Chapter VIII: Appendix: Stanzas Omitted in the Second Edition (1596) 517 (6)

_Faire Vna to the Redcrosse knight
betrouthed is with ioy:
Though false Duessa it to barre
her false sleights doe imploy._
]

Behold I see the hauen nigh at hand, i
To which I meane my wearie course to bend;
Vere the maine shete, and beare vp with the land,
The which afore is fairely to be kend,
And seemeth safe from stormes, that may offend;
There this faire virgin wearie of her way
Must landed be, now at her iourneyes end:
There eke my feeble barke a while may stay,
Till merry wind and weather call her thence away.

Scarsely had _Phœbus_ in the glooming East ii
Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme,
Ne reard aboue the earth his flaming creast,
When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme,
That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme[400]
Vnto the watchman on the castle wall;
Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme,
And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call,
To tell, how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall.[401]

Vprose with hastie ioy, and feeble speed iii
That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land,
And looked forth, to weet, if true indeede
Those tydings were, as he did vnderstand,
Which whenas true by tryall he out fond[402],
He bad to open wyde his brazen gate,
Which long time had bene shut, and out of hond
Proclaymed ioy and peace through all his state;
For dead now was their foe, which them forrayed late.

Then gan triumphant Trompets sound on hie, iv
That sent to heauen the ecchoed report
Of their new ioy, and happie victorie
Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort,
And fast imprisoned in sieged fort.
Then all the people, as in solemne feast,
To him assembled with one full consort,
Reioycing at the fall of that great beast,
From whose eternall bondage now they were releast.

Forth came that auncient Lord and aged Queene, v
Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground,
And sad habiliments right well beseene;
A noble crew about them waited round
Of sage and sober Peres, all grauely gownd;
Whom farre before did march a goodly band
Of tall young men, all hable armes to sownd,
But now they laurell braunches bore in hand;
Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land.

Vnto that doughtie Conquerour they came, vi
And him before themselues prostrating low,
Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame,
And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw.
Soone after them all dauncing on a row
The comely virgins came, with girlands dight,
As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow,
When morning deaw vpon their leaues doth light:
And in their hands sweet Timbrels all vpheld on hight.

And them before, the fry of children young vii
Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play,
And to the Maydens sounding tymbrels[403] sung
In well attuned notes, a ioyous lay,
And made delightfull musicke all the way,
Vntill they came, where that faire virgin stood;
As faire _Diana_ in fresh sommers day[404]
Beholds her Nymphes, enraung’d in shadie wood,
Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood.

So she beheld those maydens meriment viii
With chearefull vew; who when to her they came,
Themselues to ground with gratious[405] humblesse bent,
And her ador’d by honorable name,
Lifting to heauen her euerlasting fame:
Then on her head they set a girland greene,
And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game;
Who in her selfe-resemblance well beseene,
Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene.

And after,[406] all the raskall many ran, ix
Heaped together in rude rablement,
To see the face of that victorious man:
Whom all admired, as from heauen sent,
And gazd vpon with gaping wonderment.
But when they came, where that dead Dragon lay,
Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent,
The sight with idle feare did them dismay,
Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay.

Some feard, and fled; some feard and well it faynd; x
One that would wiser seeme, then all the rest,
Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd
Some lingring life within his hollow brest,
Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest
Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed;
Another said, that in his eyes did rest
Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed;
Another said, he saw him moue his eyes indeed.

One mother, when as[407] her foolehardie chyld xi
Did come too[408] neare, and with his talants play,
Halfe dead through feare, her litle babe reuyld,
And to her gossips[409] gan in counsell say;
How can I tell, but that his talants[410] may
Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand?
So diuersly themselues in vaine they fray;
Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand,
To proue how many acres he did spread of land.

Thus flocked all the folke him round about, xii
The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine,
Being arriued, where that champion stout
After his foes defeasance did remaine,
Him goodly greetes, and faire does entertaine,
With princely gifts of yuorie and gold,
And thousand thankes him yeelds for all his paine.
Then when his daughter deare he does behold,
Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold.

And after to his Pallace he them brings, xiii
With shaumes, and trompets, and with Clarions sweet;
And all the way the ioyous people sings,
And with their garments strowes the paued street:
Whence mounting vp, they find purueyance meet
Of all, that royall Princes court became,
And all the floore was vnderneath their feet
Bespred with costly scarlot of great name,
On which they lowly sit, and fitting purpose frame.

What needs me tell their feast and goodly guize, xiv
In which was nothing riotous nor vaine?
What needs of daintie dishes to deuize,
Of comely seruices, or courtly trayne[411]?
My narrow leaues cannot in them containe
The large discourse of royall Princes state.
Yet was their manner then but bare and plaine:
For th’antique world excesse and pride did hate;
Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen vp but late.

Then when with meates and drinkes of euery kinde xv
Their feruent appetites they quenched had,
That auncient Lord gan fit occasion finde,
Of straunge aduentures, and of perils sad,
Which in his trauell him befallen had,
For to demaund of his renowmed guest:
Who then with vtt’rance graue, and count’nance sad,
From point to point, as is before exprest,
Discourst his voyage long, according his request.

Great pleasure[412] mixt with pittifull regard, xvi
That godly King and Queene did passionate,
Whiles they his pittifull aduentures heard,
That oft they did lament his lucklesse state,
And often blame the too importune fate,
That heapd on him so many wrathfull wreakes:
For neuer gentle knight, as he of late,
So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes;
And all the while salt teares bedeawd the hearers cheaks.

Then said that[413] royall Pere in sober wise; xvii
Deare Sonne, great beene the euils, which ye bore
From first to last in your late enterprise,
That I note, whether prayse, or pitty more:
For neuer liuing man, I weene, so sore
In sea of deadly daungers was distrest;
But since[414] now safe ye seised haue the shore,
And well arriued are, (high God be blest)
Let vs deuize of ease and euerlasting rest.

Ah dearest Lord, said then that doughty knight, xviii
Of ease or rest I may not yet deuize;
For by the faith, which I to armes haue plight,
I bounden am streight after this emprize,
As that your daughter can ye well aduize,
Backe to returne to that great Faerie Queene,
And her to serue six yeares in warlike wize,
Gainst that proud Paynim[415] king, that workes her teene:
Therefore I ought craue pardon, till I there haue beene.

Vnhappie falles that hard necessitie, xix
(Quoth he) the troubler of my happie peace,
And vowed foe of my felicitie;
Ne I against the same can iustly preace:
But since[416] that band ye cannot now release,
Nor doen vndo; (for vowes may not be vaine)
Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall cease,
Ye then shall hither backe returne againe,
The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain.

Which for my part I couet to performe, xx
In sort as through the world I did proclame,
That who so kild that monster most deforme,
And him in hardy battaile ouercame,
Should haue mine onely daughter to his Dame,
And of my kingdome heire apparaunt bee:
Therefore since[417] now to thee perteines the same,
By dew desert of noble cheualree,
Both daughter and eke kingdome, lo I yield to thee.

Then forth he called that his daughter faire, xxi
The fairest _Vn’_ his onely daughter deare,
His onely daughter, and his onely heyre;
Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare,
As bright as doth the morning starre appeare
Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight,
To tell that[418] dawning day is drawing[419] neare,
And to the world does bring long wished light;
So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her selfe in sight.

So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in May; xxii
For she had layd her mournefull stole aside,
And widow-like sad wimple throwne away,
Wherewith her heauenly[420] beautie she did hide,
Whiles on her wearie iourney she did ride;
And on her now a garment she did weare,
All lilly white, withoutten spot, or pride,
That seemd like silke and siluer wouen neare,
But neither silke nor siluer therein did appeare.

The blazing brightnesse of her beauties beame, xxiii
And glorious light of her sunshyny face
To tell, were as to striue against the streame.
My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace,
Her heauenly lineaments for to enchace.
Ne wonder; for her owne deare loued knight,
All were she dayly with himselfe in place,
Did wonder much at her celestiall sight:
Oft had he seene her faire, but neuer so faire dight.

So fairely dight, when she in presence came, xxiv
She to her Sire made humble reuerence,
And bowed low, that her right well became,
And added grace vnto her excellence:
Who with great wisedome, and graue eloquence
Thus gan to say. But eare he thus had said,
With flying speede, and seeming great pretence,
Came running in, much like a man dismaid,
A Messenger with letters, which his message said.

All in the open hall amazed stood, xxv
At suddeinnesse of that vnwarie sight,
And wondred at his breathlesse hastie mood.
But he for nought would stay his passage right,
Till fast before the king he did alight;
Where falling flat, great humblesse he did make,
And kist the ground, whereon his foot was pight;
Then to his hands that writ he did betake,
Which he disclosing, red thus, as the paper spake.

To thee, most mighty king of _Eden_ faire, xxvi
Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest,
The wofull daughter, and forsaken heire
Of that great Emperour of all the West;
And bids thee be aduized for the best,
Ere thou thy daughter linck in holy band
Of wedlocke to that new vnknowen guest:
For he already plighted his right hand
Vnto another loue, and to another land.

To me sad mayd, or rather widow sad, xxvii
He was affiaunced long time before,
And sacred pledges he both gaue, and had,
False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore:
Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore,
And guiltie heauens of his bold periury,
Which though he hath polluted oft of[421] yore,
Yet I to them for Judgement iust do fly,
And them coniure t’auenge this shamefull iniury.

Therefore since[422] mine he is, or free or bond, xxviii
Or false or trew, or liuing or else dead,
Withhold, O soueraine Prince, your hasty hond
From knitting league with him, I you aread;
Ne weene my right with strength adowne to tread,
Through weakenesse of my widowhed, or woe:
For truth is strong, her[423] rightfull cause to plead,
And shall find friends, if need requireth soe,
So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, _Fidessa_.

When he these bitter byting words had red, xxix
The tydings straunge did him abashed make,
That still he sate long time astonished
As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.
At last his solemne silence thus he brake,
With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest;
Redoubted knight, that for mine onely sake
Thy life and honour late aduenturest,
Let nought be hid from me, that ought to be exprest.

What meane these bloudy vowes, and idle threats, xxx
Throwne out from womanish impatient mind?
What heauens? what altars? what enraged heates
Here heaped vp with termes of loue vnkind,
My conscience cleare with guilty bands would bind?
High God be witnesse, that I guiltlesse ame.
But if your selfe, Sir knight, ye faultie find,
Or wrapped be in loues of former Dame,
With crime do not it couer, but disclose the same.

To whom the _Redcrosse_ knight this answere sent, xxxi
My Lord, my King, be nought hereat dismayd,
Till well ye wote by graue intendiment,
What woman, and wherefore doth me vpbrayd
With breach of loue, and loyalty betrayd.
It was in my mishaps, as hitherward
I lately traueild, that vnwares I strayd[424]
Out of my way, through perils straunge and hard;
That day should faile me, ere I had them all declard.

There did I find, or rather I was found xxxii
Of this false woman, that _Fidessa_ hight,
_Fidessa_ hight the falsest Dame on ground,
Most false _Duessa_, royall richly dight,
That easie was t’[425] inuegle weaker sight:
Who by her wicked arts, and wylie skill,
Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,
Vnwares me wrought vnto her wicked will,
And to my foe betrayd, when least I feared ill.

Then stepped forth the goodly royall Mayd, xxxiii
And on the ground her selfe prostrating low,
With sober countenaunce thus to him sayd;
O pardon me, my soueraigne Lord, to show
The secret treasons, which of late I know
To haue bene wroght by that false sorceresse.
She onely she it is, that earst did throw
This gentle knight into so great distresse,
That death him did awaite in dayly wretchednesse.

And now it seemes, that she suborned hath xxxiv
This craftie messenger with letters vaine[426],
To worke new woe and improuided scath,
By breaking of the band betwixt vs twaine;
Wherein she vsed hath the practicke paine
Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse,
Whom if ye please for to discouer plaine,
Ye shall him _Archimago_ find, I ghesse,
The falsest man aliue; who[427] tries shall find no lesse.

The king was greatly moued at her speach, xxxv
And all with suddein indignation fraight,
Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.
Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait,
Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait:
Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,
As chained Beare, whom cruell dogs do bait,
With idle force did faine them to withstand,
And often semblaunce made to scape out of their hand.

But they him layd full low in dungeon deepe, xxxvi
And bound him hand and foote with yron chains.
And with continuall watch did warely keepe;
Who then would thinke, that by his subtile trains
He could escape fowle death or deadly paines?
Thus when that Princes wrath was pacifide,
He gan renew the late forbidden banes,
And to the knight his daughter deare he tyde,
With sacred rites and vowes for euer to abyde.

His owne two hands the holy knots did knit, xxxvii
That none but death for euer can deuide;
His owne two hands, for such a turne most fit,
The housling fire did kindle and prouide,
And holy water thereon sprinckled wide;
At which the[428] bushy Teade a groome did light,
And sacred lampe in secret chamber hide,
Where it should not be quenched day nor night,
For feare of euill fates, but burnen euer bright.

Then gan they sprinckle all the posts with wine, xxxviii
And made great feast to solemnize that day;
They all perfumde with frankincense[429] diuine,
And precious odours fetcht from far away,
That all the house did sweat with great aray:
And all the while sweete Musicke did apply
Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play,
To driue away the dull Melancholy;
The whiles one sung a song of loue and iollity.

During the which there was an heauenly noise xxxix
Heard sound through all the Pallace pleasantly,
Like as it had bene many an Angels voice,
Singing before th’eternall maiesty,
In their trinall triplicities on hye;
Yet wist no creature, whence that heauenly sweet
Proceeded, yet eachone felt secretly
Himselfe thereby reft of his sences meet,
And rauished with rare impression in his sprite.

Great ioy was made that day of young and old, xl
And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land,
That their exceeding merth may not be told:
Suffice it heare by signes to vnderstand
The vsuall ioyes at knitting of loues band.
Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did hold,
Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand,
And euer, when his eye did her behold,
His[430] heart did seeme to melt in pleasures manifold.

Her ioyous presence and sweet company xli
In full content he there did long enioy,
Ne wicked enuie, ne[431] vile gealosy
His deare delights were able to annoy:
Yet swimming in that sea of blisfull ioy,
He nought forgot, how he whilome had sworne,
In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,
Vnto his Faerie Queene backe to returne:
The which he shortly did, and _Vna_ left to mourne.

Now strike your sailes ye iolly Mariners, xlii
For we be come vnto a quiet rode,
Where we must land some of our passengers,
And light this wearie vessell of her lode.
Here she a while may make her safe abode,
Till she repaired haue her tackles spent,
And wants supplide. And then againe abroad
On the long voyage whereto she is bent:
Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent.

_FINIS LIB. I._

FOOTNOTES:

[400] ii 5 seeme, _1590 &c._

[401] 9 fall, _1590_, _1596_

[402] iii 5 fond] found _1596_, _1609_

[403] vii 3 tymbrel _1590_

[404] 7 day, _1590_, _1596_

[405] viii 3 gracious _1590 passim_

[406] ix 1 after _1590_

[407] xi 1 when as] whenas _1590_

[408] 2 too] to _1590_

[409] 4 gossibs _1590_

[410] 5 talents _1590 &c._; _corr. F. E._

[411] xiv 5 vntayne _1590_: _corr. F. E._

[412] xvi i pleasures _1596_, _1609_

[413] xvii 1 that] the _1596_, _1609_

[414] 7 since] sith _1609_

[415] xviii 8 Pynim _1596_

[416] xix 5 since] sith _1609_

[417] xx 7 since] sith _1609_

[418] xxi 7 that] the _1596_, _1609_

[419] drawing] dawning _1596_, _1609_

[420] xxii 4 heaunnly _1596_

[421] xxvii 7 of] and _1596_, _1609_

[422] xxviii 1 since] sith _1609_

[423] 7 her] his _1596_, _1609_

[424] xxxi 7 strayd] stayd _1590_: _corr. F. E._

[425] xxxii 5 t’] to _1590 &c._: _corr. F. E._

[426] xxxiv 2 vaine] faine _1590_: _corr. F. E._

[427] 9 who] wo _1590_, _1596_: _corr. F. E._

[428] xxxvii 6 the] a _1609_

[429] xxxviii 3 frankencense _1596_, _1609_

[430] xl 9 His] Her _1596_, _1609_

[431] xli 3 ne] nor _1609_

THE SECOND
BOOKE OF THE
FAERIE QVEENE.

Contayning,
THE LEGEND OF SIR GVYON,
OR
_Of Temperaunce_.

Right well I wote most mighty Soueraine, i
That all this famous antique history,
Of some th’aboundance of an idle braine
Will iudged be, and painted forgery,
Rather then matter of iust memory,
Sith none, that breatheth liuing aire, does know,
Where is that happy land of Faery,
Which I so much do vaunt, yet no where show,
But vouch antiquities, which no body can know.

But let that man with better sence aduize, ii
That of the world least part to vs is red:
And dayly how through hardy enterprize,
Many great Regions are discouered,
Which to late age were neuer mentioned.
Who euer heard of th’Indian _Peru_?
Or who in venturous vessell measured
The _Amazons_[432] huge riuer now found trew?
Or fruitfullest _Virginia_ who did euer vew?

Yet all these were, when no man did them know; iii
Yet haue from wisest ages hidden beene:
And later times things more vnknowne shall show.
Why then should witlesse man so much misweene
That nothing is, but that which he hath seene?
What if within the Moones faire shining spheare?
What if in euery other starre vnseene
Of other worldes he happily should heare?
He wonder would much more: yet such to some appeare.

Of Faerie lond yet if he more inquire, iv
By certaine signes here set in sundry place
He may it find; ne let him then admire,
But yield his sence to be too blunt and bace,
That no’te without an hound fine footing trace.
And thou[433], O fairest Princesse vnder sky,
In this faire mirrhour maist behold thy face,
And thine owne realmes in lond of Faery,
And in this antique Image thy great auncestry.

The which O pardon me thus to enfold v
In couert vele, and wrap in shadowes light,
That feeble eyes your glory may behold,
Which else[434] could not endure those beames[435] bright,
But would be dazled with exceeding light.
O pardon, and vouchsafe with patient eare
The braue aduentures of this Faery knight
The good Sir _Guyon_ gratiously to heare,
In whom great rule of Temp’raunce goodly doth appeare.

FOOTNOTES:

[432] Proem, ii 8 _Amarons_ _1590_: _Amazon_ _F. E._

[433] iv 6 thou] then _1590_

[434] v 4 else] elles _1590_

[435] beamez _1609_

_Cant. I._

_Guyon by Archimage abusd,
The Redcrosse knight awaytes,
Findes Mordant and Amauia slaine
With pleasures poisoned baytes._
]

That cunning Architect of cancred guile, i
Whom Princes late displeasure left in bands,
For falsed letters and suborned wile,
Soone as the _Redcrosse_ knight he vnderstands[436]
To beene departed out of _Eden_ lands,
To serue againe his soueraine Elfin Queene,
His artes he moues, and out of caytiues[437] hands
Himselfe he frees by secret meanes vnseene;
His shackles emptie left, him selfe escaped cleene.

And forth he fares full of malicious mind, ii
To worken mischiefe and auenging woe,
Where euer he that godly knight may find,
His onely hart sore, and his onely foe,
Sith _Vna_ now he algates must forgoe,
Whom his victorious hands did earst restore
To natiue[438] crowne and kingdome late ygoe:
Where she enioyes sure peace for euermore,
As weather-beaten ship arriu’d on happie shore.

Him therefore now the obiect of his spight iii
And deadly food[439] he makes: him to offend
By forged treason, or by open fight
He seekes, of all his drift the aymed end:
Thereto his subtile engins he does bend,[440]
His practick wit, and his faire filed tong,
With thousand other sleights: for well he kend,
His credit now in doubtfull ballaunce hong;
For hardly could be[441] hurt, who was already stong.

Still as he went, he craftie stales did lay,[442] iv
With cunning traines him to entrap vnwares,
And priuie spials plast in all his way,
To weete what course he takes, and how he fares;
To ketch him at a vantage[443] in his snares.
But now so wise and warie was the knight[444]
By triall of his former harmes and cares,[445]
That he descride, and shonned still his slight:
The fish that once was caught, new bait will hardly bite.

Nath’lesse th’Enchaunter would not spare his paine, v
In hope to win occasion to his will;
Which when he long awaited had in vaine,
He chaungd his minde from one to other ill:
For to all good he enimy was still.
Vpon the way him fortuned to meet,
Faire marching vnderneath a shady hill,
A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse meete,
That from his head no place appeared to his feete.

His carriage was full comely and vpright, vi
His countenaunce demure and temperate,
But yet so sterne and terrible in sight,
That cheard his friends, and did his foes amate:
He was an Elfin borne of noble state,
And mickle worship in his natiue land;
Well could he tourney and in lists debate,
And knighthood tooke of good Sir _Huons_ hand,
When with king _Oberon_ he came to Faerie land.

Him als accompanyd vpon the way vii
A comely Palmer, clad in blacke attire,
Of ripest yeares, and haires all hoarie gray,
That with a staffe his feeble steps did stire,
Least his long way his aged limbes should tire:
And if by lookes one may the mind aread,
He seemd to be a sage and sober sire,
And euer with slow pace the knight did lead,
Who taught his trampling steed with equall steps to tread.

Such whenas _Archimago_ them did view, viii
He weened well to worke some vncouth wile,
Eftsoones vntwisting his deceiptfull clew,
He gan to weaue a web of wicked guile,
And with faire[446] countenance and flattring stile,
To them approching, thus the knight bespake:
Faire sonne of _Mars_, that seeke with warlike spoile,[447]
And great atchieu’ments great your selfe to make,
Vouchsafe to stay your steed for humble misers sake.

He stayd his steed for humble misers sake, ix
And bad tell on the tenor of his plaint;
Who feigning then in euery limbe to quake,
Through inward feare, and seeming pale and faint
With piteous mone his percing speach gan paint;
Deare Lady how shall I declare thy cace,
Whom late I left in langourous[448] constraint?
Would God thy selfe now present were in place,
To tell this ruefull tale; thy sight could win thee grace.

Or rather would, O would it so had chaunst, x
That you, most noble Sir, had present beene,
When that lewd ribauld with vile lust aduaunst
Layd first his filthy hands on virgin cleene,
To spoile her daintie corse[449] so faire and sheene,
As on the earth, great mother of vs all,
With liuing eye more faire was neuer seene,
Of chastitie and honour virginall:
Witnesse ye heauens, whom she in vaine to helpe did call.

How may it be, (said then the knight halfe wroth,) xi
That knight should knighthood euer so haue shent?
None but that saw (quoth he) would weene for troth,
How shamefully that Maid he did torment.
Her looser golden lockes he rudely rent,
And drew her on the ground, and his sharpe sword[450]
Against her snowy brest he fiercely bent,
And threatned death with many a bloudie word;
Toung hates to tell the rest, that eye to see abhord.

Therewith amoued from his sober mood, xii
And liues he yet (said he) that wrought this act,
And doen the heauens afford him vitall food?
He liues, (quoth he) and boasteth of the fact,
Ne yet hath any knight his courage crackt.
Where may that treachour then (said he) be found,
Or by what meanes may I his footing tract?
That shall I shew (said he) as sure, as hound
The stricken Deare doth chalenge by the bleeding wound.

He staid not lenger talke, but with fierce ire xiii
And zealous hast away is quickly gone
To seeke that knight, where him that craftie Squire
Supposd to be. They do arriue anone,
Where sate a gentle Lady all alone,
With garments rent, and haire discheueled,
Wringing her hands, and making piteous mone;
Her swollen eyes were much disfigured,
And her faire face with teares was fowly blubbered.

The knight approching nigh, thus to her said, xiv
Faire Ladie, through foule sorrow ill bedight,
Great pittie is to see you thus dismaid,
And marre the blossome of your beautie bright:
For thy appease your griefe and heauie plight,
And tell the cause of your conceiued paine.
For if he liue, that hath you doen despight,[451]
He shall you doe due recompence againe,
Or else his wrong with greater puissance maintaine.

Which when she heard, as in despightfull wise, xv
She wilfully her sorrow did augment,
And offred hope of comfort did despise:
Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent,
And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment,
Ne would she speake, ne see, ne yet be seene,
But hid her visage, and her head downe bent,
Either for grieuous shame, or for great teene,
As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed beene.

Till her that Squire bespake, Madame my liefe[452], xvi
For Gods deare loue be not so wilfull bent,
But doe vouchsafe now to receiue reliefe,
The which good fortune doth to you present.
For what bootes it to weepe and to wayment,
When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,
And the weake mind with double woe torment?
When she her Squire heard speake, she gan appease
Her voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease.

Eftsoone she said, Ah gentle trustie Squire, xvii
What comfort can I wofull wretch conceaue,
Or why should euer I henceforth desire[453]
To see faire heauens face, and life not leaue,
Sith that false Traytour did my honour reaue?
False traytour certes (said the Faerie knight)
I read the man, that euer would deceaue
A gentle Ladie, or her wrong through might:
Death were too little paine for such a foule despight.

But now, faire Ladie, comfort to you make, xviii
And read, who hath ye wrought this shamefull plight;[454]
That short reuenge the man may ouertake,
Where so he be, and soone vpon him light.
Certes (saide she) I wote not how he hight,
But vnder him a gray steede did he[455] wield,
Whose sides with dapled circles weren dight;
Vpright he rode, and in his siluer shield
He bore a bloudie Crosse, that quartred all the field.

Now by my head (said _Guyon_) much I muse, xix
How that same knight should do so foule amis,
Or euer gentle Damzell so abuse:
For may I boldly say, he surely is
A right good knight, and true of word ywis:
I present was, and can it witnesse well,
When armes he swore, and streight did enterpris
Th’aduenture of the _Errant damozell_,
In which he hath great glorie wonne, as I heare tell.

Nathlesse he shortly shall againe be tryde, xx
And fairely quite[456] him of th’imputed blame,
Else be ye sure he dearely shall abyde,
Or make you good amendment for the same:
All wrongs haue mends, but no amends of shame.
Now therefore Ladie, rise out of your paine,
And see the saluing of your blotted[457] name.
Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine;
For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine.

Her purpose was not such, as she did faine, xxi
Ne yet her person such, as it was seene,
But vnder simple shew and semblant plaine
Lurckt false _Duessa_ secretly vnseene,
As a chast Virgin, that had wronged beene:
So had false _Archimago_ her disguisd,
To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad teene;
And eke himselfe had craftily deuisd
To be her Squire, and do her seruice well aguisd.

Her late forlorne and naked he had found, xxii
Where she did wander in waste wildernesse,
Lurking in rockes and caues farre vnder ground,
And with greene mosse cou’ring her nakednesse,
To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse;
Sith her Prince _Arthur_ of proud ornaments
And borrow’d beautie spoyld. Her nathelesse
Th’enchaunter finding fit for his intents,
Did thus reuest, and deckt with due habiliments.

For all he did, was to deceiue good knights, xxiii
And draw them from pursuit of praise and fame,
To slug in slouth and sensuall delights,
And end their daies with irrenowmed shame.
And now exceeding griefe him ouercame,
To see the _Redcrosse_ thus aduaunced hye;
Therefore this craftie engine he did frame,
Against his praise to stirre vp enmitye
Of such, as vertues like mote vnto him allye.

So now he _Guyon_ guides an vncouth way xxiv
Through woods and mountaines, till they came at last
Into a pleasant dale, that lowly lay
Betwixt two hils, whose high heads ouerplast,
The valley did with coole shade ouercast,
Through midst thereof a little riuer rold,
By which there sate a knight with helme vnlast,
Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold,
After his trauell long, and labours manifold.

Loe yonder he, cryde _Archimage_ alowd, xxv
That wrought the shamefull fact, which I did shew;
And now he doth himselfe in secret shrowd,
To flie the vengeance for his outrage dew;
But vaine: for ye shall dearely do him rew,
So God ye speed, and send you good successe;
Which we farre off will here abide to vew.
So they him left, inflam’d with wrathfulnesse,
That streight against that knight his speare he did addresse.

Who seeing him from farre so fierce to pricke, xxvi
His warlike armes about him gan embrace,
And in the rest his readie speare did sticke;
Tho when as still he saw him towards pace,
He gan rencounter him in equall race.
They bene ymet, both readie to affrap,
When suddenly that warriour gan abace
His threatned speare, as if some new mishap
Had him betidde[458], or hidden daunger did entrap.

And cryde, Mercie Sir knight, and mercie Lord, xxvii
For mine offence and heedlesse hardiment,
That had almost committed crime abhord,
And with reprochfull shame mine honour shent,
Whiles cursed steele against that badge I bent,
The sacred badge of my Redeemers death,
Which on your shield is set for ornament:
But his fierce foe his steede could stay vneath,
Who prickt with courage kene, did cruell battell breath.

But when he heard him speake, streight way he knew xxviii
His error, and himselfe inclyning sayd;
Ah deare Sir _Guyon_, well becommeth you,
But me behoueth rather to vpbrayd,
Whose hastie hand so farre from reason strayd,
That almost it did haynous violence
On that faire image of that heauenly Mayd,
That decks and armes your shield with faire defence:
Your court’sie takes on you anothers due offence.

So bene they both attone[459], and doen vpreare xxix
Their beuers bright, each other for to greete;
Goodly comportance each to other beare,
And entertaine themselues with court’sies meet.
Then said the _Redcrosse_ knight, Now mote I weet,
Sir _Guyon_, why with so fierce saliaunce,
And fell intent ye did at earst me meet;
For sith I know your goodly gouernaunce,
Great cause, I weene, you guided, or some vncouth chaunce.

Certes (said he) well mote I shame to tell xxx
The fond encheason, that me hither led.
A false infamous faitour late befell
Me for to meet, that seemed ill bested,
And playnd of grieuous outrage, which he red
A knight had wrought against a Ladie gent;
Which to auenge, he to this place me led,
Where you he made the marke of his intent,
And now is fled; foule shame him follow, where he went.

So can he turne his earnest vnto game, xxxi
Through goodly handling[460] and wise temperance.
By this his aged guide in presence came;
Who soone as on[461] that knight his eye did glance,
Eft soones of him had perfect cognizance,
Sith him in Faerie court he late auizd;
And said, Faire[462] sonne, God giue you happie chance,
And that deare Crosse vpon your shield deuizd,
Wherewith aboue all knights ye goodly seeme aguizd.

Ioy may you haue, and euerlasting fame, xxxii
Of late most hard atchieu’ment by you donne,
For which enrolled is your glorious name
In heauenly Registers aboue the Sunne,
Where you a Saint with Saints your seat haue wonne:
But wretched we, where ye haue left your marke,
Must[463] now anew begin, like race to runne;
God guide thee, _Guyon_, well to end thy warke,
And to the wished hauen bring thy weary barke.

Palmer, (him answered the _Redcrosse_ knight) xxxiii
His be the praise, that this atchieu’ment wrought,
Who made my hand the organ of his might;
More then goodwill to me attribute nought:
For all I did, I did but as I ought.
But you, faire Sir, whose pageant next ensewes,
Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your thought,
That home ye may report thrise[464] happie newes;
For well ye worthie bene for worth and gentle thewes.

So courteous conge both did giue and take, xxxiv
With right hands plighted, pledges of good will.
Then _Guyon_ forward gan his voyage make,
With his blacke Palmer, that him guided still.
Still he him guided ouer dale and hill,
And with his steedie[465] staffe did point his way:
His race with reason, and with words his will,
From foule intemperance he oft did stay,
And suffred not in wrath his hastie steps to stray.

In this faire wize they traueild long yfere, xxxv
Through many hard assayes, which did betide;
Of which he honour still away did beare,
And spred his glorie through all countries wide.
At last as chaunst them by a forest side
To passe, for succour from the scorching ray,
They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnly cride
With percing shriekes, and many a dolefull lay;
Which to attend, a while their forward steps they stay.

But if that carelesse heauens (quoth she) despise xxxvi
The doome of iust reuenge, and take delight
To see sad pageants of mens miseries,
As bound by them to liue in liues[466] despight,
Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight.
Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to mee,
And take away this long lent loathed light:
Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweet the medicines bee,
That long captiued soules from wearie thraldome free.

But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate xxxvii
Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall,
Sith heauen thee deignes to hold in liuing state,
Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall,
Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall:
Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest,
That cleare she dide from blemish criminall;
Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest
Loe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest.

With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw, xxxviii
That through the wood reecchoed againe,
And after gaue a grone so deepe and low,
That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine,
Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine;
As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele
Through launched[467], forth her bleeding life does raine,
Whiles the sad pang approching she does feele,
Brayes out her latest breath, and vp her eyes doth seele.

Which when that warriour heard, dismounting straict xxxix
From his tall steed, he rusht into the thicke,
And soone arriued, where that sad pourtraict
Of death and dolour[468] lay, halfe dead, halfe quicke,
In whose white alabaster brest did sticke
A cruell knife, that made a griesly wound,
From which forth gusht a streme of gorebloud thick,
That all her goodly garments staind around,
And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassie ground.

Pittifull spectacle of deadly smart, xl
Beside a bubbling fountaine low she lay,
Which she increased with her bleeding hart,
And the cleane waues with purple gore[469] did ray;
Als in her lap a louely[470] babe did play
His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew;
For in her streaming blood he did embay
His litle hands, and tender ioynts embrew;
Pitifull spectacle, as euer eye did view.

Besides them both, vpon the soiled gras xli
The dead corse of an armed knight was spred,
Whose armour all with bloud besprinckled was;
His ruddie lips did smile, and rosy red
Did paint his chearefull cheekes, yet being ded:[471]
Seemd to haue beene a goodly personage,
Now in his freshest flowre of lustie hed,
Fit to inflame faire Lady with loues rage,
But that fiers fate did crop the blossome of his age.

Whom when the good Sir _Guyon_ did behold, xlii
His hart gan wexe as starke, as marble stone,
And his fresh bloud did frieze with fearefull cold,
That all his senses seemd bereft attone:[472]
At last his mightie ghost gan deepe to grone,
As Lyon grudging in his great disdaine,
Mournes inwardly, and makes to himselfe mone;
Till ruth and fraile affection did constraine[473]
His stout courage[474] to stoupe, and shew his inward paine.

Out of her gored wound the cruell steele xliii
He lightly 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.

Which he perceiuing greatly gan reioice, xliv
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[475] 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.

Therewith her dim eie-lids she vp gan reare, xlv
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[476]
She groueling threw to ground, as hating life and light.

The gentle knight her soone with carefull paine xlvi
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.

Then casting vp a deadly looke, full low[477] xlvii
Shee sight[478] 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.

Ah farre be it (said he) Deare dame fro mee, xlviii
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, O 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.

With feeble hands then stretched forth on hye, xlix
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, O 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 _Mordant_[479] was.

Was, (ay the while, that he is not so now) l
My Lord my loue; my deare Lord, my deare loue,
So long as heauens iust with equall brow[480]
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.

Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may ghesse) li
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;[481]
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_.

Her blisse is all in pleasure and delight, lii
Wherewith she makes her louers drunken mad,
And then with words and weedes of wondrous might,
On them she workes her will to vses bad:
My lifest[482] 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.

Now had faire _Cynthia_ by euen tournes liii
Full measured three quarters of her yeare,
And thrise three times had fild her crooked hornes,
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.

Him so I sought, and so at last I found, liv
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.

Which when the vile Enchaunteresse perceiu’d, lv
How that my Lord from her I would repriue,
With cup thus charmd, him parting she deceiu’d;
_Sad verse, giue death to him that death does giue,
And losse of loue, to her that loues to liue,
So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe does lincke_:[483]
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.

Which when I wretch, Not one word more she sayd lvi
But breaking off[484] 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 teares abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate,
And from so heauie sight his head did wreath,
Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate,
Which plunged[485] had faire Ladie in so wretched state.

Then turning to his[486] Palmer said, Old syre lvii
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.

But temperance (said he) with golden squire lviii
Betwixt them both can measure out a meane,
Neither to melt in pleasures whot[487] desire,
Nor fry[488] 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.

Palmer (quoth he) death is an equall[489] doome lix
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 buriall 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.

So both agree their bodies to engraue; lx
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.

The dead knights sword out of his sheath he drew, lxi
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.

FOOTNOTES:

[436] i 4 vnderstands, _1590 &c._

[437] 7 caytiue _1609_

[438] ii 7 natiues _1596_, _1609_

[439] iii 2 food] feude _1609_

[440] 5 bend _1590_, _1596_

[441] 9 be] he _1609_

[442] iv 1 lay. _1590_, _1596_

[443] 5 avantage _1609_

[444] 6, 7 _transposed in 1596, 1606_

[445] 6, 7 _transposed in 1596, 1606_

[446] viii 5 with a faire _1596_

[447] 7 spoile. _1596_

[448] ix 7 languorous _1590_

[449] x 5 corps _1590_

[450] xi 6 sword, _1590 &c._

[451] xiv 7 despight; _1596_, _1609_

[452] xvi 1 liefe] life _1590_

[453] xvii 3 desyre, _1590_: desire, _1596_

[454] xviii 2 plight. _1590_, _1596_

[455] 6 did he] he did _1590_

[456] xx 2 quite] quit _1590_

[457] 7 blotting _1590_

[458] xxvi 9 betidde] betide _1590_

[459] xxix 1 attone] at one _1590_

[460] xxxi 2 handling] handing _1596_

[461] 4 on] one _1590_

[462] 7 fayre _1590_: faire _1596_

[463] xxxii 7 Must] Most _1590_

[464] xxxiii 8 thrise] these _1590 &c._: _corr. F. E._

[465] xxxiv 6 steedy _1590_: steadie _1609_

[466] xxxvi 4 liues] lifes _1609_

[467] xxxviii 7 launced _1609_

[468] xxxix 4 dolour] labour _1596_, _1609_

[469] xl 4 gore] gold _1596_, _1609_

[470] 5 louely] little _1609_

[471] xli 5 ded, _1590_, _1596_

[472] xlii 4 attone, _1596_

[473] 8 constraine, _1590_, _1596_

[474] 9 stout courage] courage stout _1609_

[475] xliv 6 reuenging] auenging _1590_

[476] xlv 8 despight. _1590_: despight, _1596_, _1609_

[477] xlvii 1 low, _1596_

[478] 2 sigh’t _1609_

[479] xlix 9 Mortdant _1590_, _1596_

[480] l 3 brow, _1590_, _1596_

[481] li 6 is, _1590_, _1596_

[482] lii 5 liefest _1590_

[483] lv 6 _lincke_, _1590_, _1596_

[484] lvi 2 off] of, _1590_: off, _1596_

[485] 9 plonged _1590_

[486] lvii 1 his] the _1609_

[487] lviii 3 whot] hot _1609 passim_

[488] 4 fry] fryze _sugg. Church_

[489] lix 1 equall] euill _1596_, _1609_

_Cant. II._

_Babes bloudie hands may not be clensd:[490]
the face of golden Meane.
Her sisters two Extremities[491]
striue her to banish cleane._
]

Thus when Sir _Guyon_ with his faithfull guide i
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.

Ah lucklesse babe, borne vnder cruell starre, ii
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.

Then soft himselfe inclyning on his knee iii
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.

He wist not whether blot of foule offence iv
Might not be purgd with water nor with bath;
Or that high God, in lieu[492] of innocence,
Imprinted had that token of his wrath,
To shew how sore bloudguiltinesse he hat’th[493];
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.

Whom thus at gaze, the Palmer gan to bord v
With goodly reason, and thus faire bespake;
Ye bene right hard[494] amated, gratious Lord,
And of your ignorance great maruell make,
Whiles cause not well conceiued 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.

Of those some were so from their sourse indewd vi
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 flowres 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, and sought from place to[495] place.

Such is this well, wrought by occasion straunge, vii
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[496],
And chaced her, that fast from him did fly;
As Hind from her, so she fled from her enimy.