Chapter XIV: Book VII: Two Cantos of Mvtabilitie 454 (14)

Ah nay Sir Knight (sayd she) it may not be, xxx
But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill
This penaunce, which enioyned is to me,
Least vnto me betide a greater ill;
Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will.
So humbly taking leaue, she turnd aside,
But _Arthure_ with the rest, went onward still
On his first quest, in which did him betide
A great aduenture, which did him from them deuide.

But first it falleth me by course to tell xxxi
Of faire _Serena_, who as earst you heard,
When first the gentle Squire at variaunce fell
With those two Carles, fled fast away, afeard
Of villany to be to her inferd:
So fresh the image of her former dread,
Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard,
That euery foote did tremble, which did tread,
And euery body two, and two she foure did read.

Through hils and dales, through bushes and through breres xxxii
Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought
Her selfe now past the perill of her feares.
Then looking round about, and seeing nought,[529]
Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought,
She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine,
And sitting downe, her selfe a while bethought
Of her long trauell and turmoyling paine;
And often did of loue, and oft of lucke complaine.

And euermore she blamed _Calepine_ xxxiii
The good Sir _Calepine_, her owne true Knight,
As th’onely author of her wofull tine:
For being of his loue to her so light,
As her to leaue in such a piteous plight.
Yet neuer Turtle truer to his make,
Then he was tride vnto his Lady bright:
Who all this while endured for her sake,
Great perill of his life, and restlesse paines did take.

Tho when as all her plaints[530] she had displayd, xxxiv
And well disburdened her engrieued brest,
Vpon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd;
Where being tyrde with trauell, and opprest
With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest.
There whilest in _Morpheus_ bosome safe she lay,
Fearelesse of ought, that mote her peace molest,
False Fortune did her safety betray,
Vnto a straunge mischaunce, that menac’d her decay.

In these wylde deserts, where she now abode, xxxv
There dwelt a saluage nation, which did liue
Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode
Into their neighbours borders; ne did giue
Them selues to any trade, as for to driue
The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,
Or by aduentrous marchandize to thriue;
But on the labours of poore men to feed,
And serue their owne necessities with others need.

Thereto they vsde one most accursed order, xxxvi
To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde,
And straungers to deuoure, which on their border
Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde.
A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde.
They towards euening wandring euery way,
To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde,
Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray,
Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay.

Soone as they spide her, Lord what gladfull glee xxxvii
They made amongst them selues; but when her face
Like the faire yuory shining they did see,
Each gan his fellow solace and embrace,
For ioy of such good hap by heauenly grace.
Then gan they to deuize what course to take:
Whether to slay her there vpon the place,
Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,
And then her eate attonce; or many meales to make.

The best aduizement was of bad, to let her xxxviii
Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment:
For sleepe they sayd would make her battill better.
Then when she wakt, they all gaue one consent,
That since[531] by grace of God she there was sent,
Vnto their God they would her sacrifize,
Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud they would present,
But of her dainty flesh they did deuize
To make a common feast, and feed with gurmandize.

So round about her they them selues did place xxxix
Vpon the grasse, and diuersely dispose,
As each thought best to spend the lingring space.
Some with their eyes the daintest[532] morsels chose;
Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose;
Some whet their kniues, and strip their elboes bare:
The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose
Of finest flowres, and with full busie care
His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare.

The Damzell wakes, then all attonce vpstart, xl
And round about her flocke, like many flies,
Whooping, and hallowing[533] on euery part,
As if they would haue rent the brasen skies.
Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies,
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew
Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud she cries,
Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew,
And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew.

But all bootes not: they hands vpon her lay; xli
And first they spoile her of her iewels[534] deare,
And afterwards of all her rich array;
The which amongst them they in peeces teare,
And of the pray each one a part doth beare.
Now being naked, to their sordid eyes
The goodly threasures of nature appeare:
Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes,
Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest enuyes.

Her yuorie necke, her alablaster brest, xlii
Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were,
For loue in soft delight thereon to rest;
Her tender sides[535], her bellie white and clere,
Which like an Altar did it selfe vprere,
To offer sacrifice diuine thereon;
Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare
Like a triumphall Arch, and thereupon
The spoiles of Princes hang’d, which were in battel won.

Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight, xliii
Which mote not be prophan’d of common eyes,
Those villeins vew’d with loose lasciuious sight,
And closely tempted with their craftie spyes;
And some of them gan mongst themselues deuize,
Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure.
But them the Priest rebuking, did aduize
To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure,
Vow’d to the gods: religion held euen theeues in measure.

So being stayd, they her from thence directed xliv
Vnto a litle groue not farre asyde,
In which an altar shortly they erected,
To slay her on. And now the Euentyde
His brode black wings had through the heauens wyde
By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned
For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:
Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned,
And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned.

Tho when as all things readie were aright, xlv
The Damzell was before the altar set,
Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright.
To whom the Priest with naked armes full net
Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet,
Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme,
With other diuelish ceremonies met:
Which doen he gan aloft t’aduance his arme,
Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud[536] alarme.

Then gan the bagpypes and the hornes to shrill, xlvi
And shrieke aloud, that with the peoples voyce
Confused, did the ayre with terror fill,
And made the wood to tremble at the noyce:
The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce.
Now mote ye vnderstand that to this groue
Sir _Calepine_ by chaunce, more then by choyce,
The selfe same euening fortune hether droue,
As he to seeke _Serena_ through the woods did roue.

Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle xlvii
Had traueld still on foot in heauie armes,
Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyles[537],
Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes:
And now all weetlesse of the wretched stormes,
In which his loue was lost[538], he slept full fast,
Till being waked with these loud alarmes,
He lightly started vp like one aghast,
And catching vp his arms streight to the noise forth past.

There by th’vncertaine glims of starry night, xlviii
And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,
He mote perceiue a litle dawning sight
Of all, which there was doing in that quire:
Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire
He spyde, lamenting her vnluckie strife,
And groning sore from grieued hart entire,
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife
Readie to launch her brest, and let out loued life.

With that he thrusts into the thickest throng, xlix
And euen as his right hand adowne descends,
He him preuenting, layes on earth along,
And sacrifizeth to th’infernall feends.
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends,
Of whom he makes such hauocke and such hew,
That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends:
The rest that scape his sword and death eschew,
Fly like a flocke of doues before a Faulcons vew.

From them returning to that Ladie backe, l
Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find,
Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke
Of clothes to couer, what they[539] ought by kind,
He first her hands beginneth to vnbind;
And then to question of her present woe;
And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind.
But she for nought that he could say or doe,
One word durst speake, or answere him a whit[540] thereto.

So inward shame of her vncomely case li
She did conceiue, through care of womanhood,
That though the night did couer her disgrace,
Yet she in so vnwomanly a mood,
Would not bewray the state in which she stood.
So all that night to him vnknowen she past.
But day, that doth discouer bad and good,
Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:
The end whereof Ile keepe vntill another cast.

FOOTNOTES:

[521] iii 8 entreat _1596_

[522] xi 5 wield _1609_

[523] 9 two] tow _1596_

[524] xv 3 powned _1609_

[525] xvii 6 From] For _1596_

[526] xxii 2 account _1609_

[527] xxvi 4 with all _1596_

[528] xxviii 3 vnwieldy _1609_

[529] xxxii 4 nought. _1596_

[530] xxxiv 1 plaints, _1596_

[531] xxxviii 5 since] sith _1609_

[532] xxxix 4 daintiest _1609_

[533] xl 3 hollowing _1609_

[534] xli 2 iewls _1596_

[535] xlii 4 sides _1596_, _1609_

[536] xlv 9 aloud _1609_

[537] xlvii 3 toyle _1609_

[538] 6 lost] tost _Drayton_ (_teste Collier_)

[539] l 4 they] shee _1609_

[540] 9 awhit _1596_, _1609_

_Cant. IX._

_Calidore hostes with Melibœ
and loues fayre Pastorell;
Coridon enuies him, yet he
for ill rewards him well._
]

Now turne againe my teme thou iolly swayne, i
Backe to the furrow which I lately left;
I lately left a furrow, one or twayne
Vnplough’d, the which my coulter hath not cleft:
Yet seem’d the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft,
As I it past, that were too great a shame,
That so rich frute should be from vs bereft;
Besides the great dishonour and defame,
Which should befall to _Calidores_ immortall name.

Great trauell hath the gentle _Calidore_ ii
And toyle endured, sith I left him last
Sewing the _Blatant beast_, which I forbore
To finish then, for other present hast.
Full many pathes and perils he hath past,
Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, and throgh plaines
In that same quest which fortune on him cast,
Which he atchieued to his owne great gaines,
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.

So sharply he the Monster did pursew, iii
That day nor night he suffred him to rest,
Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew,
For dread of daunger, not to be redrest,
If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest.
Him first from court he to the citties coursed,
And from the citties to the townes him prest,
And from the townes into the countrie forsed,
And from the country back to priuate farmes he scorsed.

From thence into the open fields he fled, iv
Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat,
And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed,
Layes of sweete loue and youthes delightfull heat:
Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat
He followed fast, and chaced him so nie,
That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat,
And to the litle cots[541], where shepherds lie
In winters wrathfull time[542], he forced him to flie.

There on a day as he pursew’d the chace, v
He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes,
Playing on pypes, and caroling apace,
The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes
Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes:
For other worldly wealth they cared nought.
To whom Sir _Calidore_ yet sweating comes,
And them to tell him courteously besought,
If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought.

They answer’d him, that no such beast they saw, vi
Nor any wicked feend, that mote offend
Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw:
But if that such there were (as none they kend)
They prayd high God him[543] farre from them[543] to send.
Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,
After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,
Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat,
And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat.

The knight was nothing nice, where was no need, vii
And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne
They prayd him sit, and gaue him for to feed
Such homely what, as serues the simple clowne,
That doth despise the dainties of the towne.
Tho having fed his fill, he there besyde
Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne
Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde[544],
Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde.

Vpon a litle hillocke she was placed viii
Higher then all the rest, and round about
Enuiron’d with a girland, goodly graced,
Of louely lasses, and them all without
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,
The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,
And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout,
As if some miracle of heauenly hew
Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.

And soothly sure she was full fayre of face, ix
And perfectly well shapt in euery lim,
Which she did more augment with modest grace,
And comely carriage of her count’nance trim,
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:
Who her admiring as some heauenly wight,
Did for their soueraine goddesse her esteeme,
And caroling her name both day and night,
The fayrest _Pastorella_ her by name did hight.

Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne x
But her did honour, and eke many a one
Burnt in her loue, and with sweet pleasing payne
Full many a night for her did sigh and grone:
But most of all the shepheard _Coridon_
For her did languish, and his deare life spend;
Yet neither she for him, nor other none
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:
Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend.

Her whyles Sir _Calidore_ there vewed well, xi
And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed
So farre the meane of shepheards to excell,
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed,
To be a Princes Paragone esteemed,
He was vnwares surprisd in subtile bands
Of the blynd boy, ne thence could be redeemed
By any skill out of his cruell hands,
Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands.

So stood he still long gazing thereupon, xii
Ne any will had thence to moue away,
Although his quest were farre afore him gon;
But after he had fed, yet did he stay,
And sate there still, vntill the flying day
Was farre forth spent, discoursing diuersly
Of sundry things, as fell,[545] to worke delay;
And euermore his speach he did apply
To th’heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy.

By this the moystie night approching fast, xiii
Her deawy humour gan on th’earth to shed,
That warn’d the shepheards to their homes to hast
Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,
For feare of wetting them before their bed;
Then came to them a good old aged syre,
Whose siluer lockes bedeckt his beard and hed,
With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,
That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre.

He was to weet by common voice esteemed xiv
The father of the fayrest _Pastorell_,
And of her selfe in very deede so deemed;
Yet was not so, but as old stories tell
Found her by fortune, which to him befell,
In th’open fields an Infant left alone,
And taking vp brought home, and noursed well
As his owne chyld; for other he had none,
That she in tract of time accompted was his owne.

She at his bidding meekely did arise, xv
And streight vnto her litle flocke did fare:
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,
And each his sundrie sheepe with seuerall care
Gathered together, and them homeward bare:
Whylest euerie one with helping hands did striue
Amongst themselues, and did their labours share,
To helpe faire _Pastorella_, home to driue
Her fleecie flocke; but _Coridon_ most helpe did giue.

But _Melibœe_ (so hight that good old man) xvi
Now seeing _Calidore_ left all alone,
And night arriued hard at hand, began
Him to inuite vnto his simple home;
Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,
And all things therein meane, yet better so
To lodge, then in the saluage fields to rome.
The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,
Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go.

There he was welcom’d of that honest syre, xvii
And of his aged Beldame homely well;
Who him besought himselfe to disattyre,
And rest himselfe, till supper time befell.
By which home came the fayrest _Pastorell_,
After her flocke she in their fold had tyde,
And supper readie dight, they to it fell
With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,
The which doth litle craue contented to abyde.

Tho when they had their hunger slaked well, xviii
And the fayre mayd the table ta’ne away,
The gentle knight, as he that did excell
In courtesie, and well could doe and say,
For so great kindnesse as he found that day,
Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife;
And drawing thence his speach another way,
Gan highly to commend the happie life,
Which Shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife.

How much (sayd he) more happie is the state, xix
In which ye father here doe dwell at ease,
Leading a life so free and fortunate,
From all the tempests of these worldly seas,
Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease;
Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie
Doe them afflict, which no man can appease,
That certes I your happinesse enuie,
And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.

Surely my sonne (then answer’d he againe) xx
If happie, then it is in this intent,
That hauing small, yet doe I not complaine
Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,
But doe my self, with that I haue, content;
So taught of nature, which doth litle need
Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:
The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;
No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed.

Therefore I doe not any one enuy, xxi
Nor am enuyde of any one therefore;
They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.
The litle that I haue, growes dayly more
Without my care, but onely to attend it;
My lambes doe euery yeare increase their score,
And my flockes father daily doth amend it.
What haue I, but to praise th’Almighty, that doth send it?

To them, that list, the worlds gay showes I leaue, xxii
And to great ones such follies doe forgiue,
Which oft through pride do their owne perill weaue,
And through ambition downe themselues doe driue
To sad decay, that might contented liue.
Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend,
Ne once my minds vnmoued quiet grieue,
But all the night in siluer sleepe I spend,
And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend.

Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe xxiii
Vnto my Lambes, and him dislodge away;
Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe,
Or from the Goat her kidde how to conuay;
Another while I baytes and nets display,
The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle:
And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay
My limbes in euery shade, to rest from toyle,
And drinke of euery brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle.

The time was once, in my first prime of yeares, xxiv
When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,
That I disdain’d amongst mine equall peares
To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire:
For further fortune then I would inquire.
And leauing home, to roiall court I sought;
Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire,
And in the Princes gardin daily wrought:
There I beheld such vainenesse, as I neuer thought.

With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded xxv
With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine,
After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded
From natiue home, and spent my youth in vaine,
I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine,
And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare.
Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe,
I from thenceforth haue learn’d to loue more deare
This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here.

Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare[546] xxvi
Hong still vpon his melting mouth attent;
Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,
That he was rapt[547] with double rauishment,
Both of his speach that wrought him great content,
And also of the obiect of his vew,
On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;
That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew,
He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew.

Yet to occasion meanes, to worke his mind, xxvii
And to insinuate his harts desire,
He thus replyde; Now surely syre, I find,
That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,
Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre
Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead,
Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre,
Which tosseth states, and vnder foot doth tread
The mightie ones, affrayd of euery chaunges dread.

That euen I which daily doe behold xxviii
The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won,
And now haue prou’d, what happinesse ye hold
In this small plot of your dominion,
Now loath great Lordship and ambition;
And wish the heauens[548] so much had graced mee,
As graunt me liue in like condition;
Or that my fortunes might transposed bee
From pitch of higher place, vnto this low degree.

In vaine (said then old _Melibœ_) doe men xxix
The heauens of their fortunes fault accuse,
Sith they know best, what is the best for them:
For they to each such fortune doe diffuse,
As they doe know each can most aptly vse.
For not that, which men couet most, is best,
Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse;
But fittest is, that all contented rest
With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.

It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill, xxx
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:
For some, that hath abundance at his will,
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store;
And other, that hath litle, askes no more,
But in that litle is both rich and wise.
For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore
They are, which fortunes doe by vowes deuize,
Sith each vnto himselfe his life may fortunize.

Since then in each mans self (said _Calidore_) xxxi
It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate,
Giue leaue awhyle, good father, in this shore
To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late
With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate,
In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine,
That whether quite from them for to retrate
I shall resolue, or backe to turne againe,
I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine.

Not that the burden of so bold a guest xxxii
Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all;
For your meane food shall be my daily feast,
And this your cabin both my bowre and hall.
Besides for recompence hereof, I shall
You well reward, and golden guerdon giue,
That may perhaps you better much withall,
And in this quiet make you safer liue.
So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it driue.

But the good man, nought tempted with the offer xxxiii
Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away,
And thus bespake; Sir knight, your bounteous proffer
Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display
That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,
That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread.
But if ye algates couet to assay
This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead,
Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread.

So there that night Sir _Calidore_ did dwell, xxxiv
And long while after, whilest him list remaine,
Dayly beholding the faire _Pastorell_,
And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane.
During which time he did her entertaine
With all kind courtesies, he could inuent;
And euery day, her companie to gaine,
When to the field she went, he with her went:
So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment.

But she that neuer had acquainted beene xxxv
With such queint vsage, fit for Queenes and Kings,
Ne euer had such knightly seruice seene,
But being bred vnder base shepheards wings,
Had euer learn’d to loue the lowly things,
Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,
But cared more for _Colins_ carolings
Then all that he could doe, or euer[549] deuize:
His layes, his loues, his lookes she did them all despize.

Which _Calidore_ perceiuing, thought it best xxxvi
To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke;
And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest
In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke,
In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke,
That who had seene him then, would haue bethought
On _Phrygian Paris_ by _Plexippus_ brooke,
When he the loue of fayre _Oenone_[550] sought,
What time the golden apple was vnto him brought.

So being clad, vnto the fields he went xxxvii
With the faire _Pastorella_ euery day,
And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,
Watching to driue the rauenous Wolfe away,
The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play;
And euery euening helping them to fold:
And otherwhiles for need, he did assay
In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,
And out of them to presse the milke: loue so much could.

Which seeing _Coridon_, who her likewise xxxviii
Long time had lou’d, and hop’d her loue to gaine,
He much was troubled at that straungers guize,
And many gealous thoughts conceiu’d in vaine,
That this of all his labour and long paine
Should reap the haruest, ere it ripened were,
That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine
Of _Pastorell_ to all the shepheards there,
That she did loue a stranger swayne then him more dere.

And euer when he came in companie, xxxix
Where _Calidore_ was present, he would loure,
And byte his lip, and euen for gealousie
Was readie oft his owne hart to deuoure,
Impatient of any paramoure:
Who on the other side did seeme so farre
From malicing, or grudging his good houre,
That all he could, he graced him with her,
Ne euer shewed signe of rancour or of iarre.

And oft, when _Coridon_ vnto her brought xl
Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest,
Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought,
Or other daintie thing for her addrest,
He would commend his guift, and make the best.
Yet she no whit his presents did regard,
Ne him could find to fancie in her brest:
This newcome shepheard had his market mard.
Old loue is litle worth when new is more prefard.

One day when as the shepheard swaynes together xli
Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee,
As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather,
The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee,
They fell to daunce: then did they all agree,
That _Colin Clout_[551] should pipe as one most fit;
And _Calidore_ should lead the ring, as hee
That most in _Pastorellaes_ grace did sit.
Thereat frown’d _Coridon_, and his lip closely bit.

But _Calidore_ of courteous inclination xlii
Tooke _Coridon_, and set him in his place,
That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion;
For _Coridon_ could daunce, and trimly trace.
And when as _Pastorella_, him to grace,
Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head,
And plast on his, he did it soone displace,
And did it put on _Coridons_ in stead:
Then _Coridon_ woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead.

Another time, when as they did dispose xliii
To practise games, and maisteries[552] to try,
They for their Iudge did _Pastorella_ chose;
A garland was the meed of victory.
There _Coridon_ forth stepping openly,
Did chalenge _Calidore_ to wrestling game:
For he through long and perfect industry,
Therein well practisd was, and in the same
Thought sure t’auenge his grudge, and worke his foe great shame.

But _Calidore_ he greatly did mistake; xliv
For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,
That with one fall his necke he almost brake,
And had he not vpon him fallen light,
His dearest ioynt he sure had broken quight.
Then was the oaken crowne by _Pastorell_
Giuen to _Calidore_, as his due right;
But he, that did in courtesie excell,
Gaue it to _Coridon_, and said he wonne it well.

Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare xlv
Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,
That euen they, the which his riuals were,
Could not maligne him, but commend him needs:
For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds[553]
Good will and fauour. So it surely wrought
With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the seeds
Of perfect loue did sow, that last forth brought
The fruite of ioy and blisse, though long time dearely bought[554].

Thus _Calidore_ continu’d there long time, xlvi
To winne the loue of the faire _Pastorell_;
Which hauing got, he vsed without crime
Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well,
That he of all the rest, which there did dwell[555],
Was fauoured, and to her grace commended.
But what straunge fortunes vnto him befell,
Ere he attain’d the point by him intended,
Shall more conueniently in other place be ended.

FOOTNOTES:

[541] iv 8 cotes _1609_

[542] 9 time] tine _conj. Church_

[543] vi 5 him] them _1596_

[544] vii 8 tyde. _1596_

[545] xii 7 fell _1596_

[546] xxvi 1 care _1609_

[547] 4 wrapt _1609_

[548] xxviii 6 th’heauens _1596_, _1609_

[549] xxxv 8 ev’r _1609_

[550] xxxvi 8 _Benone_ _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Hughes_

[551] xli 6 _clout_ _1596_

[552] xliii 2 masteries _1609_

[553] xlv 5 breeds: _1596_

[554] 9 bought] sought _conj. Church_

[555] xlvi 5 dwell] well _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1611_

_Cant. X._

_Calidore sees the Graces daunce,
To Colins melody:
The whiles his Pastorell is led,
Into captiuity._
]

Who now does follow the foule _Blatant Beast_, i
Whilest _Calidore_ does follow that faire Mayd,
Vnmyndfull of his vow and high beheast,
Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd,
That he should neuer leaue, nor be delayd
From chacing him, till he had it attchieued?
But now entrapt of loue, which him betrayd,
He mindeth more, how he may be relieued
With grace from her, whose loue his heart hath sore engrieued.

That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew ii
His former quest, so full of toile and paine;
Another quest, another game in vew
He hath, the guerdon of his loue to gaine:
With whom he myndes for euer to remaine,
And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort,
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine
Of courtly fauour, fed with light report[556]
Of euery blaste, and sayling alwaies in[557] the port.

Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be, iii
From so high step to stoupe vnto so low.
For who had tasted once (as oft did he)
The happy peace, which there doth ouerflow,
And prou’d the perfect pleasures, which doe grow
Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales,
Would neuer more delight in painted show
Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales,
T’entrap vnwary fooles in their eternall bales.

For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze iv
Like to one sight, which _Calidore_ did vew?
The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze,
That neuer more they should endure the shew
Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew.
Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare,
(Saue onely _Glorianaes_ heauenly hew
To which what can compare?) can it compare;
The which as commeth now, by course I will declare.

One day as he did raunge the fields abroad, v
Whilest his faire _Pastorella_ was elsewhere,
He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,
Vnto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere
To passe all others, on the earth which were:
For all that euer was by natures skill
Deuized to worke delight, was gathered there,
And there by her were poured forth at fill,
As if this to adorne, she all the rest did pill.

It was an hill plaste in an open plaine, vi
That round about was bordered with a wood
Of matchlesse hight, that seem’d th’earth to disdaine,
In which all trees of honour stately stood,
And did all winter as in sommer bud,
Spredding pauilions for the birds to bowre,
Which in their lower braunches sung aloud;
And in their tops the soring hauke did towre,
Sitting like King of fowles in maiesty and powre.

And at the foote thereof, a gentle flud vii
His siluer waues did softly tumble downe,
Vnmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud,
Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne
Thereto approch, ne filth mote therein drowne:
But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did sit,
In the woods shade, which did the waters crowne,
Keeping all noysome things away from it,
And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit.

And on the top thereof a spacious plaine viii
Did spred it selfe, to serue to all delight,
Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine,
Or else to course about[558] their bases light;
Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might[559]
Desired be, or thence to banish bale:
So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight,
Did seeme to ouerlooke the lowly vale;
Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount _Acidale_.

They say that _Venus_, when she did dispose ix
Her selfe to pleasaunce, vsed to resort
Vnto this place, and therein to repose
And rest her selfe, as in a gladsome port,
Or with the Graces there to play and sport;
That euen her owne Cytheron, though in it
She vsed most to keepe her royall court,
And in her soueraine Maiesty to sit,
She in regard hereof refusde and thought vnfit.

Vnto this place when as the Elfin Knight x
Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight,
And many feete fast thumping th’hollow ground,
That through the woods their Eccho did rebound.
He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be;
There he a troupe of Ladies dauncing found
Full merrily, and making gladfull glee,
And in the midst a Shepheard piping he did see.

He durst not enter into th’open greene, xi
For dread of them vnwares to be descryde,
For breaking of their daunce, if he were seene;
But in the couert of the wood did byde,
Beholding all, yet of them vnespyde.
There he did see, that pleased much his sight,
That euen he him selfe his eyes enuyde,
An hundred naked maidens lilly white,
All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight.

All they without were raunged in a ring, xii
And daunced round; but in the midst of them
Three other Ladies did both daunce and sing,
The whilest the rest them round about did hemme,
And like a girlond did in compasse stemme:
And in the middest of those same three, was placed
Another Damzell, as a precious gemme,
Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced,
That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced.

Looke how the Crowne, which _Ariadne_ wore xiii
Vpon her yuory forehead that same day,
That _Theseus_ her vnto his bridale bore,
When the bold _Centaures_ made that bloudy fray,
With the fierce _Lapithes_, which did them dismay;
Being now placed in the firmament,
Through the bright heauen doth her beams display,
And is vnto the starres an ornament,
Which round about her moue in order excellent.

Such was the beauty of this goodly band, xiv
Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell:
But she that in the midst of them did stand,
Seem’d all the rest in beauty to excell,
Crownd with a rosie girlond, that right well
Did her beseeme. And euer, as the crew
About her daunst, sweet flowres, that far did smell,
And fragrant odours they vppon her threw;
But most of all, those three did her with gifts endew.

Those were the Graces, daughters of delight, xv
Handmaides of _Venus_, which are wont to haunt
Vppon this hill, and daunce there day and night:
Those three to men all gifts of grace do graunt,
And all, that _Venus_ in her selfe doth vaunt,
Is borrowed of them. But that faire one,
That in the midst was placed parauaunt,
Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone,
That made him pipe so merrily, as neuer none.

She was to weete that iolly Shepheards lasse, xvi
Which piped there vnto that merry rout,
That iolly shepheard, which there piped, was
Poore _Colin Clout_ (who knowes not _Colin Clout_?)
He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about.
Pype iolly shepheard, pype thou now apace
Vnto thy loue, that made thee low to lout:
Thy loue is present there with thee in place,
Thy loue is there aduaunst to be another Grace.

Much wondred _Calidore_ at this straunge sight, xvii
Whose like before his eye had neuer seene,
And standing long astonished in spright,
And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene;
Whether it were the traine of beauties Queene,
Or Nymphes, or Faeries, or enchaunted show,
With which his eyes mote haue deluded beene.
Therefore resoluing, what it was, to know,
Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go.

But soone as he appeared to their vew, xviii
They vanisht all away out of his sight,
And cleane were gone, which way he neuer knew;
All saue the shepheard, who for fell despight
Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight,
And made great mone for that vnhappy turne.
But _Calidore_, though no lesse sory wight,
For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne,
Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne.

And first him greeting, thus vnto him spake, xix
Haile iolly shepheard, which thy ioyous dayes
Here leadest in this goodly merry make,
Frequented of these gentle Nymphes alwayes,
Which to thee flocke, to heare thy louely layes;
Tell me, what mote these dainty Damzels be,
Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes?
Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see:
But why when I them saw, fled they away from me?

Not I so happy[560], answerd then that swaine, xx
As thou vnhappy, which them thence didst chace,
Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe,
For being gone, none can them bring in place,
But whom they of them selues list so to grace.
Right sory I, (saide then Sir _Calidore_,)
That my ill fortune did them hence displace.
But since things passed none may now restore,
Tell me, what were they all, whose lacke thee grieues so sore.

Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate; xxi
Then wote thou shepheard, whatsoeuer thou bee,
That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late,
Are _Venus_ Damzels, all within[561] her fee,
But differing in honour and degree:
They all are Graces, which on her depend,
Besides a thousand more, which ready bee
Her to adorne, when so she forth doth wend:
But those three in the midst, doe chiefe on her attend.

They are the daughters of sky-ruling Ioue, xxii
By him begot of faire _Eurynome_,
The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant groue,
As he this way comming from feastfull glee,
Of _Thetis_ wedding with _Æacidee_,[562]
In sommers shade him selfe[563] here rested weary.
The first of them hight mylde _Euphrosyne_,
Next faire _Aglaia_, last _Thalia_ merry:
Sweete Goddesses all three which me in mirth do cherry.

These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, xxiii
Which decke the body or adorne the mynde,
To make them louely or well fauoured show,
As comely carriage, entertainement kynde,
Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde,
And all the complements of curtesie:
They teach vs, how to each degree and kynde
We should our selues demeane, to low, to hie;
To friends, to foes, which skill men call Ciuility.

Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile, xxiv
That we likewise should mylde and gentle be,
And also naked are, that without guile
Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see,
Simple and true from couert malice free:
And eeke them selues so in their daunce they bore,
That two of them still froward[564] seem’d to bee,
But one still towards shew’d her selfe afore;
That good should from vs goe, then come in greater store.

Such were those Goddesses, which ye did see; xxv
But that fourth Mayd, which there amidst them traced,
Who can aread, what creature mote she bee,
Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced
With heauenly gifts from heuen first enraced?
But what so sure she was, she worthy was,
To be the fourth with those three other placed:
Yet was she certes but a countrey[565] lasse,
Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe.

So farre as doth the daughter of the day, xxvi
All other lesser lights in light excell,
So farre doth she in beautyfull array,
Aboue all other lasses beare the bell,
Ne lesse in vertue that beseemes her well,
Doth she exceede the rest of all her race,
For which the Graces that here wont to dwell,
Haue for more honor brought her to this place,
And graced her so much to be another Grace.

Another Grace she well deserues to be, xxvii
In whom so many Graces gathered are,
Excelling much the meane of her degree;
Diuine resemblaunce, beauty soueraine rare,
Firme Chastity, that spight ne blemish dare;
All which she with such courtesie doth grace,
That all her peres cannot with her compare,
But quite are dimmed, when she is in place.
She made me often pipe and now to pipe apace.

Sunne of the world, great glory of the sky, xxviii
That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes,
Great _Gloriana_, greatest Maiesty,
Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many layes,
As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes,
To make one minime of thy poore handmayd,
And vnderneath thy feete to place her prayse,
That when thy glory shall be farre displayd
To future age of her this mention may be made.

When thus that shepherd ended had his speach, xxix
Sayd _Calidore_; Now sure it yrketh mee,
That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse breach,
As now the author of thy bale to be,
Thus to bereaue thy loues deare sight from thee:
But gentle Shepheard pardon thou my shame,
Who rashly sought that, which I mote not see.
Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his blame,
And to recomfort him, all comely meanes did frame.

In such discourses they together spent xxx
Long time, as fit occasion forth them led;
With which the Knight him selfe did much content,
And with delight his greedy fancy fed,
Both of his words, which he with reason red;
And also of the place, whose pleasures rare
With such regard his sences rauished,
That thence, he had no will away to fare,
But wisht, that with that shepheard he mote dwelling share.

But that enuenimd sting, the which of yore, xxxi
His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart
Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore,
And to renue the rigour of his smart:
Which[566] to recure, no skill of Leaches art
Mote him auaile, but to returne againe
To his wounds worker, that with louely dart
Dinting his brest, had bred his restlesse paine,
Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from the maine.

So taking leaue of that same gentle swaine, xxxii
He backe returned to his rusticke wonne,
Where his faire _Pastorella_ did remaine:
To whome in sort, as he at first begonne,
He daily did apply him selfe to donne[567]
All dewfull seruice voide of thoughts impure[568]:
Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne,
By which he might her to his loue allure,
And liking in her yet vntamed heart procure.

And euermore the shepheard _Coridon_, xxxiii
What euer thing he did her to aggrate,
Did striue to match with strong contention,
And all his paines did closely emulate;
Whether it were to caroll, as they sate
Keeping their sheepe, or games to exercize,
Or to present her with their labours late;
Through which if any grace chaunst to arize
To him, the Shepheard streight with iealousie did frize.

One day as they all three together went xxxiv
To the greene wood, to gather strawberies,
There chaunst to them a dangerous accident;
A Tigre forth out of the wood did rise,
That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize,
And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate,
Did runne at _Pastorell_ her to surprize:
Whom she beholding, now all desolate
Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe her[569] all too late.

Which _Coridon_ first hearing, ran in hast xxxv
To reskue her, but when he saw the feend,
Through cowherd feare he fled away as fast,
Ne durst abide the daunger of the end;
His life he steemed dearer then his frend.
But _Calidore_ soone comming to her ayde,
When he the beast saw ready now to rend
His loues deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde,
He ran at him enraged in stead of being frayde.

He had no weapon, but his shepheards hooke, xxxvi
To serue the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will,
With which so sternely he the monster strooke,
That to the ground astonished he fell;
Whence ere he could recou’r, he did him quell,
And hewing off his head, <he>[570] it presented
Before the feete of the faire _Pastorell_;
Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted,
A thousand times him thankt, that had her death preuented.

From that day forth she gan him to affect, xxxvii
And daily more her fauour to augment;
But _Coridon_ for cowherdize reiect,
Fit to keepe sheepe, vnfit for loues content:
The gentle heart scornes base disparagement.
Yet _Calidore_ did not despise him quight,
But vsde him friendly for further intent,
That by his fellowship, he colour might
Both his estate, and loue from skill of any wight.

So well he wood her, and so well he wrought her, xxxviii
With humble seruice, and with daily sute,
That at the last vnto his will he brought her;
Which he so wisely well did prosecute,
That of his loue he reapt the timely frute,
And ioyed long in close felicity:
Till fortune fraught with malice, blinde, and brute,
That enuies louers long prosperity,
Blew vp a bitter storme of foule aduersity.

It fortuned one day, when _Calidore_ xxxix
Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade)
A lawlesse people, _Brigants_ hight of yore,
That neuer vsde to liue by plough nor spade,
But fed on spoile and booty, which they made
Vpon their neighbours, which did nigh them border,
The dwelling of these shepheards did inuade,
And spoyld their houses, and them selues did murder;
And droue away their flocks[571], with other much disorder.

Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray, xl
They spoyld old _Melibee_ of all he had,
And all his people captiue led away,
Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad,
Faire _Pastorella_, sorrowfull and sad,
Most sorrowfull, most sad, that euer sight,
Now made the spoile of theeues and _Brigants_ bad,
Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight,
That euer liu’d, and th’onely glory of his might.

With them also was taken _Coridon_, xli
And carried captiue by those theeues away;
Who in the couert of the night, that none
Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray,
Vnto their dwelling did them close conuay.
Their dwelling in a little Island was,
Couered with shrubby woods, in which no way
Appeard for people in nor out to pas,
Nor any footing fynde for ouergrowen gras.

For vnderneath the ground their way was made, xlii
Through hollow caues, that no man mote discouer
For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade
From view of liuing wight, and couered ouer:
But darkenesse dred and daily night did houer
Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelt,
Ne lightned was with window, nor with louer,
But with continuall candlelight, which delt
A doubtfull sense of things, not so well seene, as felt.

Hither those _Brigants_ brought their present pray, xliii
And kept them with continuall watch and ward,
Meaning so soone, as they conuenient may,
For slaues to sell them, for no small reward,
To merchants, which them kept in bondage hard,
Or sold againe. Now when faire _Pastorell_
Into this place was brought, and kept with gard
Of griesly theeues, she thought her self in hell,
Where with such damned fiends she should in darknesse dwell.

But for to tell the dolefull dreriment, xliv
And pittifull complaints, which there she made,
Where[572] day and night she nought did but lament
Her wretched life, shut vp in deadly shade,
And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade
Like to a flowre, that feeles no heate of sunne,
Which may her feeble leaues with comfort glade.[573]
But[574] what befell her in that theeuish wonne,
Will in an other Canto better be begonne.

FOOTNOTES:

[556] ii 8 report. _1596_

[557] 9 in] on _1596_

[558] viii 4 course-about _1609_

[559] 5 might, _1596_

[560] xx 1 happy _1596_

[561] xxi 4 within] with in _1596_

[562] xxii 5 _AEcidee_ _1596_: _Aecidee_, _1609_

[563] 6 selfe] felfe _1596_

[564] xxiv 7 froward] forward _1596_, _1609_: _corr. 1612-13_

[565] xxv 8 counrtey _1596_

[566] xxxi 5 Whch _1596_

[567] xxxii 5 donne, _1596_

[568] 6 impare _1596_

[569] xxxiv 9 her] ere _Drayton_ (_teste Collier_)

[570] xxxvi 6 <he> _om. 1596, 1609_

[571] xxxix 9 flocke _1609_

_Cant. XI._

_The theues fall out for Pastorell,
Whilest Melibee is slaine:
Her Calidore from them redeemes,
And bringeth backe againe._
]

The ioyes of loue, if they should euer last, i
Without affliction or disquietnesse,
That worldly chaunces doe amongst them cast,
Would be on earth too great a blessednesse,
Liker to heauen, then mortall wretchednesse.
Therefore the winged God, to let men weet,
That here on earth is no sure happinesse,
A thousand sowres hath tempred with one sweet,
To make it seeme more deare and dainty, as is meet.

Like as is now befalne to this faire Mayd, ii
Faire _Pastorell_, of whom is now my song,
Who being now in dreadfull darknesse layd,
Amongst those theeues, which her in bondage strong
Detaynd, yet Fortune not with all this wrong
Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw,
And sorrowes heapt on her in greater throng;
That who so heares her heauinesse, would rew
And pitty her sad plight, so chang’d from pleasaunt hew.

Whylest thus she in these hellish dens remayned, iii
Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts vnrest,
It so befell (as Fortune had ordayned)
That he, which was their Capitaine profest,
And had the chiefe commaund of all the rest,
One day as he did all his prisoners vew,
With lustfull eyes,[575] beheld that louely guest,
Faire _Pastorella_, whose sad mournefull hew
Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog did shew.

At sight whereof his barbarous heart was fired, iv
And inly burnt with flames most raging whot,
That her alone he for his part desired
Of all the other pray, which they had got,
And her in mynde did to him selfe allot.
From that day forth he kyndnesse to her showed,[576]
And sought her loue, by all the meanes he mote;
With looks, with words, with gifts he oft her wowed;
And mixed threats among, and much vnto her vowed.

But all that euer he could doe or say, v
Her constant mynd could not a whit remoue,
Nor draw vnto the lure of his lewd lay,
To graunt him fauour, or afford him loue.
Yet ceast he not to sew and all waies proue,
By which he mote accomplish his request,
Saying and doing all that mote behoue;
Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest,
But her all night did watch, and all the day molest.