Her gentle hart, that now long season past Had never ioyance felt nor chearefull thought, Began some smacke of comfort new to tast, Like lyfeful heat to nummed senses brought, And life to feele that long for death had sought: Ne lesse in hart reioyced Calidore,
When he her found; but, like to one distraught And robd of reason, towards her him bore;
A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more.
But now by this, with noyse of late uprore, The hue and cry was raysed all about; And all the brigants flocking in great store Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having dout Of that was doen, and entred in a rout. But Calidore in th' entry close did stand, And, entertayning them with courage stout, Still slew the formost that came first to hand; So long, till all the entry was with bodies mand.
Tho, when no more could nigh to him approch, He breath'd his sword, and rested him till day; Which when he spyde upon the earth t' encroch, Through the dead carcases he made his way, Mongst which he found a sword of better say, With which he forth went into th' open light, Where all the rest for him did readie stay, And, fierce assayling him, with all their might Gan all upon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight.
How many flyes in whottest summers day Do seize upon some beast, whose flesh is bare, That all the place with swarmes doe overlay, And with their litle stings right felly fare; So many theeves about him swarming are, All which do him assayle on every side, And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare; But he doth with his raging brond divide Their thickest troups, and round about him scattreth wide.
Like as a lion mongst an heard of dere, Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray; So did he fly amongst them here and there, And all that nere him came did hew and slay, Till he had strowd with bodies all the way'; That none his daunger daring to abide Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convay Into their caves, their heads from death to hide, Ne any left that victorie to him envide.
Then, backe returning to his dearest deare, He her gan to recomfort, all he might, With gladfull speaches and with lovely cheare; And forth her bringing to the ioyous light, Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight, Deviz'd all goodly meanes from her to drive The sad remembrance of her wretched plight: So her uneath at last he did revive
That long had lyen dead, and made againe alive.
This doen, into those theevish dens he went, And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take, Which they from many long had robd and rent: But Fortune now the victors meed did make ; Of which the best he did his love betake; And also all those flockes, which they before Had reft from Melibee and from his make, He did them all to Coridon restore :
So drove them all away, and his love with him bore.
Fayre Pastorella by great hap
Her parents understands. Calidore doth the Blatant Beast Subdew, and bynd in bands.
I.IKE as a ship, that through the ocean wyde Directs her course unto one certaine cost, Is met of many a counter winde and tyde, With which her winged speed is let and crost, And she herselfe in storie surges tost; Yet, making many a borde and many a bay, Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost; Right so it fares with me in this long way, Whose course is often stayd, yet never is astray.
For all that hetherto hath long delayd
This gentle knight from sewing his first quest, Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd, To shew the courtesie by him profest Even unto the lowest and the least. But now I come into my course againe, To his atchievement of the Blatant Beast; Who all this while at will did range and raine, Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to re- straine.
Sir Calidore, when thus he now had raught Faire Pastorella from those brigants powre, Unto the castle of Belgard her brought, Whereof was lord the good sir Bellamoure; Who whylome was in his youthes freshest flowre, A lustie knight as ever wielded speare, And had endured many a dreadfull stoure In bloudy battell for a ladie deare, The fayrest ladie then of all that living were:
Her name was Claribell; whose father hight The lord of many ilands, farre renound For his great riches and his greater might: He, through the wealth wherein he did abound, This daughter thought in wedlocke to have bound Unto the prince of Picteland, bordering nere; But she, whose sides before with secret wound Of love to Bellamoure empierced were,
By all meanes shund to match with any forreign fere :
And Bellamour againe so well her pleased With dayly service and attendance dew, That of her love he was entyrely seized, And closely did her wed, but knowne to few: Which when her father understood, he grew In so great rage that them in dongeon deepe Without compassion cruelly he threw ; Yet did so streightly them asunder keepe, That neither could to company of th' other creepe.
Nathlesse sir Bellamour, whether through grace Or secret guifts, so with his keepers wrought, That to his love sometimes he came in place; Whereof her wombe unwist to wight was fraught, And in dew time a mayden child forth brought: Which she streightway (for dread least if her syre Should know thereof to slay he would have sought) Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre
She should it cause be fostred under straunge attyre.
The trustie damzell bearing it abrode Into the emptie fields, where living wight Mote not bewray the secret of her lode, She forth gan lay unto the open light The litle babe, to take thereof a sight: Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold, Upon the litle brest, like christall bright, She mote perceive a litle purple mold,
That like a rose her silken leaves did faire unfold.
Well she it markt, and pittied the more, Yet could not remedie her wretched case; But, closing it againe like as before, Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in the place; Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde, To weet what mortall hand, or Heavens grace, Would for the wretched infants helpe provyde; For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde.
At length a shepheard, which thereby did keepe His fleecie flocke upon the playnes around, Led with the infants cry that loud did weepe, Came to the place; where when he wrapped found Th' abandond spoyle, he softly it unbound; And, seeing there that did him pittie sore, He tooke it up and in his mantle wound; So home unto his honest wife it bore,
Who as her owne it nurst and named evermore.
Thus long continu'd Claribell a thrall, And Bellamour in bands; till that her syre Departed life, and left unto them all: Then all the stormes of Fortunes former yre Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre. Thenceforth they ioy'd in happinesse together, And lived long in peace and love entyre, Without disquiet or dislike of ether,
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella thether.
Both whom they goodly well did entertaine; For Bellamour knew Calidore right well, And loved for his prowesse, sith they twaine Long since had fought in field: als Claribell Ne lesse did tender the faire Pastorell, Seeing her weake and wan through durance long. There they awhile together thus did dwell In much delight, and many ioyes among, Untill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong.
Tho gan sir Calidore him to advize
Of his first quest, which he had long forlore, Asham'd to thinke how he that enterprize, The which the Faery queene had long afore Bequeath'd to him, forslacked had so sore; That much he feared least reproachfull blame With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore; Besides the losse of so much loos and fame,
As through the world thereby should glorifie his
Therefore, resolving to returne in hast Unto so great atchievement, he bethought To leave his love, now perill being past, With Claribell; whylest he that monster sought Throughout the world, and to destruction brought. So taking leave of his faire Pastorell, Whom to recomfort all the meanes he wrought, With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,
He went forth on his quest, and did that him befell.
But first, ere I doe his adventures tell In this exploite, me needeth to declare What did betide to the faire Pastorell, During his absence left in heavy care, Through daily mourning and nightly misfare : Yet did that auncient matrone all she might, To cherish her with all things choice and rare ; And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight, Appointed to attend her dewly day and night.
Who in a morning, when this maiden faire Was dighting her, having her snowy brest As yet not laced, nor her golden haire Into their comely tresses dewly drest, Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest The rosie marke, which she remembred well That litle infant had, which forth she kest, The daughter of her lady Claribell, [dwell. The which she bore the whiles in prison she did
Which well avizing, streight she gan to cast In her conceiptfull mynd that this faire mayd Was that same infant, which so long sith past She in the open fields had loosely layd To Fortunes spoile, unable it to ayd: So, full of ioy, streight forth she ran in hast Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd, To tell her, how the Heavens had her graste, To save her chylde, which in Misfortunes mouth was plaste.
The sober mother seeing such her mood, Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine thro, Askt her, how mote her words be understood, And what the matter was that mov'd her so. "My liefe," sayd she, "ye know that long ygo, Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gave A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho, The same againe if now ye list to have, The same is yonder lady, whom high God did save." Much was the lady troubled at that speach, And gan to question streight how she it knew, "Most certaine markes," sayd she, "do me it teach; For on her breast I with these eyes did vew The litle purple rose which thereon grew, Whereof her name ye then to her did give. Besides, her countenaunce and her likely hew, That yond same is your daughter_sure, which yet Matched with equall years, do surely prieve
The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire, But forth in hast ran to the straunger mayd; Whom catching greedily, for great desire Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd, In which that rose she plainely saw displayd: Then, her embracing twixt her armës twaine, She long so held, and softly weeping sayd; "And livest thou, my daughter, now againe? And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long did faine?"
Tho farther asking her of sundry things, And times comparing with their accidents, She found at last, by very certaine signes And speaking markes of passed monuments, That this young mayd, whom chance to her presents, Is her owne daughter, her owne infant deare. Tho, wondring long at those so straunge events, A thousand times she her embraced nere, [teare. With many a ioyfull kisse and many a melting
Whoever is the mother of one chylde,
Which having thought long dead she fyndes alive, Let her by proofe of that which she hath fylde In her owne breast, this mothers ioy descrive: For other none such passion can contrive In perfect forme, as this good lady felt, When she so faire a daughter saw survive, As Pastorella was; that nigh she swelt
For passing ioy, which did all into pitty melt.
Thence running forth unto her loved lord, She unto him recounted all that fell: Who, joyning ioy with her in one accord, Acknowledg'd, for his owne, faire Pastorell. There leave we them in ioy, and let us tell Of Calidore; who, seeking all this while That monstrous beast by finall force to quell, Through every place with restlesse paine and toile Him follow'd by the tract of his outragious spoile.
Through all estates he found that he had past, In which he many massacres had left, And to the clergy now was come at last;
In which such spoile, such havocke, and such theft He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft, That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin knight, Who now no place besides unsought had left, At length into a monastere did light, [might. Where he him found despoyling all with maine and
Into their cloysters now he broken had, [there, Through which the monckes he chaced here and And them pursu'd into their dortours sad, And searched all their cels and secrets neare; In which what filth and ordure did appeare, Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule beast, Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare, And ransacke all their dennes from most to least, Regarding nought religion nor their holy heast.
From thence into the sacred church he broke, And robd the chancell, and the deskes downe threw, And altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke, And the images, for all their goodly hew,
Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew; So all confounded and disordered there: But, seeing Calidore, away he flew, Knowing his fatall hand by former feare; But he him fast pursuing soone approached neare.
Him in a narrow place he overtooke, And fierce assailing forst him turne againe: Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine With open mouth, that seemed to containe A fall good pecke within the utmost brim, All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine, That terrifide his foes, and armed him, Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly grim:
And therein were a thousand tongs empight Of sundry kindes and sundry quality; Some were of dogs, that barked day and night; And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry; And some of beares, that groynd continually; And some of tygres, that did seeme to gren And snar at all that ever passed by:
But most of them were tongues of mortall men, Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor when.
And them amongst were mingled here and there The tongues of serpents, with three-forked stings, That spat out poyson, and gore-bloudy gere, At all that came within his ravenings; And spake licentious words and hatefull things Of good and bad alike, of low and hie, Ne Kesars spared he a whit nor kings; But either blotted them with infamie, Or bit them with his banefull teeth of iniury.
But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd, Rencountred him with so impetuous might, That th' outrage of his violence he stayd, And bet abacke threatning in vaine to bite, And spitting forth the poyson of his spight That fomed all about his bloody iawes: Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight, He rampt upon him with his ravenous pawes, As if he would have rent him with his cruell clawes:
But he right well aware, his rage to ward, Did cast his shield atweene; and, therewithall Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu'd so hard, That backeward he enforced him to fall; And, being downe, ere he new helpe could call, His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held; Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld, Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld. Full cruelly the beast did rage and rore To be downe held, and maystred so with might, That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore, Striving in vaine to rere himself upright: For still, the more he strove, the more the knight Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew; That made him almost mad for fell despight: He grind, he bit, he scracht, he venim threw, And fared like a feend right horrible in hew:
Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they faine That great Alcides whilome overthrew, After that he had labourd long in vaine To crop his thousand heads, the which still new Forth budded, and in greater number grew. Such was the fury of this hellish beast, Whilest Calidore him under him downe threw ; Who nathëmore his heavy load releast, But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his powre in-
Tho, when the beast saw he mote nought availe By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply, And sharpely at him to revile and raile With bitter termes of shamefull infamy; Oft interlacing many a forged lie, Whose like he never once did speake, nor heare, Nor ever thought thing so unworthily: Yet did he nought, for all that, him forbeare, But strained him so streightly that he chokt him
At last, whenas he found his force to shrincke And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzle strong Of surest yron made with many a lincke; Therewith be mured up his mouth along, And therein shut up his blasphemous tong, For never more defaming gentle knight, Or unto lovely lady doing wrong: And thereunto a great long chaine he tight, With which he drew him forth, even in his ow
Like as whylóme that strong Tirynthian swaine Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of Hell Against his will fast bound in yron chaine, And roring horribly did him compell To see the hatefull Sunne, that he might tell To griesly Pluto, what on Earth was donne, And to the other damned ghosts which dwell For aye in darkenesse which day-light doth shonne: So led this knight his captyve with like conquest
Yet greatly did the beast repine at those
So did he eeke long after this remaine, Untill that, (whether wicked fate so framed Or fault of men) he broke his yron chaine, And got into the world at liberty againe.
Thenceforth more mischiefe and more scath he To mortall men then he had done before; [wrought Ne ever could, by any, more be brought Into like bands, ne maystred any more: Albe that, long time after Calidore, The good sir Pelleas him tooke in hand; And after him sir Lamoracke of yore;
Straunge bands, whose like till then be never bore, And all his brethren borne in Britaine land;
Ne ever any durst till then impose; And chauffed inly, seeing now no more Him liberty was left aloud to rore:
Yet durst he not draw backe, nor once withstand The proved powre of noble Calidore;
But trembled underneath his mighty hand, [land. And like a fearefull dog him followed through the Him through all Faery land he follow'd so, As if he learned had obedience long, That all the people, whereso he did go, Out of their townes did round about him throng, To see him leade that beast in bondage strong; And, seeing it, much wondred at the sight: And all such persons, as he earst did wrong, Reioyced much to see his captive plight, [knight. And much admyr'd the beast, but more admyr'd the Thus was this monster, by the maystring might Of doughty Calidore, supprest and tamed, That never more he mote endammadge wight With his vile tongue, which many had defamed, And many causelesse caused to be blamed:
Yet none of them could ever bring him into band.
So now he raungeth through the world againe, And rageth sore in each degree and state; Ne any is that may him now restraine, He growen is so great and strong of late, Barking and biting all that him doe bate, Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime; Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate, Ne spareth he the gentle poets rime; But rends, without regard of person or of time.
Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest, Hope to escape his venemous despite, More than my former writs, all were they cleanest From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite. With which some wicked tongues did it backebite, And bring into a mighty peres displeasure, That never so deserved to endite. Therefore do you, my rimes, keep better measure, Aud seeke to please; that now is counted wise mens threasure.
TWO CANTOS OF MUTABILITIE:
WHICH, BOTH FOR FORME AND MATTER, APPEARE TO BE PARCELL OF SOME FOLLOWING BOOKE OF
THE FAERIE QUEENE,
Proud Change (not pleasd in mortall things Beneath the Moone to raigne) Pretends, as well of gods as men, To be the soveraine.
WHAT man that sees the ever-whirling wheele Of Change, the which all mortall things doth sway, But that thereby doth find, and plainly feele, How Mutability in them doth play Her cruell sports to many mens decay? Which that to all may better yet appeare, I will rehearse, that whylome I heard say,
How she at first herselfe began to reare
But first, here falleth fittest to unfold Her antique race and linage ancient, As I have found it registred of old In Faery land mongst records permanent. She was, to weet, a daughter by descent. Of those old Titans that did whylome strive With Saturnes sonne for Heavens regiment; Whom though high love of kingdome did deprive, Yet many of their stemme long after did survive:
And many of them afterwards obtain'd Great power of love, and high authority: As Hecate, in whose almighty hand He plac't all rule and principality, To be by her disposed diversly
To gods and men, as she them list divide; And drad Bellona, that doth sound on hie
Gainst all the gods, and th' empire sought from Warres and allarums unto nations wide,
That makes both Heaven and Earth to tremble at ber
So likewise did this Titanesse aspire Rule and dominion to herselfe to gaine; That as a goddesse men might her admire, And heavenly honours yield, as to them twaine : And first, on Earth she sought it to obtaine; Where she such proofe and sad examples shewed Of her great power, to many ones great paine, That not men onely (whom she soone subdewed) But eke all other creatures her bad dooings rewed.
For she the face of earthly things so changed, That all which Nature had establisht first In good estate, and in meet order ranged, She did pervert, and all their statutes burst: And all the worlds faire frame (which none yet durst Of gods or men to alter or misguide)
She alter'd quite; and made them all accurst That God had blest, and did at first provide In that still happy state for ever to abide.
Ne shee the lawes of Nature onely brake, But eke of Justice, and of Policie;
And wrong of right, and bad of good did make, And death for life exchanged foolishlie : Since which, all living wights have learn'd to die, And all this world is woxen daily worse. O pittious worke of Mutabilitie,
By which we all are subiect to that curse, [nurse: And death, in stead of life, have sucked from our
And now, when all the Earth she thus had brought To her behest and thralled to her might, She gan to cast in her ambitious thought T'attempt the empire of the Heavens hight, And love himselfe to shoulder from his right. And first, she past the region of the ayre And of the fire, whose substance thin and slight Made no resistance, ne could her contraire, But ready passage to her pleasure did prepaire.
Thence to the circle of the Moone she clambe, Where Cynthia raignes in everlasting glory, To whose bright shining palace straight she came, All fairely deckt with Heavens goodly story; Whose silver gates (by which there sate an hory Old aged sire, with hower-glasse in hand, Hight Tyme) she entred, were he liefe or sory; Ne staide till she the highest stage had scand, Where Cynthia did sit, that never still did stand.
Her sitting on an ivory throne shee found, Drawne of two steeds, th' one black, the other white, Environd with tenne thousand starres around, That duly her attended day and night;
And by her side there ran her page, that hight Vesper, whom we the evening-starre intend; That with his torche, still twinkling like twylight, Her lightened all the way where she should wend, And joy to weary wandring travailers did lend :
That when the hardy Titanesse beheld The goodly building of her palace bright, Made of the Heavens substance, and up-held With thousand crystall pillors of huge hight; Shee gan to burne in her ambitious spright, And t'envie her that in such glorie raigned. Eftsoones she cast by force and tortious might Her to displace, and to herselfe t' have gained The kingdome of the Night, and waters by her wained.
Boldly she bid the goddesse downe descend, And let herselfe into that ivory throne; For she herselfe more worthy thereof wend, And better able it to guide alone; Whether to men whose fall she did bemone, Or unto gods whose state she did maligne, Or to th' infernall powers her need give lone Of her faire light and bounty most benigne,) Herselfe of all that rule shee deemed most condigne.
But shee that had to her that soveraigne scat By highest love assign'd, therein to beare Nights burning lamp, regarded not her threat, Ne yielded ought for favour or for feare; But,with sterne countenaunce and disdainfull cheare Bending her horned browes, did put her back; And, boldly blaming ber for coming there, Bade her attonce from Heavens coast to pack, Or at her perill bide the wrathfull thunders wrack.
Yet nathëmore the giantesse forbare; But, boldly preacing on, raught forth her hand To pluck her downe perforce from off her chaire; And, there-with lifting up her golden wand, Threatned to strike her if she did with-stand: Whereat the starres, which round about her blazed, And eke the Moones bright wagon still did stand, All beeing with so bold attempt amazed, And on her uncouth habit and sterne looke still gazed.
Mean while the lower world, which nothing knew Of all that chaunced here, was darkned quite; And eke the Heavens, and all the heavenly crew Of happy wights, now unpurvaide of light, Were much afraid and wondred at that sight; Fearing least Chaos broken had his chaine, And brought againe on them eternall night; But chiefely Mercury, that next doth raigne, Ran forth in haste unto the king of gods to plaine.
All ran together with a great out-cry To loves faire palace fixt in Heavens hight; And, beating at his gates full earnestly, Gan call to him aloud with all their might To know what meant that suddaine lack of light. The father of the gods, when this he heard, Was troubled much at their so strange affight, Doubting least Typhon were againe uprear'd, Or other his old foes that once him sorely fear'd.
Eftsoones the sonne of Main forth he sent Downe to the circle of the Moone, to knowe The cause of this so strange astonishment, And why shee did her wonted course forslowe; And, if that any were on Earth belowe That did with charmes or magick her molest, Him to attache, and downe to Hell to throwe; But if from Heaven it were, then to arrest The author, and him bring before his presence prest.
The wingd-foot god so fast his plumes did beat, That soone he came whereas the Titanesse Was striving with faire Cynthia for her seat; At whose strange sight and haughty hardinesse He wondred much, and feared her no lesse: Yet, laying feare aside to doe his charge, At last he bade her, with bold stedfastnesse, Ceasse to molest the Moone to walke at large, Or come before high love her dooings to discharge.
« PreviousContinue » |