The Faerie Queene (91 page)

And let him rise. Then thus the Prince gan say;

Now Lady sith your fortunes thus dispose,

That if ye list haue liberty, ye may,

Vnto your selfe I freely leaue to chose,

Whether I shall you leaue, or from these villaines lose.

30
Ah nay Sir Knight (sayd she) it may not be,

But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill

This penaunce, which enioyned is to me,

Least vnto me betide a greater ill;

Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will.

So humbly taking leaue, she turnd aside,

But
Arthure
with the rest, went onward still

On his first quest, in which did him betide

A great aduenture, which did him from them deuide.

31
But first it falleth me by course to tell

Of faire
Serena,
who as earst you heard,

When first the gentle Squire at variaunce fell

With those two Carles, fled fast away, afeard

Of villany to be to her inferd:

So fresh the image of her former dread,

Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard,

That euery foote did tremble, which did tread,

And euery body two, and two she foure did read.

32
Through hils & dales, through bushes & through breres

Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought

Her selfe now past the perill of her feares.

Then looking round about, and seeing nought,

Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought,

She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine,

And sitting downe, her selfe a while bethought

Of her long trauell and turmoyling paine;

And often did of loue, and oft of lucke complaine.

33
And euennore she blamed
Calepine,

The good Sir
Calepine,
her owne true Knight,

As th'onely author of her wofull tine:

For being of his loue to her so light,

As her to leaue in such a piteous plight.

Yet neuer Turtle truer to his make,

Then he was tride vnto his Lady bright:

Who all this while endured for her sake,

Great perill of his life, and resdesse paines did take.

34
Tho when as all her plaints, she had displayd,

And well disburdened her engrieued brest,

Vpon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd;

Where being tyrde with trauell, and opprest

With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest.

There whitest in
Morpheus
bosome safe she lay,

Fearelesse of ought, that mote her peace molest,

False Fortune did her safety betray,

Vnto a straunge mischaunce, that menac'd her decay.

35
In these wylde deserts, where she now abode,

There dwelt a saluage nation, which did liue

Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode

Into their neighbours borders; ne did giue

Them selues to any trade, as for to driue

The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,

Or by aduentrous marchandize to thriue;

But on the labours of poore men to feed,

And serue their owne necessities with others need.

36
Thereto they vsde one most accursed order,

To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde,

And straungers to deuoure, which on their border

Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde.

A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde.

They towards euening wandring euery way,

To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde,

Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray,

Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay.

37
Soone as they spide her, Lord what gladfull glee

They made amongst them selues; but when her face

Like the faire yuory shining they did see,

Each gan his fellow solace and embrace,

For ioy of such good hap by heauenly grace.

Then gan they to deuize what course to take:

Whether to slay her there vpon the place,

Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,

And then her eate attonce; or many meales to make.

38
The best aduizement was of bad, to let her

Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment:

For sleepe they sayd would make her battill better.

Then when she wakt, they all gaue one consent,

That since by grace of God she there was sent,

Vnto their God they would her sacrifize,

Whose share, her guildesse bloud diey would present,

But of her dainty flesh they did deuize

To make a common feast, & feed with gunnandize.

39
So round about her they them selues did place

Vpon the grasse, and diuersely dispose,

As each thought best to spend the lingring space.

Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose;

Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose;

Some whet their kniues, and strip their elboes bare:

The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose

Of finest flowres, and with full busie care

His bloudy vessels wash; and holy fire prepare.

40
The Damzell wakes, then all attonce vpstart,

And round about her flocke, like many flies,

Whooping, and hallowing on euery part,

As if they would haue rent the brasen skies.

Which when she sees with ghastly grieflful eies,

Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew

Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud she cries,

Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew,

And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew.

41
But all bootes not: they hands vpon her lay;

And first they spoile her of her iewls deare,

And afterwards of all her rich array;

The which amongst them they in peeces teare,

And of the pray each one a part doth beare.

Now being naked, to their sordid eyes

The goodly threasures of nature appeare:

Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes,

Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest enuyes.

42
Her yuorie necke, her alablaster brest,

Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were,

For loue in soft delight thereon to rest;

Her tender sides, her bellie white and clere,

Which like an Altar did it selfe vprere,

To offer sacrifice diuine thereon;

Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare

Like a triumphall Arch, and thereupon

The spoiles of Princes hang'd, which were in battel won.

43
Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight,

Which mote not be prophan'd of common eyes,

Those villeins vew'd with loose lasciuious sight,

And closely tempted with their craftie spyes;

And some of them gan mongst themselues deuize,

Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure.

But them the Priest rebuking, did aduize

To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure,

Vow'd to the gods: religion held euen theeues in measure.

44
So being stayd, they her from thence directed

Vnto a litle groue not farre asyde,

In which an altar shortly they erected,

To slay her on. And now the Euentyde

His brode black wings had through the heauens wyde

By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned

For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:

Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned,

And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned.

45
Tho when as all things readie were aright,

The Damzell was before the altar set,

Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright.

To whom the Priest with naked armes full net

Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet,

Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme,

With other diuelish ceremonies met:

Which doen he gan aloft t'aduance his arme,

Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud alarme.

46
Then gan the bagpypes and the homes to shrill,

And shrieke aloud, that with the peoples voyce

Confused, did the ayre with terror fill,

And made the wood to tremble at the noyce:

The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce.

Now mote ye vnderstand that to this groue

Sir
Calepine
by chaunce, more then by choyce,

The selfe same euening fortune hether droue,

As he to seeke
Serena
through the woods did roue.

47
Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle

Had traueld still on foot in heauie armes,

Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyle,

Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes:

And now all weedesse of the wretched stormes,

In which his loue was lost, he slept full fast,

Till being waked with these loud alarmes,

He lightly started vp like one aghast,

And catching vp his arms streight to the noise forth past.

48
There by th'vncertaine glims of starry night,

And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,

He mote perceiue a litle dawning sight

Of all, which there was doing in that quire:

Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire

He spyde, lamenting her vnluckie strife,

And groning sore from grieued hart entire;

Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife

Readie to launch her brest, and let out loued life.

49
With that he thrusts into the thickest throng,

And euen as his right hand adowne descends,

He him preuenting, layes on earth along,

And sacrifizeth to th'infernall feends.

Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends,

Of whom he makes such hauocke and such hew,

That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends:

The rest that scape his sword and death eschew,

Fly like a flocke of doues before a Faulcons vew.

50
From them returning to that Ladie backe,

Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find,

Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke

Of clothes to couer, what they ought by kind,

He first her hands beginneth to vnbind;

And then to question of her present woe;

And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind.

But she for nought that he could say or doe,

One word durst speake, or answere him awhit thereto.

51
So inward shame of her vncomely case

She did conceiue, through care of womanhood,

That though the night did couer her disgrace,

Yet she in so vnwomanly a mood,

Would not bewray the state in which she stood.

So all that night to him vnknowen she past.

But day, that doth discouer bad and good,

Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:

The end whereof Ile keepe vntill another cast.

Calidore hostes with Melibce
   and loues fayre Pastorell;
Coridon enuies him, yet he
   for ill rewards him well.

1
Now turne againe my teme thou iolly swayne,

Backe to the furrow which I lately left;

I lately left a furrow, one or twayne

Vnplough'd, the which my coulter hath not cleft:

Yet seem'd the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft,

As I it past, that were too great a shame,

That so rich frute should be from vs bereft;

Besides the great dishonour and defame,

Which should befall to
Calidores
immortall name.

2
Great trauell hath the gentle
Calidore

And toyle endured, sith I left him last

Sewing the
Blatant beast,
which I forbore

To finish then, for other present hast.

Full many pathes and perils he hath past,

Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, & throgh plaines

In that same quest which fortune on him cast,

Which he atchieued to his owne great gaines,

Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.

3
So sharply he the Monster did pursew,

That day nor night he suffred him to rest,

Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew,

For dread of daunger, not to be redrest,

If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest.

Him first from court he to the citties coursed,

And from the citties to the townes him prest,

And from the townes into the countrie forsed,

And from the country back to priuate farmes he scorsed.

4
From thence into the open fields he fled,

Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat,

And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed,

Layes of sweete loue and youthes delightfull heat:

Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat

He followed fast, and chaced him so nie,

That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat,

And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie

In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flie.

5
There on a day as he pursew'd the chace,

He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes,

Playing on pypes, and caroling apace,

The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes

Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes:

For other worldly wealth they cared nought.

To whom Sir
Calidore
yet sweating comes,

And them to tell him courteously besought,

If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought.

6
They answer'd him, that no such beast they saw,

Nor any wicked feend, that mote offend

Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw:

But if that such there were (as none they kend)

They prayd high God him farre from them to send.

Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,

After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,

Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat,

And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat.

7
The knight was nothing nice, where was no need,

And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne

They prayd him sit, and gaue him for to feed

Such homely what, as semes the simple clowne,

That doth despise the dainties of the towne.

Tho hauing fed his fill, he there besyde

Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne

Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde,

Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde.

8
Vpon a litle hillocke she was placed

Higher then all the rest, and round about

Enuiron'd with a girland, goodly graced,

Of louely lasses, and them all without

The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,

The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,

And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout,

As if some miracle of heauenly hew

Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.

9
And soothly sure she was full fayre of face,

And perfectly well shapt in euery lim,

Which she did more augment with modest grace,

And comely carriage of her count'nance trim,

That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:

Who her admiring as some heauenly wight,

Did for their soueraine goddesse her esteeme,

And caroling her name both day and night,

The fayrest
Pastorella
her by name did hight.

10
Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne

But her did honour, and eke many a one

Burnt in her loue, and with sweet pleasing payne

Full many a night for her did sigh and grone:

But most of all die shepheard
Condon

For her did languish, and his deare life spend;

Yet neither she for him, nor other none

Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:

Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend.

11
Her whyles Sir
Calidore
there vewed well,

And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed

So farre die meane of shepheards to excell,

As that he in his mind her worthy deemed,

To be a Princes Paragone esteemed,

He was vnwares surprisd in subtile bands

Of the blynd boy, ne thence could be redeemed

By any skill out of his cruell hands,

Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands.

12
So stood he still long gazing thereupon,

Ne any will had thence to moue away,

Although his quest were farre afore him gon;

But after he had fed, yet did he stay,

And sate there still, vntill the flying day

Was farre forth spent, discoursing diuersly

Of sundry things, as fell to worke delay;

And euermore his speach he did apply

To th'heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy.

13
By this the moystie night approching fast,

Her deawy humour gan on th'earth to shed,

That warn'd the shepheards to their homes to hast

Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,

For feare of wetting them before their bed;

Then came to them a good old aged syre,

Whose siluer lockes bedeckt his beard and hed,

With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,

That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre.

14
He was to weet by common voice esteemed

The father of the fayrest
Pastorell,

And of her selfe in very deede so deemed;

Yet was not so, but as old stories tell

Found her by fortune, which to him befell,

Tn th'open fields an Infant left alone,

And taking vp brought home, and noursed well

As his owne chyld; for other he had none,

That she in tract of time accompted was his owne.

15
She at his bidding meekely did arise,

And streight vnto her litle flocke did fare:

Then all the rest about her rose likewise,

And each his sundrie sheepe with seuerall care

Gathered together, and them homeward bare:

Whylest euerie one with helping hands did striue

Amongst themselues, and did their labours share,

To helpe faire
Pastorella,
home to driue

Her fleecie flocke; but
Coridon
most helpe did giue.

16
But
Melibœe
(so bight that good old man)

Now seeing
Calidore
left all alone,

And night arriued hard at hand, began

Him to inuite vnto bis simple home;

Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,

And all things therein meane, yet better so

To lodge, then in the saluage fields to rome.

The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,

Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go.

17
There he was welcom'd of that honest syre,

And of his aged Beldame homely well;

Who him besought himselfe to disattyre,

And rest himselfe, till supper time befell.

By which home came the fayrest
Pastorell,

After her flocke she in their fold had tyde,

And supper readie dight, they to it fell

With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,

The which doth litle craue contented to abyde.

18
Tho when they had their hunger slaked well,

And the fayre mayd the table ta'ne away,

The gentle knight, as he that did excell

In courtesie, and well could doe and say,

For so great kindnesse as he found that day,

Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife;

And drawing thence his speach another way,

Gan highly to commend the happie life,

Which Shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife.

19
How much (sayd he) more happie is the state,

In which ye father here doe dwell at ease,

Leading a life so free and fortunate,

From all the tempests of these worldly seas,

Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease?

Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie

Doe them afflict, which no man can appease,

That certes I your happinesse enuie,

And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.

20
Surely my sonne (then answer'd he againe)

If happie, then it is in this intent,

That hauing small, yet doe I not complaine

Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,

But doe my selfe, with that I haue, content;

So taught of nature, which doth litle need

Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:

The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;

No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed.

21
Therefore I doe not any one enuy,

Nor am enuyde of any one therefore;

They that haue much, feare much to lose thereby,

And store of cares doth follow riches store.

The litle that I haue, growes dayly more

Without my care, but onely to attend it;

My lambes doe euery yeare increase their score,

And my flockes father daily doth amend it.

What haue I, but to praise th'Ahnighty, that doth send it?

22
To them, that list, the worlds gay showes I leaue,

And to great ones such follies doe forgiue,

Which oft through pride do their owne perill weaue,

And through ambition downe themselues doe driue

To sad decay, that might contented liue.

Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend,

Ne once my minds vnmoued quiet grieue,

But all the night in siluer sleepe I spend,

And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend.

23
Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe

Vnto my Lambes, and him. dislodge away;

Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe,

Or from the Goat her kidde how to conuay;

Another while I baytes and nets display,

The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle:

And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay

My limbes in euery shade, to rest from toyle,

And drinke of euery brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle.

24
The time was once, in my first prime of yeares,

When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,

That I disdain'd amongst mine equall peares

To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire:

For further fortune then I would inquire.

And leauing home, to roiall court I sought;

Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire,

And in the Princes gardin daily wrought:

There I beheld such vainenesse, as I neuer thought.

25
With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded

With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine,

After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded

From natiue home, and spent my youth in vaine,

I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine,

And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare.

Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe,

I from thenceforth haue learn'd to loue more deare

This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here.

26
Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare

Hong still vpon his melting mouth at tent;

Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,

That he was rapt with double rauishment,

Both of his speach that wrought him great content,

And also of the obiect of his vew,

On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;

That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew,

He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew.

27
Yet to occasion meanes, to worke his mind,

And to insinuate his harts desire,

He thus replyde; Now surely syre, I find,

That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,

Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre

Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead,

Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre,

Which tosseth states, and vnder foot doth tread

The mightie ones, affrayd of euery chaunges dread.

28
That euen I which daily doe behold

The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won,

And now haue prou'd, what happinesse ye hold

In this small plot of your dominion,

Now loath great Lordship and ambition;

And wish th'heauens so much had graced mee,

As graunt me liue in like condition;

Or that my fortunes might transposed bee

From pitch of higher place, vnto this low degree.

29
In vaine (said then old
Melibœ)
doe men