Chapter XI: Book VII: Two Cantos of Mvtabilitie 454 (11)

But in the triall of true curtesie, v
Its now so farre from that, which then it was,
That it indeed is nought but forgerie,
Fashion’d to please the eies of them, that pas,
Which see not perfect things but in a glas:
Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can blynd
The wisest sight, to thinke gold that is bras.
But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd,
And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd.

But where shall I in all Antiquity vi
So faire a patterne finde, where may be seene
The goodly praise of Princely curtesie,
As in your selfe, O soueraine Lady Queene,
In whose pure minde, as in a mirrour sheene,
It showes, and with her brightnesse doth inflame
The eyes of all, which thereon fixed beene;
But meriteth indeede an higher name:
Yet so from low to high vplifted is your name[400].

Then pardon me, most dreaded Soueraine, vii
That from your selfe I doe this vertue bring,
And to your selfe doe it returne againe:
So from the Ocean all riuers spring,
And tribute backe repay as to their King.
Right so from you all goodly vertues well
Into the rest, which round about you ring,
Faire Lords and Ladies, which about you dwell,
And doe adorne your Court, where courtesies excell.

FOOTNOTES:

[398] 9 It] tI _1596_

[399] iii 5 Since] Sith _1609_

[400] vi 9 name] fame _edd._

_Cant. I._

_Calidore saues from Maleffort,
A Damzell vsed vylde:
Doth vanquish Crudor, and doth make
Briana wexe more mylde._
]

Of Court it seemes, men Courtesie doe call, i
For that it there most vseth to abound;
And well beseemeth that in Princes hall
That vertue should be plentifully found,
Which of all goodly manners is the ground,
And roote of ciuill conuersation.
Right so in Faery court it did redound,
Where curteous Knights and Ladies most did won
Of all on earth, and made a matchlesse paragon.

But mongst them all was none more courteous Knight, ii
Then _Calidore_, beloued ouer all,
In whom it seemes, that gentlenesse of spright
And manners mylde were planted naturall;
To which he adding comely guize withall,
And gracious speach, did steale mens hearts away.
Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall,
And well approu’d in batteilous affray,
That him did much renowme, and far his fame display.

Ne was there Knight, ne was there Lady found iii
In Faery court, but him did deare embrace,
For his faire vsage and conditions sound,
The which in all mens liking gayned place,
And with the greatest purchast greatest grace:
Which he could wisely vse, and well apply,
To please the best, and th’euill to embase.
For he loathd leasing, and base flattery,
And loued simple truth and stedfast honesty.

And now he was in trauell on his way, iv
Vppon an hard aduenture sore bestad,
Whenas by chaunce he met vppon a day
With _Artegall_, returning yet halfe sad
From his late conquest, which he gotten had.
Who whenas each of other had a sight,
They knew them selues, and both their persons rad:
When _Calidore_ thus first; Haile noblest Knight
Of all this day on ground, that breathen liuing spright.

Now tell, if please you, of the good successe, v
Which ye haue had in your late enterprize.
To whom Sir _Artegall_ gan to expresse
His whole exploite, and valorous emprize,
In order as it did to him arize.
Now happy man (sayd then Sir _Calidore_)
Which haue so goodly, as ye can deuize,
Atchieu’d so hard a quest, as few before;
That shall you most renowmed make for euermore.

But where ye ended haue, now I begin vi
To tread an endlesse trace, withouten guyde,
Or good direction, how to enter in,
Or how to issue forth in waies vntryde,
In perils strange, in labours long and wide,
In which although good Fortune me befall,
Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.
What is that quest (quoth then Sir _Artegall_)
That you into such perils presently doth call?

The Blattant Beast (quoth he) I doe pursew, vii
And through the world incessantly doe chase,
Till I him ouertake, or else subdew:
Yet know I not or how, or in what place
To find him out, yet still I forward trace.
What is that Blattant Beast? (then he replide.)[401]
It is a Monster bred of hellishe race,
(Then answerd he) which often hath annoyd
Good Knights and Ladies true, and many else destroyd.

Of _Cerberus_ whilome he was begot, viii
And fell _Chimæra_ in her darkesome den,
Through fowle commixture of his filthy blot;
Where he was fostred long in _Stygian_ fen,
Till he to perfect ripenesse grew, and then
Into this wicked world he forth was sent,
To be the plague and scourge of wretched men:
Whom with vile tongue and venemous intent
He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment.

Then since the saluage Island I did leaue,[402] ix
Sayd _Artegall_, I such a Beast did see,
The which did seeme a thousand tongues to haue,
That all in spight and malice did agree,
With which he bayd and loudly barkt at mee,
As if that he attonce would me deuoure.
But I that knew my selfe from perill free,
Did nought regard his malice nor his powre,
But he the more his wicked poyson forth did poure.

That surely is that Beast (saide _Calidore_) x
Which I pursue, of whom I am right glad
To heare these tidings, which of none afore
Through all my weary trauell I haue had:
Yet now some hope your words vnto me add.
Now God you speed (quoth then Sir _Artegall_)
And keepe your body from the daunger drad:
For ye haue much adoe to deale withall.[403]
So both tooke goodly leaue, and parted seuerall.

Sir _Calidore_ thence trauelled not long, xi
When as by chaunce a comely Squire he found,
That thorough some more mighty enemies wrong,
Both hand and foote vnto a tree was bound:
Who seeing him from farre, with piteous sound
Of his shrill cries him called to his aide.
To whom approching, in that painefull stound
When he him saw, for no demaunds he staide,
But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him saide.

Vnhappy Squire, what hard mishap thee brought xii
Into this bay of perill and disgrace?
What cruell hand thy wretched thraldome wrought,
And thee captyued in this shamefull place?
To whom he answerd thus; My haplesse case
Is not occasiond through my misdesert,
But through misfortune, which did me abase
Vnto this shame, and my young hope subuert,
Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well expert.

Not farre from hence, vppon yond rocky hill, xiii
Hard by a streight there stands a castle strong,
Which doth obserue a custome lewd and ill,
And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong:
For may no Knight nor Lady passe along
That way, (and yet they needs must passe that way,)
By reason of the streight, and rocks among,
But they that Ladies lockes doe shaue away,
And that knights berd for toll, which they for passage pay.[404]

A shamefull vse as euer I did heare, xiv
Sayd _Calidore_, and to be ouerthrowne.
But by what meanes did they at first it reare,
And for what cause, tell if thou haue it knowne.
Sayd then that Squire: The Lady which doth owne
This Castle, is by name _Briana_ hight.
Then which a prouder Lady liueth none:
She long time hath deare lou’d a doughty Knight,
And sought to win his loue by all the meanes she might.

His name is _Crudor_, who through high disdaine xv
And proud despight of his selfe pleasing mynd,
Refused hath to yeeld her loue againe,
Vntill a Mantle she for him doe fynd,
With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies lynd.
Which to prouide, she hath this Castle dight,
And therein hath a Seneschall assynd,
Cald _Maleffort_, a man of mickle might,
Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight.

He this same day, as I that way did come xvi
With a faire Damzell, my beloued deare,
In execution of her lawlesse doome,
Did set vppon vs flying both for feare:
For little bootes against him hand to reare.
Me first he tooke, vnhable[405] to withstond;
And whiles he her pursued euery where,
Till his returne vnto this tree he bond:
Ne wote I surely, whether her he yet haue fond.

Thus whiles they spake, they heard a ruefull shrieke xvii
Of one loud crying, which they streight way ghest,
That it was she, the which for helpe did seeke.
Tho looking vp vnto the cry to lest,
They saw that Carle from farre, with hand vnblest
Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare,
That all her garments from her snowy brest,
And from her head her lockes he nigh did teare,
Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for feare.

Which haynous sight when _Calidore_ beheld, xviii
Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so him left,
With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld,
For to pursue that villaine, which had reft
That piteous spoile by so iniurious theft.
Whom ouertaking, loude to him he cryde;
Leaue faytor quickely that misgotten weft
To him, that hath it better iustifyde,
And turne thee soone to him, of whom thou art defyde.

Who hearkning to that voice, him selfe vpreard, xix
And seeing him so fiercely towardes make,
Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard,
But rather more enrag’d for those words sake;
And with sterne count’naunce thus vnto him spake.
Art thou the caytiue, that defyest me,
And for this Mayd, whose party thou doest take,
Wilt giue thy beard, though it but little bee?
Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free.

With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd xx
On hideous strokes with most importune might,
That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd,
And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight.
But _Calidore_, that was well skild in fight,
Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar’d,
Lying in waite, how him he damadge might.
But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward,
He greater grew, and gan to driue at him more hard.

Like as a water streame, whose swelling sourse xxi
Shall driue a Mill, within strong bancks is pent,
And long restrayned of his ready course;
So soone as passage is vnto him lent,
Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent.
Such was the fury of Sir _Calidore_,
When once he felt his foeman to relent;
He fiercely him pursu’d, and pressed sore,
Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more.

The heauy burden of whose dreadfull might xxii
When as the Carle no longer could sustaine,
His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight
Toward the Castle, where if need constraine,
His hope of refuge vsed to remaine.
Whom _Calidore_ perceiuing fast to flie,
He him pursu’d and chaced through the plaine,
That he for dread of death gan loude to crie
Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie.

They from the wall him seeing so aghast, xxiii
The gate soone opened to receiue him in,
But _Calidore_ did follow him so fast,
That euen in the Porch he him did win,
And cleft his head asunder to his chin.
The carkasse[406] tumbling downe within the dore,
Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,
That it could not be shut, whilest _Calidore_
Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.

With that the rest, the which the Castle kept, xxiv
About him flockt, and hard at him did lay;
But he them all from him full lightly swept,
As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,[407]
With his long taile the bryzes brush away.
Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,
Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay
He was ymett, who with vncomely shame
Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame.

False traytor Knight, (sayd she) no Knight at all, xxv
But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand
Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall;
Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand,
And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand?
Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight
Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand,
Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right:
And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.[408]

Much was the Knight abashed at that word; xxvi
Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame,
But to the shamefull doer it afford.
Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame
To punish those, that doe deserue the same;
But they that breake bands of ciuilitie,
And wicked customes make, those doe defame
Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.
No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.

Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe xxvii
This euill manner, which ye here maintaine,
And doe in stead thereof mild curt’sie showe
To all, that passe. That shall you glory gaine
More then his loue, which thus ye seeke t’obtaine.
Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde;
Vile recreant, know that I doe much disdaine
Thy courteous lore, that doest my loue deride,
Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde.

To take defiaunce at a Ladies word xxviii
(Quoth he) I hold it no indignity;
But were he here, that would it with his sword
Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.
Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly,
Ere he[409] doe come, he should be soone in place.
If I doe so, (sayd he) then liberty
I leaue to you, for aye me to disgrace
With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to deface.

With that a Dwarfe she cald to her in hast, xxix
And taking from her hand a ring of gould,
A priuy token, which betweene them past,
Bad him to flie with all the speed he could,
To _Crudor_, and desire him that he would
Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight,
Who through strong powre had now her self in hould,
Hauing late slaine her Seneschall in fight,
And all her people murdred with outragious might.

The Dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night; xxx
But _Calidore_ did with her there abyde
The comming of that so much threatned Knight,
Where that discourteous Dame with scornfull pryde,
And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,
That yron heart it hardly could sustaine:
Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,
Did well endure her womanish disdaine,
And did him selfe from fraile impatience refraine.

The morrow next, before the lampe of light[410] xxxi
Aboue the earth vpreard his flaming head,
The Dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight,
Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread,
He would her succour, and aliue or dead
Her foe deliuer vp into her hand:
Therefore he wild her doe away all dread;
And that of him she mote assured stand,
He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band.

Thereof full blyth the Lady streight became, xxxii
And gan t’augment her bitternesse much more:
Yet no whit more appalled for the same,
Ne ought dismayed was Sir _Calidore_,
But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore.
And hauing soone his armes about him dight,
Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore;
Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight
He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might.

Well weend he streight, that he should be the same, xxxiii
Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine;
Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,
But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine.
They bene ymett in middest of the plaine,
With so fell fury, and dispiteous forse,
That neither could the others stroke sustaine,
But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse,
Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse.

But _Calidore_ vprose againe full light, xxxiv
Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound,
Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:
For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.
But when _Briana_ saw that drery stound,
There where she stood vppon the Castle wall,
She deem’d him sure to haue bene dead on ground,
And made such piteous mourning therewithall,
That from the battlements she ready seem’d to fall.

Nathlesse at length him selfe he did vpreare xxxv
In lustlesse wise, as if against his will,
Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,
And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill
Of his late fall, a while he rested still:
But when he saw his foe before in vew,
He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill
Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,
To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

There then began a fearefull cruell fray xxxvi
Betwixt them two, for maystery of might.
For both were wondrous practicke in that play,
And passing well expert in single fight,
And both inflam’d with furious despight:
Which as it still encreast, so still increast
Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;
Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,
Ne once to breath[411] a while their angers tempest ceast.

Thus long they trac’d and trauerst to and fro, xxxvii
And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make
Into the life of his malignant foe;
They hew’d their helmes, and plates asunder brake,
As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake
Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood,
That at the last like to a purple lake
Of bloudy gore congeal’d about them stood,
Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood.

At length it chaunst, that both their hands on hie[412] xxxviii
At once did heaue, with all their powre and might,
Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie,
And proue the finall fortune of the fight:
But _Calidore_, that was more quicke of sight,
And nimbler handed, then his enemie,
Preuented him before his stroke could light,
And on the helmet smote him formerlie,
That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie.

And ere he could recouer foot againe, xxxix
He following that faire aduantage fast,
His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,
That him vpon the ground he groueling cast;
And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast
His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way.
Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast,
Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay,
But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.

With that his mortall hand a while he stayd, xl
And hauing somewhat calm’d his wrathfull heat
With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;
And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,
That menaced me from the field to beat,
Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne,
Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,
But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne,
The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne[413].

For nothing is more blamefull to a knight, xli
That court’sie doth as well as armes professe,
How euer strong and fortunate in fight,
Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.
In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,
Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:
All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse,
Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;
What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you.

Who will not mercie vnto others shew, xlii
How can he mercy euer hope to haue?
To pay each with his owne is right and dew.
Yet since[414] ye mercie now doe need to craue,
I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue;
With these conditions, which I will propound:
First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue
Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground;
Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound.

The wretched man, that all this while did dwell xliii
In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,
And promist to performe his precept well,
And whatsoeuer else he would requere.
So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare
By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,
To take _Briana_ for his louing fere,
Withouten dowre or composition;
But to release his former foule condition.

All which accepting, and with faithfull oth xliv
Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,
He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth,
And swore to him true fealtie for aye.
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay
The sad _Briana_, which all this beheld:
Who comming forth yet full of late affray,
Sir _Calidore_ vpcheard, and to her teld
All this accord, to which he _Crudor_ had compeld.

Whereof she now more glad, then sory earst, xlv
All ouercome with infinite affect,
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
Before his feet her selfe she did proiect,
And him adoring as her liues deare Lord,
With all due thankes, and dutifull respect,
Her selfe acknowledg’d bound for that accord,
By which he had to her both life and loue restord.

So all returning to the Castle glad, xlvi
Most ioyfully she them did entertaine,
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,
By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:
And after all, vnto Sir _Calidore_
She freely gaue that Castle for his paine,
And her selfe bound to him for euermore;
So wondrously now chaung’d, from that she was afore.

But _Calidore_ himselfe would not retaine xlvii
Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,
But gaue them streight vnto that Squire againe,
Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,
And to his damzell as their rightfull meed,
For recompence of all their former wrong:
There he remaind with them right well agreed,
Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

FOOTNOTES:

[401] vii 6 replide) _1596_

[402] ix i leaue _1596_

[403] x 8 withall, _1596_ withall; _1609_

[404] xiii 9 pay _1596_

[405] xvi 6 vnable _1609_

[406] xxiii 6 carkarsse _1596_

[407] xxiv 4 day. _1596_

[408] xxv 9 requight _1596_

[409] xxviii 6 Ere he] Ere thou _1596_

[410] xxxi 1 light, _1596_

[411] xxxvi 9 breathe _1609_

[412] xxxviii 1 hie, _1596_

[413] xl 9 earne _1609_

[414] xlii 4 sith _1609_

_Cant. II._

_Calidore sees young Tristram slay
A proud discourteous knight,
He makes him Squire, and of him learnes
his state and present plight._
]

What vertue is so fitting for a knight, i
Or for a Ladie, whom a knight should loue,
As Curtesie, to beare themselues aright
To all of each degree, as doth behoue?
For whether they be placed high aboue,
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know
Their good, that none them rightly may reproue
Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend: ii
For some so goodly gratious are by kind,
That euery action doth them much commend,
And in the eyes of men great liking find;
Which others, that haue greater skill in mind,
Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine.
For euerie thing, to which one is inclin’d,
Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:
Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine.

That well in courteous _Calidore_ appeares, iii
Whose euery deed and word[415], that he did say,
Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes[416],
And both the eares[417] did steale the hart away.
He now againe is on his former way,
To follow his first quest, when as he spyde
A tall young man from thence not farre away,
Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,
Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.

And them beside a Ladie faire he saw, iv
Standing alone on foot, in foule array:
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw,
To weet the cause of so vncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may.
But ere he came in place, that youth had kild
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
Which when he saw, his hart was inly child
With great amazement, and his thought with wonder fild.

Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee v
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see
Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face
That sure he deem’d him borne of noble race.
All in a woodmans iacket he was clad
Of Lincolne[418] greene, belayd with siluer lace;
And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had.

Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne, vi
Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part,
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,
With which he wont to launch[419] the saluage hart
Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare
That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare.

Whom _Calidore_ a while well hauing vewed, vii
At length bespake; What[420] meanes this, gentle swaine?
Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,
By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?
Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken
The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,
Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

For not I him[421], as this his Ladie here viii
May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,
Ne surely thus vnarm’d I likely were;
But he me first, through pride and puissance strong
Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.
Perdie great blame, (then said Sir _Calidore_)
For armed knight a wight vnarm’d to wrong.
But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne vprore.

That shall I sooth (said he) to you declare, ix
I whose vnryper yeares are yet vnfit
For thing of weight, or worke of greater care,
Doe spend my dayes, and bend my carelesse wit
To saluage chace, where I thereon may hit
In all this forrest, and wyld wooddie raine:
Where, as this day I was enraunging[422] it,
I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine,
Together with this Ladie, passing on the plaine.

The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was, x
And this his Ladie, (that him ill became,)
On her faire feet by his horse side did pas
Through thicke and thin, vnfit for any Dame.
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,
He with his speare, that was to him great blame,
Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe.

Which when I saw, as they me passed by, xi
Much was I moued in indignant mind,
And gan to blame him for such cruelty
Towards a Ladie, whom with vsage kind
He rather should haue taken vp behind.
Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,
Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find,
And me in lieu thereof reuil’d againe,
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t’a chyld pertaine.

Which I no lesse disdayning, backe returned xii
His scornefull taunts vnto his teeth againe,
That he streight way with haughtie choler burned,
And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine;
Which I enforst to beare though to my paine,
Cast to requite, and with a slender dart,
Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,
Strooke him, as seemeth, vnderneath the hart,
That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.

Much did Sir _Calidore_ admyre his speach xiii
Tempred so well, but more admyr’d the stroke
That through the mayles had made so strong a breach
Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke
His wrath on him, that first occasion broke.
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke,
Were soothly so, and that th’vnrighteous ire
Of her owne knight, had giuen him his owne due hire.

Of all which, when as she could nought deny, xiv
But cleard that stripling of th’imputed blame,
Sayd[423] then Sir _Calidore_; Neither[424] will I
Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:
For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame:
And what he did, he did him selfe to saue:
Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.
For knights and all men this by nature haue,
Towards all womenkind them kindly to behaue.

But sith that he is gone irreuocable, xv
Please it you Ladie, to vs to aread,
What cause could make him so dishonourable,
To driue you so on foot vnfit to tread,
And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead?
Certes Sir knight (sayd she) full loth I were
To rayse a lyuing blame against the dead:
But since[425] it me concernes, my selfe to clere,
I will the truth discouer, as it chaunst whylere.

This day, as he and I together roade xvi
Vpon our way, to which we weren bent,
We chaunst to come foreby a couert glade
Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent
Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment[426]
Of their franke loues, free from all gealous spyes:
Faire was the Ladie sure, that mote content
An hart, not carried with too curious eyes,
And vnto him did shew all louely courtesyes.

Whom when my knight did see so louely faire, xvii
He inly gan her louer to enuy,
And wish, that he part of his spoyle might share.
Whereto when as my presence he did spy
To be a let, he bad me by and by
For to alight: but when as I was loth,
My loues owne part to leaue so suddenly,
He with strong hand down from his steed me throw’th,
And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight go’th.

Vnarm’d all was the knight, as then more meete xviii
For Ladies seruice, and for loues delight,
Then fearing any foeman there to meete:
Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight
Himselfe to yeeld his loue, or else to fight.
Whereat the other starting vp dismayd,
Yet boldly answer’d, as he rightly might;
To leaue his loue he should be ill apayd,
In which he had good right gaynst all, that it gainesayd.

Yet since he was not presently in plight xix
Her to defend, or his to iustifie,
He him requested, as he was a knight,
To lend him day his better right to trie,
Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,
Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot[427],
Ne time would giue, nor any termes aby,
But at him flew, and with his speare him smot;
From which to thinke to saue himselfe, it booted not.

Meane while his Ladie, which this outrage saw, xx
Whilest they together for the quarrey stroue,
Into the couert did her selfe withdraw,
And closely hid her selfe within the groue.
My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger droue
And left sore wounded: but when her he mist,
He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan roue
And range through all the wood, where so he wist
She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list.

But when as her he by no meanes could find, xxi
After long search and chauff, he turned backe
Vnto the place, where me he left behind:
There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke
Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke
To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong.
Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe,
Stroue to appease him, and perswaded long:
But still his passion grew more violent and strong.

Then as it were t’auenge his wrath on mee, xxii
When forward we should fare, he flat refused
To take me vp (as this young man did see)
Vpon his steed, for no iust cause accused,
But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,
Pounching[428] me with the butt end of his speare,
In vaine complayning, to be so abused.
For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,
But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare.

So passed we, till this young man vs met, xxiii
And being moou’d with pittie of my plight,
Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret:
Whereof befell, what now is in your sight.
Now sure (then said Sir _Calidore_) and right
Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:
Who euer thinkes through confidence of might,
Or through support of count’nance proud and hault
To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault.

Then turning backe vnto that gentle boy, xxiv
Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;
Seeing his face so louely sterne and coy,
And hearing th’answeres of his pregnant wit,
He praysd it much, and much admyred it;
That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,
With whom those graces did so goodly fit:
And when he long had him beholding stood,
He burst into these words, as to him seemed good.

Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre, xxv
That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost wonne,
Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,
As they are wont vnto _Latonaes_ sonne,
After his chace on woodie _Cynthus_ donne:
Well may I certes such an one thee read,
As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,
Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead,
That in thy face appeares and gratious goodlyhead.

But should it not displease thee it to tell; xxvi
(Vnlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale,
For loue amongst the woodie Gods to dwell;)
I would thy selfe require thee to reueale,
For deare affection and vnfayned zeale,
Which to thy noble personage I beare,
And wish thee grow in worship and great weale.
For since the day that armes I first did reare,
I neuer saw in any greater hope appeare.

To whom then thus the noble youth; May[429] be xxvii
Sir knight, that by discouering my estate,
Harme may arise vnweeting vnto me;
Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,
To you I will not feare it to relate.
Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne,
Sonne of a King, how euer thorough fate
Or fortune I my countrie haue forlorne,
And lost the crowne, which should my head by right adorne.

And _Tristram_ is my name, the onely heire xxviii
Of good king _Meliogras_ which did rayne
In Cornewale, till that he through liues despeire
Vntimely dyde, before I did attaine
Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine.
After whose death, his brother seeing mee
An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,
Vpon him tooke the roiall high degree,
And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.

The widow Queene my mother, which then hight xxix
Faire _Emiline_, conceiuing then great feare
Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might
Of him, that did the kingly Scepter beare,
Whose gealous dread induring not a peare,
Is wont to cut off all, that doubt may breed,
Thought best away me to remoue somewhere
Into some forrein land, where as no need
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humor feed.

So taking counsell of a wise man red, xxx
She was by him aduiz’d, to send me quight
Out of the countrie, wherein I was bred,
The which the fertile _Lionesse_ is hight,
Into the land of _Faerie_, where no wight
Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong[430].
To whose wise read she hearkning, sent me streight
Into this land, where I haue wond thus long,
Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to stature strong.

All which my daies I haue not lewdly spent, xxxi
Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares
In ydlesse, but as was conuenient,
Haue trayned bene with many noble feres
In gentle thewes, and such like seemely leres.
Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been,
To hunt the saluage chace amongst my peres,
Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene;
Of which none is to me vnknowne, that eu’r was seene.

Ne is there hauke, which mantleth her on pearch, xxxii
Whether high towring, or accoasting low,
But I the measure of her flight doe search,
And all her pray, and all her diet know.
Such be our ioyes, which in these forrests grow:
Onely the vse of armes, which most I ioy,
And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,
I haue not tasted yet, yet past a boy,
And being now high time these strong ioynts to imploy.

Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion fit xxxiii
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome[431] may,
Let me this craue, vnworthy though of it,
That ye will make me Squire without delay,
That from henceforth in batteilous array
I may beare armes, and learne to vse them right;
The rather since[432] that fortune hath this day
Giuen to me the spoile of this dead knight,
These goodly gilden armes, which I haue won in fight.

All which when well Sir _Calidore_ had heard, xxxiv
Him much more now, then earst he gan admire,
For the rare hope which in his yeares appear’d,
And thus replide; Faire[433] chyld, the high desire
To loue of armes, which in you doth aspire,
I may not certes without blame denie;
But rather wish, that some more noble hire,
(Though none more noble then is cheualrie,)
I had, you to reward with greater dignitie.

There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare xxxv
Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,
And neuer to be recreant, for feare
Of perill, or of ought that might befall:
So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.
Full glad and ioyous then young _Tristram_ grew,
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaues small,
Long shut vp in the bud from heauens vew,
At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew.

Thus when they long had treated to and fro, xxxvi
And _Calidore_ betooke him to depart,
Chyld _Tristram_ prayd, that he with him might goe
On his aduenture, vowing not to start,
But wayt on him in euery place and part.
Whereat Sir _Calidore_ did much delight,
And greatly ioy’d at his so noble hart,
In hope he sure would proue a doughtie knight:
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.

Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire, xxxvii
To haue thy presence in my present quest,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:
But I am bound by vow, which I profest
To my dread[434] Soueraine, when I it assayd,
That in atchieuement of her high behest,
I should no creature ioyne vnto mine ayde,
For thy I may not graunt, that ye so greatly prayde.

But since this Ladie is all desolate, xxxviii
And needeth safegard now vpon her way,
Ye may doe well in this her needfull state
To succour her, from daunger of dismay;
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.
The noble ympe of such new seruice fayne,
It gladly did accept, as he did say.
So taking courteous leaue, they parted twayne,
And _Calidore_ forth passed to his former payne.

But _Tristram_ then despoyling that dead knight xxxix
Of all those goodly implements[435] of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight
Of the bright mettall, shyning like Sunne rayes;
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes.
And after hauing them vpon him dight,
He tooke that Ladie, and her vp did rayse
Vpon the steed of her owne late dead knight,
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.

There to their fortune leaue we them awhile, xl
And turne we backe to good Sir _Calidore_;
Who ere he thence had traueild many a mile,
Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore
This knight, whom _Tristram_ slew, had wounded sore
Another knight in his despiteous pryde;
There he that knight found lying on the flore,
With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments, and the grasse in vermeill dyde.

And there beside him sate vpon the ground xli
His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most vnluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.
Which sorie sight when _Calidore_ did vew
With heauie eyne, from teares vneath refrayning,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

Then speaking to the Ladie, thus he sayd: xlii
Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach
To tell, what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight vnarm’d, with so vnknightly breach
Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may auenge him of so foule despight.
The Ladie hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heauie words forth sight.

In which she shew’d, how that discourteous knight xliii
(Whom _Tristram_ slew) them in that shadow found,
Ioying together in vnblam’d delight,
And him vnarm’d, as now he lay on ground,
Charg’d with his speare and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reaue
From him, to whom she was for euer bound:
Yet when she fled into that couert greaue,
He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leaue.

When _Calidore_ this ruefull storie had xliv
Well vnderstood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
She then, like as she best could vnderstand,
Him thus describ’d, to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A Ladie on rough waues, row’d in a sommer barge.

Then gan Sir _Calidore_ to ghesse streight way xlv
By many signes, which she described had,
That this was he, whom _Tristram_ earst did slay,
And to her said; Dame be no longer sad:
For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad,
Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight;
These eyes him saw vpon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to your selfe he wrought, and to your loued knight.

Therefore faire Lady lay aside this griefe, xlvi
Which ye haue gathered to your gentle hart,
For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
Were best deuise for this your louers smart,
And how ye may him hence, and to what part
Conuay to be recur’d. She thankt him deare,
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care, which he did beare
Both to her loue, and to her selfe in that sad dreare.

Yet could she not deuise by any wit, xlvii
How thence she might conuay him to some place.
For him to trouble she it thought vnfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case;
And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.
Which when as he perceiu’d, he thus bespake;
Faire Lady let it not you seeme disgrace,
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.

So off he did his shield, and downeward layd xlviii
Vpon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
And powring balme, which he had long puruayd,
Into his wounds, him vp thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.
Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,
In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:
Where what ensu’d, shall in next Canto be begonne.

FOOTNOTES:

[415] iii 2 deed and word] act and deed _1596_

[416] 3 eyes] eares _edd._

[417] 4 eares] eyes _edd._

[418] v 7 lincolne _1596_

[419] vi 7 launce _1609_

[420] vii 2 what _1596_

[421] viii 1 him _1596_

[422] ix 7 enranging _1609_

[423] xiv 3 Sayd] Staid _1609_

[424] neither _1596_, _1609_

[425] xv 8 since] sith _1609_

[426] xvi 5 iolliment, _1596_

[427] xix 6 hot _1609_

[428] xxii 6 Punching _1609_

[429] xxvii 1 may _1596_

[430] xxx 6 wrong _1596_

[431] xxxiii 2 sildome _1609_

[432] 7 since] sith _1609_

[433] xxxiv 4 faire _1596_

[434] xxxvii 6 drad _1609_

[435] xxxix 2 implements] ornaments _1609_

_Cant. III._

_Calidore brings Priscilla home,
Pursues the Blatant Beast:
Saues Serena whilest Calepine
By Turpine is opprest._
]

True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd, i
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd,
As by his manners, in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne.
For seldome seene, a trotting Stalion get
An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne:
So seldome seene, that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew, with curteous manners met.

But euermore contrary hath bene tryde, ii
That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;
As well may be in _Calidore_ descryde,
By late ensample of that courteous deed,
Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought
Vnto the Castle where they had decreed.
There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,
To make abode that night he greatly was besought.

He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares, iii
That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares:
But now weake age had dimd his candle light.
Yet was he courteous still to euery wight,
And loued all that did to armes incline,
And was the father of that wounded Knight,
Whom _Calidore_ thus carried on his chine,
And _Aldus_ was his name, and his sonnes _Aladine_.

Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight, iv
With bleeding wounds, brought home vpon a Beare,
By a faire Lady, and a straunger Knight,
Was inly touched with compassion deare,
And deare affection of so dolefull[436] dreare,
That he these words burst forth; Ah sory boy,
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aie me, is this the timely ioy,
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope; v
So tickle is the state of earthly things,
That ere they come vnto their aymed scope,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,
And bring vs bale and bitter sorrowings,
In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:
This is the state of Keasars and of Kings.
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieue at any his vnlucky case.

So well and wisely did that good old Knight vi
Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,
To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night,
And make their welcome to them well appeare:
That to Sir _Calidore_ was easie geare;
But that faire Lady would be cheard for nought,
But sigh’d and sorrow’d for her louer deare,
And inly did afflict her pensiue thought,
With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.

For she was daughter to a noble Lord, vii
Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy
To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to his loue apply,
But lou’d this fresh young Knight, who dwelt her ny,
The lusty _Aladine_, though meaner borne,
And of lesse liuelood and hability,
Yet full of valour, the which did adorne
His meanesse much, and make her th’others riches scorne.

So hauing both found fit occasion, viii
They met together in that luckelesse glade;
Where that proud Knight in his presumption
The gentle _Aladine_ did earst inuade,
Being vnarm’d, and set in secret shade.
Whereof she now bethinking, gan t’aduize,
How great a hazard she at earst had made
Of her good fame, and further gan deuize,
How she the blame might salue with coloured disguize.

But _Calidore_ with all good courtesie ix
Fain’d her to frolicke, and to put away
The pensiue fit of her melancholie;
And that old Knight by all meanes did assay,
To make them both as merry as he may.
So they the euening past, till time of rest,
When _Calidore_ in seemly good array
Vnto his bowre was brought, and there vndrest,
Did sleepe all night through weary trauell of his quest.

But faire _Priscilla_ (so that Lady hight) x
Would to no[437] bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
But by her wounded loue did watch all night,
And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,
And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe.
So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him,
That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe
He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,
And droue away the stound, which mortally attacht him.

The morrow next, when day gan to vplooke, xi
He also gan vplooke with drery eye,
Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:
Where when he saw his faire _Priscilla_ by,
He deepely sigh’d[438], and groaned inwardly,
To thinke of this ill state, in which she stood,
To which she for his sake had weetingly
Now brought her selfe, and blam’d her noble blood:
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.

Which she perceiuing, did with plenteous teares xii
His care more then her owne compassionate,
Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares:
So both conspiring, gan to intimate
Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast,
How to saue whole her hazarded estate;
For which the onely helpe now left them last
Seem’d to be _Calidore_: all other helpes were past.

Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed, xiii
A courteous Knight, and full of faithfull trust:
Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed
Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust.
Earely, so soone as _Titans_ beames forth brust
Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay
All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust,[439]
_Calidore_ rising vp as fresh as day,
Gan freshly him addresse vnto his former way.

But first him seemed fit, that wounded Knight xiv
To visite, after this nights perillous passe,
And to salute him, if he were in plight,
And eke that Lady his faire louely lasse.
There he him found much better then he was,
And moued speach to him of things of course,
The anguish of his paine to ouerpasse:
Mongst which he namely did to him discourse,
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse.

Of which occasion _Aldine_ taking hold, xv
Gan breake to him the fortunes of his loue,
And all his disaduentures to vnfold;
That _Calidore_ it dearly deepe did moue.
In th’end his kyndly courtesie to proue,
He him by all the bands of loue besought,
And as it mote a faithfull friend behoue,
To safeconduct his loue, and not for ought
To leaue, till to her fathers house he had her brought.

Sir _Calidore_ his faith thereto did plight, xvi
It to performe: so after little stay,
That she her selfe had to the iourney dight,
He passed forth with her in faire array,
Fearelesse, who ought did thinke, or ought did say,
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite.
So as they past together on their way,
He can deuize this counter-cast of slight,
To giue faire colour to that Ladies cause in sight.

Streight to the carkasse of that Knight he went, xvii
The cause of all this euill, who was slaine
The day before by iust auengement
Of noble _Tristram_, where it did remaine:
There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,
And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.
So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,
Till to that Ladies fathers house he came,
Most pensiue man, through feare, what of his childe became.

There he arriuing boldly, did present xviii
The fearefull Lady to her father deare,
Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent
Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood sweare,
Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft,
And by outragious force away did beare:
Witnesse thereof he shew’d his head there left,
And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft.

Most ioyfull man her sire was her to see, xix
And heare th’aduenture of her late mischaunce;
And thousand thankes to _Calidore_ for fee
Of his large paines in her deliueraunce
Did yeeld; Ne lesse the Lady did aduaunce.
Thus hauing her restored trustily,
As he had vow’d, some small continuaunce
He there did make, and then most carefully
Vnto his first exploite he did him selfe apply.