And every part that under sweath-bands lay,
Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound
Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.

So, having all his bands againe uptyde,

He with him thought backe to returne againe ;
But when he lookt about on every syde,
To weet which way were best to entertaine
To bring him to the place where he would faine,
He could no path nor tract of foot descry,
Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme;
For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,
That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

Much was he then encombred, ne could tell
Which way to take: now west he went awhile,
Then north, then neither, but as fortune fell:
So up and downe he wandred many a mile
With wearie travell and uncertaine toile,
Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end;
And evermore his lovely litle spoile
Crying for food did greatly him offend:

So all that day, in wandring, vainely he did spend.

At last, about the setting of the Sunne,
Himselfe out of the forest he did wynd,
And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne :
Where, looking all about where he mote fynd
Some place of succour to content his mynd,
At length he heard under the forrests syde
A voice, that seemd of some womankynd,
Which to herselfe lamenting loudly cryde,
And oft complayn'd of fate, and fortune oft defyde.

To whom approaching, whenas she perceived
A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,
As if she doubted to have bene deceived,
Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd:
Whom whenas Calepine saw so dismayd,
He to her drew, and, with faire blandishment
Her chearing up, thus gently to her sayd;
"What be you, wofull dame, which thus lament,
And for what cause, declare; so mote ye not re-
pent."

To whom she thus; "What need me, sir, to tell
That which yourself have earst ared so right?
A wofull dame ye have me termed well;
So much more wofull, as my wofull plight
Cannot redressed be by living wight!"
"Nathlesse," quoth he, "if need doe not you bynd,
Doe it disclose, to ease your grieved spright:
Oftimes it haps that sorrowes of the mynd
Find remedie unsought, which seeking cannot fynd.”

Then thus began the lamentable dame;
"Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord,
I am th' unfortunate Matilde by name,
The wife of bold sir Bruin, who is lord
Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword
From a great gyant, called Cormoraunt,
Whom he did overthrow by yonder foord;
And in three battailes did so deadly daunt,
That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt.

"So is my lord now seiz'd of all the land,
As in his fee, with peaceable estate,
And quietly dotb hold it in his hand,
Ne any dares with him for it debate:
But to these happie fortunes cruell fate
Hath ioyn'd one evill, which doth overthrow
All these our ioyes, and all our blisse abate;
And like in time to further ill to grow,
And all this land with endlesse losse to over-flow.

"For th' Heavens, envying our prosperitie,
Have not vouchsaft to graunt unto us twaine
The gladfull blessing of posteritie,
Which we might see after ourselves remaine
In th' heritage of our unhappie paine:
So that for want of heires it to defend,
All is in time like to returne againe
To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend
To leape into the same after our livës end.

"But most my lord is grieved herewithall,
And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke
That all this land unto his foe shall fall,

For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke,
That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.
Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne
Be gotten, not begotten; which should drinke
And dry up all the water which doth ronne

[donne.

In the next brooke, by whom that feend should be for-
"Well hop't he then, when this was propheside,
That from his side some noble chyld should rize,
The which through fame should farre be magnitide,
And this proud gyant should with brave emprize
Quite overthrow, who now ginnes to despize
The good sir Bruin growing farre in years,
Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize.
Lo! this my cause of griefe to you appeares;
For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth cease-
lesse teares."

Which when he heard, he inly touched was
With tender ruth for her unworthy griefe;
And, when he had devized of her case,
He gan in mind conceive a fit reliefe

For all her paine, if please her make the priefe:
And, having cheared her, thus said; "Faire dame,
In evils counsell is the comfort chiefe;
Which though I be not wise enough to frame,
Yet, as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame.

"If that the cause of this your languishment
Be lacke of children to supply your place,
Lo! how good fortune doth to you present
This litle babe, of sweete and lovely face,
And spotlesse spirit in which ye may enchace
Whatever formes ye list thereto apply,
Being now soft and fit them to embrace;
Whether ye list him traine in chevalry,
Or noursle up in lore of learn'd philosophy.
"And, certes, it hath oftentimes bene seene,
That of the like, whose linage was unknowne,
More brave and noble knights have raysed beene
(As their victorious deedes have often showen,
Being with fame through many nations blowen)
Then those which have bene dandled in the lap.
Therefore some thought that those brave imps were

sowen

Here by the gods, and fed with heavenly sap,
That made them grow so high t' all honorable hap."

The ladie, hearkning to his sensefull speach,
Found nothing that he said unmeet nor geason,
Having oft seene it tryde as he did teach:
Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,
Agreeing well both with the place and season,
She gladly did of that same babe accept,
As of her owne by liverey and scisin;
And, having over it a litle wept,

She bore it thence, and ever as her owne it kept.

Right glad was Calepine to be so rid

Of his young charge whereof he skilled nought;
Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did,

And with her husband under hand so wrought,
That, when that infant unto him she brought,
She made him think it surely was his owne;
And it in goodly thewes so well upbrought,
That it became a famous knight well knowne,
And did right noble deedes; the which elswhere
are showne.

But Calepine, now being left alone
Under the greenewoods side in sorie plight,
Withouten armes or steede to ride upon,

Or house to hide his head from Heavens spight;
Albe that dame, by all the meanes she might,
Him oft desired home with her to wend,
And offred him, his courtesie to requite,
Both horse and armes and whatso else to lend,
Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend;

And, for exceeding griefe which inly grew,
That he his love so lucklesse now had lost,
On the cold ground maugre himselfe he threw
For fell despight, to be so sorely crost;
And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,
Vowing that never he in bed againe
His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,
Till that his ladies sight he mote attaine,
Or understand that she in safetie did remaine.

That plainely may in this wyld man be red,
Who, though he were still in this desert wood,
Mongst salvage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,
Ne ever saw faire guize, ne learned good,
Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood
By gentle usage of that wretched dame:
For certes he was borne of noble blood,
However by hard hap he hether came;

As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.

Who, whenas now long time he lacked had
The good sir Calepine, that farre was strayd,
Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,
As he of some misfortune were afrayd;
And, leaving there this ladie all dismayd,
Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde
To seeke if he perchance asleep were layd,
Or whatso else were unto him betyde:

He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde.

Tho, backe returning to that sorie dame,
He shewed semblant of exceeding mone
By speaking signes, as he them best could frame,
Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,
Now beating his hard head upon a stone,
That ruth it was to see him so lament:
By which she well perceiving what was done,
Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,
And beat her breast, and piteously herselfe torment.

Upon the ground herselfe she fiercely threw,
Regardlesse of her wounds yet bleeding rife,
That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,
As if her breast new launcht with murdrous knife
Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life:
There she long groveling and deepe groning lay,
As if her vitall powers were at strife
With stronger death, and feared their decay:
Such were this ladies pangs and dolorous assay.

Whom when the salvage saw so sore distrest,
He reared her up from the bloudie ground,
And sought, by all the meanes that he could best,
Her to recure out of that stony swound,
And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound:
Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,
Nor cease her sorrow and impatient stound,
But day and night did wexe her carefull thought,

And ever more and more her owne affliction wrought.

At length, whenas no hope of his retourne
She saw now left, she cast to leave the place,
And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,
To seeke some comfort in that sorie case:

His steede, now strong through rest so long a space,
Well as she could she got, and did bedight;
And being thereon mounted forth did pace
Withouten guide her to conduct aright,

After that Timias had againe recured
The favour of Belphebe, as ye heard,
And of her grace did stand againe assured,
To happie blisse he was full high uprear'd,
Nether of envy nor of chaunge afeard:
Though many foes did him maligne therefore,
And with uniust detraction him did beard;
Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,
That in her soveraine lyking he dwelt evermore.
But, of them all which did his ruine seeke,
Three mightie enemies did him most despight,
Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,
That him not onely sought by open might
To overthrow, but to supplant by slight:
The first of them by name was cald Despetto,
Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight;
The second, not so strong but wise, Decetto;

The third, nor strong nor wise but spightfullest,

Defetto.

Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ,
And several deceipts, but all in vaine;
For neither they by force could him destroy,
Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine:
Therefore, conspiring all together plaine,
They did their counsels now in one compound:
Where singled forces faile, conioynd may gaine.
The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they found

Whom when her host saw readie to depart,
He would not suffer her alone to fare,
But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.
Those warlike armes, which Calepine whyleare
Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare,
And put them all about himself unfit,
His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare,
But without sword upon his thigh to sit :
Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it.

So forth they traveld an uneven payre,
That mote to all men seeme an uncouth sight;
A salvage man matcht with a ladie fayre
That rather seem'd the conquest of his might
Gotten by spoyle then purchaced aright:
But he did her attend most carefully,
And faithfully did serve both day and night
Withouten thought of shame or villeny,
Ne ever shewed signe of foule disloyalty.

Upon a day, as on their way they went,
It chaunst some furniture about her steed
To be disordred by some accident;
Which to redresse she did th' assistance need

Of this her groome; which he by signes did reede;
And streight his combrous armes aside did lay
Upon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed;
And, in his homely wize, began to assay
T' amend what was amisse, and put in right aray.

Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard,
Lo! where a knight, together with his squire,
All arm'd to point came ryding thetherward;
Which seemed, by their portance and attire,
To be two errant knights, that did inquire
After adventures, where they mote them get:
Those were to weet (if that ye it require)
Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met
By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

found.

Upon a day, as they the time did waite

When he did raunge the wood for salvage game,
They sent that Blatant Beast to be a baite
To draw him from his deare beloved dame
Unwares into the daunger of defame:
For well they wist that squire to be so bold,
That no one beast in forrest wylde or tame
Met him in chase, but he it challenge would, [hould.
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy
The hardy boy, as they devised had,
Seeing the ugly monster passing by,
Upon him set, of perill nought adrad,
Ne skilfull of the uncouth ieopardy;
And charged him so fierce and furiously,
That, his great force unable to endure,
He forced was to turne from him and fly:
Yet, ere he fled, he with his tooth impure
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.
Securely he did after him pursew,
Thinking by speed to overtake his flight;
Who through thicke woods and brakes and briers

him drew,

So that he now has almost spent his spright:
To weary him the more and waste his spight,
Till that at length unto a woody glade

He came, whose covert stopt his further sight;
Out of their ambush broke, and gan him to invade.
There his three foes shrowded in guilefull shade

Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile,
Burning with inward rancour and despight,
And heaped strokes did round about him haile
With so huge force, that seemed nothing might
Beare off their blowes from percing thorough quitet
Yet he them all so warily did ward,

That none of them in his soft flesh did bite;
And all the while bis backe for best safegard
He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard.

f

Like a wylde bull, that, being at a bay,
Is bayted of a mastiffe and a hound
And a curre-dog, that doe him sharpe assay
On every side, and beat about him round;
But most that curre, barking with bitter sownd,
And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber,
That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground,
And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder:
So did that squire his focs disperse and drive asonder.

Him well behoved so; for his three foes
Sought to encompasse him on every side,
And dangerously did round about enclose:
But, most of all, Defetto him annoyde,
Creeping behinde him still to have destroyde;
So did Decetto eke him circumvent;
But stout Despetto in his greater pryde
Did front him, face to face against him bent:
Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.

Till that at length nigh tyrd with former chace,
And weary now with carefull keeping ward,
He gan to shrinke and somewhat to give place,
Full like ere long to have escaped hard;
Whenas unwares he in the forrest heard
A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast
Did warne his rider be uppon his gard;
With noise whereof the squire, now nigh aghast,
Revived was, and sad dispaire away did cast.

Eftsoones he spide a knight approching nye;
Who, seeing one in so great daunger set
Mongst many foes, himself did faster hye
To reskue him, and his weake part abet,
For pitty so to see him overset:

Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,
They fled, and fast into the wood did get:
Him booted not to thinke them to pursew;
The covert was so thicke, that did no passage shew.

Then, turning to that swaine, him well he knew
To be his Timias, his owne true squire;
Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,
And, him embracing twixt his armes entire,
Him thus bespake; "My liefe, my lifes desire,
Why have ye me alone thus long yleft?
Tell me what worlds despight, or Heavens yre,
Hath you thus long away from me bereft ?
Where have ye all this while bin wandring, where
bene weft ?"

With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne :
To whom the squire nought aunswered againe,
But, shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,
His dear affect with silence did restraine,
And shut up all his plaint in privy paine.
There they awhile some gracious speeches spent,
As to them seem'd fit time to entertaine :
After all which up to their steedes they went,
And forth together rode, a comely couplement.

So now they be arrived both in sight
Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found
About the sad Serena things to dight,
With those brave armours lying on the ground,
That seem'd the spoile of some right well renownd.
Which when that squire beheld, he to them stept
Thinking to take them from that hylding hound;
But he it seeing lightly to him lept, [kept:
And sternely with strong hand it from his handling

Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly looke,
And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne,
Him with his fist unwares on th' head he strooke,
That made him downe unto the earth encline;
Whence soone upstarting, much he gan repine,
And laying hand upon his wrathfull blade
Thought therewithall forthwith him to have slaine;
Who it perceiving hand upon him layd,
And greedily him griping his avengement stayd.
With that aloude the faire Serena cryde
Unto the knight, them to dispart in twaine :
Who to them stepping did them soone divide,
And did from further violence restraine,
Albe the wyld man hardly would refraine.
Then gan the prince of her for to demand
What and from whence she was; and by what traine
She fell into that salvage villaines hand;
And whether free with him she now were, or in band.

To whom she thus; "I am, as now ye see,
The wretchedst dame that lives this day on ground,
Who both in minde (the which most grieveth me)
And body have receiv'd a mortall wound,
That hath me driven to this drery stound.
I was erewhile the love of Calepine;
Who whether he alive be to be found,
Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine,
Since I him lately lost, uneath is to define.

"In salvage forrest I him lost of late,
Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
Or else remained in most wretched state,
Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
Kept and delivered me from deadly dread.
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kynd,
Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
It is most straunge and wonderful to fynd
So milde humanity and perfect gentle mynd.

"Let me therefore this favour for him finde,
That ye will not your wrath upon him wreake,
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens speake:
Small praise to prove your powre on wight so weake!"
With such faire words she did their heate asswage,
And the strong course of their displeasure breake,
That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page.

So, having all things well about her dight,
She on her way cast forward to proceede;
And they her forth conducted, where they might
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede;
For now her wounds corruption gan to breed:
And eke this squire, who likewise wounded was
Of that same monster late, for lacke of heed
Now gan to faint, and further could not pas [has.
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed

Mongst which, Serena did to him relate
The foule discourt'sies and unknightly parts,
Which Turpine had unto her shewed late
Without compassion of her cruell smarts:
Although Blandina did with all her arts
Him otherwise perswade all that she might,
Yet he of malice, without her desarts,
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary knight.

Wherewith the prince sore moved there avoud
That, soone as he returned backe againe,
He would avenge th' abuses of that proud
And shameful knight, of whom she did complaine.
This wize did they each other entertaine
To passe the tedious travell of the way;
Till towards night they came unto a plaine,
By which a little hermitage there lay,

Far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may.

And nigh thereto a little chappel stoode,
Which being all with yvy overspred
Deckt all the roofe, and, shadowing the roode,
Seem'd like a grove faire braunched over hed:
Therein the hermite, which his life here led
In streight observaunce of religious vow,
Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;
And therein he likewise was praying now, [nor how.
Whenas these knights arriv'd, they wist not where

They stayd not there, but streightway in did pas:
Whom when the hermite present saw in place,
From his devotion streight he troubled was;
Which breaking off he toward them did pace
With stayed steps and grave beseeming grace:
For well it seem'd that whilome he had beene
Some goodly person, and of gentle race,
That could his good to all; and well did weene
How each to entertaine with curt'sie well beseene:

And soothly it was sayd by common fame,

So long as age enabled him thereto,
That he had bene a man of mickle name,
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:
But being aged now, and weary to

Of warres delight and worlds contentious toyle,
The name of knighthood he did disavow;
And, hanging up his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incumbrance did himselfe as-
soyle.

He thence them led into his hermitage,
Letting their steedes to graze upon the greene:
Small was his house, and, like a little cage,
For his owne turne; yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers gay beseene:
Therein he them full faire did entertaine
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
For courting fooles that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.

Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
Did use his feeble body to sustaine;
The which full gladly they did take in glee,
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But, being well suffiz'd, them rested faine:
But fair Serene all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle squire, for grievous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast
Had given them, whose griefe through suffraunce
sore increast.

The hermite heales both squire and dame
Of their sore maladies:

He Turpine doth defeate and shame
For his late villanies.

No wound, which warlike hand of enemy
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light
As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:
For, by no art nor any leaches might,
It ever can recured be againe ;

Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright
Of Podalyrius did in it retaine,

Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine.

Such were the wounds the which that Blatant Beast
Made in the bodies of that squire and dame;
And, being such, were now much more increast
For want of taking heede unto the same,
That now corrupt and curelesse they became :
Howbe that carefull hermite did his best,
With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame
The poysnous humour which d.d most infest [drest.
Their ranckling wounds, and every day them duely

For he right well in leaches craft was seene;
And, through the long experience of his dayes,
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene
And past through many perillous assayes,
He knew the diverse went of mortall wayes,
And in the mindes of men had great insight;
Which with sage counsell, when they went astray,
He could enforme, and them reduce aright;
And all the passions heale, which wound the weaker
spright.

For whylome he had bene a doughty knight,
As any one that lived in his daies,
And proved oft in many perillous fight,
In which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,
And in all battels bore away the baies:
But being now attacht with timely age,
And weary of this worlds unquiet waies,
He tooke himselfe unto this hermitage,
In which he liv'd alone, like carelesse bird in cage.