The Faerie Queene

  He lighdy snatcht, and did the floudgate stop

  With his faire garment: then gan softly feele

  Her feeble pulse, to proue if any drop

  Of liuing bloud yet in her veynes did hop;

  Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faire

  To call backe life to her forsaken shop;

  So well he did her deadly wounds repaire,

  That at the last she gan to breath out liuing aire.

  44 Which he perceiuing greatly gan reioice,

  And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart

  Is meetest med’cine, tempred with sweet voice;

  Ay me, deare Lady, which the image art

  Of ruefull pitie, and impatient smart,

  What direfull chance, armd with reuenging fate,

  Or cursed hand hath plaid this cruell part,

  Thus fowle to hasten your vntimely date;

  Speake, O deare Lady speake: help neuer comes too late.

  45 Therewith her dim eie-lids she vp gan reare,

  On which the drery death did sit, as sad

  As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare;

  But when as him all in bright armour clad

  Before her standing she espied had,

  As one out of a deadly dreame affright,

  She weakely started, yet she nothing drad:

  Streight downe againe her selfe in great despight,

  She groueling threw to ground, as hating life and light.

  46 The gentle knight her soone with carefull paine

  Vplifted light, and softly did vphold:

  Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunke againe,

  Till he his armes about her sides gan fold,

  And to her said; Yet if the stony cold

  Haue not all seized on your frozen hart,

  Let one word fall that may your griefe vnfold,

  And tell the secret of your mortall smart;

  He oft finds present helpe, who does his griefe impart.

  47 Then casting vp a deadly looke, full low,

  Shee sight from bottome of her wounded brest,

  And after, many bitter throbs did throw

  With lips full pale and foltring tongue opprest,

  These words she breathed forth from riuen chest;

  Leaue, ah leaue off, what euer wight thou bee,

  To let a wearie wretch from her dew rest,

  And trouble dying soules tranquilitee.

  Take not away now got, which none would giue to me.

  48 Ah farre be it (said he) Deare dame fro mee,

  To hinder soule from her desired rest,

  Or hold sad life in long captiuitee:

  For all I seeke, is but to haue redrest

  The bitter pangs, that doth your heart infest.

  Tell then, ô Lady tell, what fatall priefe

  Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest?

  That I may cast to compasse your reliefe,

  Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your griefe.

  49 With feeble hands then stretched forth on hye,

  As heauen accusing guiltie of her death,

  And with dry drops congealed in her eye,

  In these sad words she spent her vtmost breath:

  Heare then, ô man, the sorrowes that vneath

  My tongue can tell, so farre all sense they pas:

  Loe this dead corpse, that lies here vnderneath,

  The gentlest knight, that euer on greene gras

  Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good Sir Mortdant was.

  50 Was, (ay the while, that he is not so now)

  My Lord my loue; my deare Lord, my deare loue,

  So long as heauens iust with equall brow,

  Vouchsafed to behold vs from aboue,

  One day when him high courage did emmoue,

  As wont ye knights to seeke aduentures wilde,

  He pricked forth, his puissant force to proue,

  Me then he left enwombed of this child,

  This lucklesse child, whom thus ye see with bloud defild.

  51 Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may ghesse)

  To come, where vile Acrasia does wonne,

  Acrasia a false enchaunteresse,

  That many errant knights hath foule fordonne:

  Within a wandring Island, that doth ronne

  And stray in perilous gulfe, her dwelling is,

  Faire Sir, if euer there ye trauell, shonne

  The cursed land where many wend amis,

  And know it by the name; it hight the Bowre of blis.

  52 Her blisse is all in pleasure and delight,

  Wherewith she makes her louers drunken mad,

  And then with words & weedes of wondrous might,

  On them she workes her will to vses bad:

  My lifest Lord she thus beguiled had;

  For he was flesh: (all flesh doth frailtie breed.)

  Whom when I heard to beene so ill bestad,

  Weake wretch I wrapt my selfe in Palmers weed,

  And cast to seeke him forth through daunger and great dreed.

  53 Now had faire Cynthia by euen tournes

  Full measured three quarters of her yeare,

  And thrise three times had fild her crooked homes,

  Whenas my wombe her burdein would forbeare,

  And bad me call Lucina to me neare.

  Lucina came: a manchild forth I brought:

  The woods, the Nymphes, my bowres, my midwiues weare,

  Hard helpe at need. So deare thee babe I bought,

  Yet nought too deare I deemd, while so my dear I sought.

  54 Him so I sought, and so at last I found,

  Where him that witch had thralled to her will,

  In chaines of lust and lewd desires ybound,

  And so transformed from his former skill,

  That me he knew not, neither his owne ill;

  Till through wise handling and faire gouernance,

  I him recured to a better will,

  Purged from drugs of foule intemperance;

  Then meanes I gan deuise for his deliuerance.

  55 Which when the vile Enchaunteresse perceiu’d,

  How that my Lord from her I would repriue,

  With cup thus charmd, him parting she deceiu’d;

  Sad verse, give death to him that death does give,

  And losse of love, to her that loues to live,

  So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe does lincke,

  So parted we and on our iourney driue,

  Till comming to this well, he stoupt to drincke:

  The charme fulfild, dead suddenly he downe did sincke.

  56 Which when I wretch, Not one word more she sayd

  But breaking off, the end for want of breath,

  And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd,

  And ended all her woe in quiet death.

  That seeing good Sir Guyon, could vneath

  From tears abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate,

  And from so heauie sight his head did wreath,

  Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate,

  Which plunged had faire Ladie in so wretched state.

  57 Then turning to his Palmer said, Old syre

  Behold the image of mortalitie,

  And feeble nature cloth’d with fleshly tyre,

  When raging passion with fierce tyrannie

  Robs reason of her due regalitie,

  And makes it seruant to her basest part:

  The strong it weakens with infirmitie,

  And with bold furie armes the weakest hart;

  The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through

  [smart.

  58 But temperance (said he) with golden squire

  Betwixt them both can measure out a meane,

  Neither to melt in pleasures whot desire,

  Nor fry in hartlesse griefe and dolefull teene.

  Thrise happie man, who fares them both atweene:

  But sith this wretched woman ouercome
>
  Of anguish, rather then of crime hath beene,

  Reserue her cause to her eternall doome,

  And in the meane vouchsafe her honorable toombe.

  59 Palmer (quoth he) death is an equall doome

  To good and bad, the common Inne of rest;

  But after death the tryall is to come,

  When best shall be to them, that liued best:

  But both alike, when death hath both supprest,

  Religious reuerence doth bury all teene,

  Which who so wants, wants so much of his rest:

  For all so great shame after death I weene,

  As selfe to dyen bad, vnburied bad to beene.

  60 So both agree their bodies to engraue;

  The great earthes wombe they open to the sky,

  And with sad Cypresse seemely it embraue,

  Then couering with a clod their closed eye,

  They lay therein those corses tenderly,

  And bid them sleepe in euerlasting peace.

  But ere they did their vtmost obsequy,

  Sir Guyon more affection to increace,

  Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should aye releace.

  61 The dead knights sword out of his sheath he drew,

  With which he cut a locke of all their heare,

  Which medling with their bloud and earth, he threw

  Into the graue, and gan deuoutly sweare;

  Such and such euill God on Guyon reare,

  And worse and worse young Orphane be thy paine,

  If I or thou dew vengeance doe forbeare,

  Till guiltie bloud her guerdon doe obtaine:

  So shedding many teares, they closd the earth againe.

  CANTO II

  Babes bloudie hands may not be clensd,

  the face of golden Meane.

  Her sisters two Extremities:

  striue her to banish cleane.

  1 Thus when Sir Guyon with his faithfull guide

  Had with due rites and dolorous lament

  The end of their sad Tragedie vptyde,

  The litle babe vp in his armes he hent;

  Who with sweet pleasance and bold blandishment

  Gan smyle on them, that rather ought to weepe,

  As carelesse of his woe, or innocent

  Of that was doen, that ruth emperced deepe

  In that knights heart, and wordes with bitter teares did steepe.

  2 Ah lucklesse babe, borne vnder cruell starre,

  And in dead parents balefull ashes bred,

  Full litle weenest thou, what sorrowes are

  Left thee for portion of thy liuelihed,

  Poore Orphane in the wide world scattered,

  As budding braunch rent from the natiue tree,

  And throwen forth, till it be withered:

  Such is the state of men: thus enter wee

  Into this life with woe, and end with miseree.

  3 Then soft himselfe inclyning on his knee

  Downe to that well, did in the water weene

  (So loue does loath disdainfull nicitee)

  His guiltie hands from bloudie gore to cleene.

  He washt them oft and oft, yet nought they beene

  For all his washing cleaner. Still he stroue,

  Yet still the litle hands were bloudie seene;

  The which him into great amaz’ment droue,

  And into diuerse doubt his wauering wonder cloue.

  4 He wist not whether blot of foule offence

  Might not be purged with water nor with bath;

  Or that high God, in lieu of innocence,

  Imprinted had that token of his wrath,

  To shew how sore bloudguiltinesse he hat’th;

  Or that the charme and venim, which they druncke,

  Their bloud with secret filth infected hath,

  Being diffused through the senselesse truncke,

  That through the great contagion direfull deadly stunck.

  5 Whom thus at gaze, the Palmer gan to bord

  With goodly reason, and thus faire bespake;

  Ye bene right hard amated, gratious Lord,

  And of your ignorance great maruell make,

  Whiles cause not well concerned ye mistake.

  But know, that secret vertues are infusd

  In euery fountaine, and in euery lake,

  Which who hath skill them rightly to haue chusd,

  To proofe of passing wonders hath full often vsd.

  6 Of those some were so from their sourse indewd

  By great Dame Nature, from whose fruitfull pap

  Their welheads spring, and are with moisture deawd;

  Which feedes each liuing plant with liquid sap,

  And filles with flowers faire Floraes painted lap:

  But other some by gift of later grace,

  Or by good prayers, or by other hap,

  Had vertue pourd into their waters bace,

  And thenceforth were renowmd, & sought from place to place.

  7 Such is this well, wrought by occasion straunge,

  Which to her Nymph befell. Vpon a day,

  As she the woods with bow and shafts did raunge,

  The hartlesse Hind and Robucke to dismay,

  Dan Faunus chaunst to meet her by the way,

  And kindling fire at her faire burning eye,

  Inflamed was to follow beauties chace,

  And chaced her, that fast from him did fly;

  As Hind from her, so she fled from here enimy.

  8 At last when fayling breath began to faint,

  And saw no meanes to scape, of shame affayd,

  She set her downe to weepe for sore constraint,

  And to Diana calling lowd for ayde,

  Her deare besought, to let her dye a mayd.

  The goddesse heard, and suddeine where she sate,

  Welling out streames of tears, and quite dismayd

  With stony feare of that rude rustick mate,

  Transformd her to a stone from stedfast virgins state.

  9 Lo now she is that stone, from whose two heads,

  As from two weeping eyes, fresh streames do flow,

  Yet cold through feare, and old concerned dreads;

  And yet the stone her semblance seemes to show,

  Shapt like a maid, that such ye may her know;

  And yet her vertues in her water byde:

  For it is chast and pure, as purest snow,

  Ne lets her waues with any filth be dyde,

  But euer like her selfe vnstained hath beene tryde.

  10 From thence it comes, that this babes bloudy hand

  May not be clensd with water of this well:

  Ne certes Sir striue you it to withstand,

  But let them still be bloudy, as befell,

  That they his mothers innocence may tell,

  As she bequeathd in her last testament;

  That as a sacred Symbole it may dwell

  In her sonnes flesh, to minde reuengement,

  And be for all chast Dames an endlesse moniment.

  11 He hearkned to his reason, and the childe

  Vptaking, to the Palmer gaue to beare;

  But his sad fathers armes with bloud defilde,

  An heauie load himselfe did lightly reare,

  And turning to that place, in which whyleare

  He left his loftie steed with golden sell,

  And goodly gorgeous barbes, him found not theare.

  By other accident that earst befell,

  He is conuaide, but how or where, here fits not tell.

  12 Which when Sir Guyon saw, all were he wroth,

  Yet algates mote he soft himselfe appease,

  And fairely fare on foot, how euer loth;

  His double burden did him sore disease.

  So long they traueiled with litle ease,

  Till that at last they to a Castle came,

  Built on a rocke adioyning to the seas,

  It was an auncient worke of antique fame,

  And wondrous strong by na
ture, and by skilfull frame.

  13 Therein three sisters dwelt of sundry sort,

  The children of one sire by mothers three;

  Who dying whylome did diuide this fort

  To them by equall shares in equall fee:

  But strifull minde, and diuerse qualitee

  Drew them in parts, and each made others foe:

  Still did they striue, and dayly disagree;

  The eldest did against the youngest goe,

  And both against the middest meant to worken woe.

  14 Where when the knight arriu’d, he was right well.

  Receiu’d, as knight of so much worth became,

  Of second sister, who did far excell

  The other two; Medina was her name,

  A sober sad, and comely curteous Dame;

  Who rich arayd, and yet in modest guize,

  In goodly garments, that her well became,

  Faire marching forth in honorable wize,

  Him at the threshold met, and well did enterprize.

  15 She led him vp into a goodly bowre,

  And comely courted with meet modestie,

  Ne in her speach, ne in her hauiour,

  Was lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie,

  But gratious womanhood, and grauitie,

  Aboue the reason of her youthly yeares:

  Her golden lockes she roundly did vptye

  In breaded tramels, that no looser heares

  Did out of order stray about her daintie eares.

  16 Whitest she her selfe thus busily did frame,

  Seemely to entertaine her new-come guest,

  Newes hereof to her other sisters came,

  Who all this while were at their wanton rest,

  Accoutring each her friend with lauish fest:

  They were two knights of perelesse puissance,

  And famous far abroad for warlike gest,

  Which to these Ladies loue did countenaunce,

  And to his mistresse each himselfe stroue to aduaunce.

  17 He that made loue vnto the eldest Dame,

  Was tight Sir Huddibras, an hardy man;

  Yet not so good of deedes, as great of name,

  Which he by many rash aduentures wan,

  Since errant armes to sew he first began;

  More huge in strength, then wise in workes he was,

  And reason with foole-hardize ouer ran;

  Sterne melancholy did his courage pas,

  And was for terrour more, all armd in shyning bras.

  18 But he that lou’d the youngest, was Sons-lay,

  He that faire Vna late fowle outraged,

  The most vnruly, and the boldest boy,

  That euer warlike weapons menaged,

  And to all lawlesse lust encouraged,

  Through strong opinion of his matchlesse might:

  Ne ought he car’d, whom he endamaged

  By tortious wrong, or whom bereau’d of right.