Chapter VI: Book VII: Two Cantos of Mvtabilitie 454 (6)

Therefore to _Tryphon_ she againe doth hast, xxiii
And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,
That fayld the trust, which she in him had plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent:
Who now was falne into new languishment
Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
So backe he came vnto her patient,
Where searching euery part, her well assured,
That it was no old sore, which his new paine procured.

But that it was some other maladie, xxiv
Or griefe vnknowne, which he could not discerne:
So left he her withouten remedie.
Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and earne,
And inly troubled was, the truth to learne.
Vnto himselfe she came, and him besought,
Now with faire speches, now with threatnings sterne,
If ought lay hidden in his grieued thought,
It to reueale: who still her answered, there was nought.

Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide, xxv
But leauing watry gods, as booting nought,
Vnto the shinie heauen in haste she hide,
And thence _Apollo_ King of Leaches brought.
_Apollo_ came; who soone as he had sought
Through his disease, did by and by out find,
That he did languish of some inward thought,
The which afflicted his engrieued mind;
Which loue he red to be, that leads each liuing kind.

Which when he had vnto his mother told, xxvi
She gan thereat to fret, and greatly grieue.
And comming to her sonne, gan first to scold,
And chyde at him, that made her misbelieue:
But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieue,
And wooe with faire intreatie, to disclose,
Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did mieue.
For sure she weend it was some one of those,
Which he had lately seene, that for his loue he chose.

Now lesse she feared that same fatall read, xxvii
That warned him of womens loue beware:
Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,
For loue of Nymphes she thought she need not care,
But promist him, what euer wight she weare,
That she her loue[234] to him would shortly gaine:
So he her told: but soone as she did heare
That _Florimell_ it was, which wrought his paine,
She gan a fresh[235] to chafe, and grieue in euery vaine.

Yet since she saw the streight extremitie, xxviii
In which his life vnluckily was layd,
It was no time to scan the prophecie,
Whether old _Proteus_ true or false had sayd,
That his decay should happen by a mayd.
It’s late in death of daunger to aduize,
Or loue forbid him, that is life denayd:
But rather gan in troubled mind deuize,
How she that Ladies libertie might enterprize.

To _Proteus_ selfe to sew she thought it vaine, xxix
Who was the root and worker of her woe:
Nor vnto any meaner to complaine,
But vnto great king _Neptune_ selfe did goe,
And on her knee before him falling lowe,
Made humble suit vnto his Maiestie,
To graunt to her, her sonnes life, which his foe
A cruell Tyrant had presumpteouslie[236]
By wicked doome condemn’d, a wretched death to die.

To whom God _Neptune_ softly smyling, thus; xxx
Daughter me seemes of double wrong ye plaine,
Gainst one that hath both wronged you, and vs:
For death t’adward[237] I ween’d did appertaine
To none, but to the seas sole Soueraine.
Read therefore who it is, which this hath wrought,
And for what cause; the truth discouer plaine.
For neuer wight so euill did or thought,
But would some rightfull cause pretend, though rightly nought.

To whom she answerd, Then it is by name xxxi
_Proteus_, that hath ordayn’d my sonne to die;
For that a waift, the which by fortune came
Vpon your seas, he claym’d as propertie:
And yet nor his, nor his in equitie,
But yours the waift by high prerogatiue.
Therefore I humbly craue your Maiestie,
It to repleuie, and my sonne repriue:
So shall you by one gift saue all vs three aliue.

He graunted it: and streight his warrant made, xxxii
Vnder the Sea-gods seale autenticall,
Commaunding _Proteus_ straight t’enlarge the mayd,
Which wandring on his seas imperiall,
He lately tooke, and sithence kept as thrall.
Which she receiuing with meete thankefulnesse,
Departed straight to _Proteus_ therewithall:
Who reading it with inward loathfulnesse,
Was grieued to restore the pledge, he did possesse.

Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand, xxxiii
But vnto her deliuered _Florimell_.
Whom she receiuing by the lilly hand,
Admyr’d her beautie much, as she mote well:
For she all liuing creatures did excell;
And was right ioyous, that she gotten had
So faire a wife for her sonne _Marinell_.
So home with her she streight the virgin lad,
And shewed her to him, then being sore bestad.

Who soone as he beheld that angels face, xxxiv
Adorn’d with all diuine perfection,
His cheared heart eftsoones away gan chace
Sad death, reuiued with her sweet inspection,
And feeble spirit inly felt refection;
As withered weed through cruell winters tine,
That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection,
Liftes vp his head, that did before decline
And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.

Right so himselfe did _Marinell_ vpreare, xxxv
When he in place his dearest loue did spy;
And though his limbs could not his bodie beare,
Ne former strength returne so suddenly,
Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly.
Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected,
But that she masked it with modestie,
For feare she should of lightnesse be detected:
Which to another place I leaue to be perfected.

FOOTNOTES:

[224] lii vpbinde. _1596_

[225] 7 but] both _conj. edd._

[226] iv 4 banquet _1609_

[227] 9 disaduentrous _1609_

[228] v 4 none. _1596_

[229] 5 bemone, _1596_

[230] x 4 shall] should _1609_

[231] xi 9 aboundance _1609_

[232] xiii 1, 2 Thus whilst his stony heart was toucht with tender ruth, And mighty courage something mollifide _1609_

[233] xvi 2 selfe, _1596_, _1609_

[234] xxvii 6 loue, _1596_

[235] 9 afresh _1609_

[236] xxix 8 presumptuously _1609_

[237] xxx 4 t’award _1609_

THE FIFTH
BOOKE OF THE
FAERIE QVEENE.

_Contayning_,

THE LEGEND OF ARTEGALL

_OR_

OF IVSTICE.

So oft as I with state of present time, i
The image of the antique world compare,
When as mans age was in his freshest prime,[238]
And the first blossome of faire vertue bare,
Such oddes I finde twixt those, and these which are,
As that, through long continuance of his course,
Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square,
From the first point of his appointed sourse,
And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse[239].

For from the golden age, that first was named, ii
It’s now at earst[240] become a stonie one;
And men themselues, the which at first were framed
Of earthly mould, and form’d of flesh and bone,
Are now transformed into hardest stone:
Such as behind their backs (so backward bred)
Were throwne by _Pyrrha_ and _Deucalione_:
And if then those may any worse be red,
They into that ere long will be degendered.

Let none then blame me, if in discipline iii
Of vertue and of ciuill vses lore,
I doe not forme them to the common line
Of present dayes, which are corrupted sore,
But to the antique vse, which was of yore,
When good was onely for it selfe desyred,
And all men sought their owne, and none no more;
When Iustice was not for most meed outhyred,
But simple Truth did rayne, and was of all admyred.

For that which all men then did vertue call, iv
Is now cald vice; and that which vice was hight,
Is now hight vertue, and so vs’d of all:
Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is right,
As all things else in time are chaunged quight.
Ne wonder; for the heauens reuolution
Is wandred farre from[241] where it first was pight,
And so doe make contrarie constitution
Of all this lower world, toward his dissolution.

For who so list into the heauens looke, v
And search the courses of the rowling spheares,
Shall find that from the point, where they first tooke
Their setting forth[242], in these few thousand yeares
They all are wandred much; that plaine appeares.
For that same golden fleecy Ram, which bore
_Phrixus_ and _Helle_ from their stepdames feares,
Hath now forgot, where he was plast of yore,
And shouldred hath the Bull, which fayre _Europa_ bore.

And eke the Bull hath with his bow-bent horne vi
So hardly butted those two twinnes of _Ioue_,
That they haue crusht the Crab, and quite him borne
Into the great _Nemæan_ lions groue.
So now all range, and doe at randon roue
Out of their proper places farre away,
And all this world with them amisse doe moue,
And all his creatures from their course astray,
Till they arriue at their last ruinous decay.

Ne is that same great glorious lampe of light, vii
That doth enlumine all these lesser fyres,
In better case, ne keepes his course more right,
But is miscaried with the other Spheres.
For since the terme of fourteene hundred yeres,
That learned _Ptolomæe_ his hight did take,
He is declyned from that marke of theirs,
Nigh thirtie minutes to the Southerne lake;
That makes me feare in time he will vs quite forsake.

And if to those Ægyptian wisards old, viii
Which in Star-read were wont haue best insight,
Faith may be giuen, it is by them told,
That since the time they first tooke the Sunnes hight,
Foure times his place he shifted hath in sight,
And twice hath risen, where he now doth West,
And wested twice, where he ought rise aright.
But most is _Mars_ amisse of all the rest,
And next to him old _Saturne_, that was wont be best.

For during _Saturnes_ ancient raigne it’s sayd, ix
That all the world with goodnesse did abound:
All loued vertue, no man was affrayd
Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found:
No warre was knowne, no dreadfull trompets sound,
Peace vniuersall rayn’d mongst men and beasts,
And all things freely grew out of the ground:
Iustice sate high ador’d with solemne feasts,
And to all people did diuide her dred beheasts.

Most sacred vertue she of all the rest, x
Resembling God in his imperiall might;
Whose soueraine powre is herein most exprest,
That both to good and bad he dealeth right,
And all his workes with Iustice hath bedight.
That powre he also doth to Princes lend,
And makes them like himselfe in glorious sight,
To sit in his owne seate, his cause to end,
And rule his people right, as he doth recommend.

Dread Souerayne Goddesse, that doest highest sit xi
In seate of iudgement, in th’Almighties stead[243],
And with magnificke might and wondrous wit
Doest to thy people righteous doome aread,
That furthest Nations filles with awfull dread,
Pardon the boldnesse of thy basest thrall,
That dare discourse of so diuine a read,
As thy great iustice praysed ouer all:
The instrument whereof loe here thy _Artegall_[244].

FOOTNOTES:

[238] Proem i 3 prime. _1596_

[239] 9 worse and worse _1609_

[240] ii 2 at earst] as earst _1611_

[241] iv 7 from, _1596_, _1609_

[242] v 4 foorth _1609_

[243] xi 2 stead] place _1596_

[244] 9 _Arthegall_ _1609 passim_

_Cant. I._

_Artegall trayn’d in Iustice lore
Irenaes quest pursewed,
He doeth auenge on Sanglier
his Ladies bloud embrewed._
]

Though vertue then were held in highest price, i
In those old times, of which I doe intreat,
Yet then likewise the wicked seede of vice
Began to spring which shortly grew full great,
And with their boughes the gentle plants did beat.
But euermore some of the vertuous race
Rose vp, inspired with heroicke heat,
That cropt the branches of the sient base,
And with strong hand their fruitfull rancknes did deface.

Such first was _Bacchus_, that with furious might ii
All th’East before vntam’d did ouerronne,
And wrong repressed, and establisht right,
Which lawlesse men had formerly fordonne.
There Iustice first her princely rule begonne.
Next _Hercules_ his like ensample shewed,
Who all the West with equall conquest wonne,
And monstrous tyrants with his club subdewed;
The club of Iustice dread, with kingly powre endewed.

And such was he, of whom I haue to tell, iii
The Champion of true Iustice _Artegall_,
Whom (as ye lately mote remember well)
An hard aduenture, which did then befall,
Into redoubted perill forth did call;
That was to succour a distressed Dame,
Whom a strong tyrant did vniustly thrall,
And from the heritage, which she did clame,
Did with strong hand withhold: _Grantorto_ was his name.

Wherefore the Lady, which _Irena_[245] hight, iv
Did to the Faery Queene her way addresse,
To whom complayning her afflicted plight,
She her besought of gratious redresse.
That soueraine Queene, that mightie Emperesse,
Whose glorie is to aide all suppliants pore,
And of weake Princes to be Patronesse,
Chose _Artegall_ to right her to restore;
For that to her he seem’d best skild in righteous lore.

For _Artegall_ in iustice was vpbrought v
Euen from the cradle of his infancie,
And all the depth of rightfull doome was taught
By faire _Astræa_, with great industrie,
Whilest here on earth she liued mortallie.
For till the world from his perfection fell
Into all filth and foule iniquitie,
_Astræa_ here mongst earthly men did dwell,
And in the rules of iustice them instructed well.

Whiles through the world she walked in this sort, vi
Vpon a day she found this gentle childe,
Amongst his peres playing his childish sport:
Whom seeing fit, and with no crime defilde,
She did allure with gifts and speaches milde,
To wend with her. So thence him farre she brought
Into a caue from companie exilde,
In which she noursled him, till yeares he raught,
And all the discipline of iustice there him taught.

There she him taught to weigh both right and wrong vii
In equall ballance with due recompence,
And equitie to measure out along,
According to the line of conscience,
When so it needs with rigour to dispence.
Of all the which, for want there of mankind,
She caused him to make experience
Vpon wyld beasts, which she in woods did find,
With wrongfull powre oppressing others of their kind.

Thus she him trayned, and thus she him taught, viii
In all the skill of deeming wrong and right,
Vntill the ripenesse of mans yeares he raught;
That euen wilde beasts did feare his awfull sight,
And men admyr’d his ouerruling might;
Ne any liu’d on ground, that durst withstand
His dreadfull heast, much lesse him match in fight,
Or bide the horror of his wreakfull hand,
When so he list in wrath lift vp his steely brand.

Which steely brand, to make him dreaded more, ix
She gaue vnto him, gotten by her slight
And earnest search, where it was kept in store
In _Ioues_ eternall house, vnwist of wight,
Since he himselfe it vs’d in that great fight
Against the _Titans_, that whylome rebelled
Gainst highest heauen; _Chrysaor_ it was hight;
_Chrysaor_ that all other swords excelled,
Well prou’d in that same day, when _Ioue_ those Gyants quelled.

For of most perfect metall it was made, x
Tempred with Adamant amongst the same,
And garnisht all with gold vpon the blade
In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his name,
And was of no lesse vertue, then of fame.
For there no substance was so firme and hard,
But it would pierce or cleaue, where so it came;
Ne any armour could his dint out ward,
But wheresoeuer it did light, it throughly shard.

Now when the world with sinne gan to abound, xi
_Astræa_ loathing lenger here to space
Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found,
Return’d to heauen, whence she deriu’d her race;
Where she hath now an euerlasting place,
Mongst those twelue signes, which nightly we doe see
The heauens bright-shining baudricke to enchace;
And is the _Virgin_, sixt in her degree,
And next her selfe her righteous ballance hanging bee.

But when she parted hence, she left her groome xii
An yron man, which did on her attend
Alwayes, to execute her stedfast doome,
And willed him with _Artegall_ to wend,
And doe what euer thing he did intend.
His name was _Talus_, made of yron mould,
Immoueable, resistlesse, without end.
Who in his hand an yron flale did hould,
With which he thresht out falshood, and did truth vnfould.

He now went with him in this new inquest, xiii
Him for to aide, if aide he chaunst to neede,
Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest
The faire _Irena_ with his foule misdeede,
And kept the crowne in which she should succeed.
And now together on their way they bin,
When as they saw a Squire in squallid weed,
Lamenting sore his sorowfull sad tyne,
With many bitter teares shed from his blubbred eyne.

To whom as they approched, they espide xiv
A sorie sight, as euer seene with eye;
An headlesse Ladie lying him beside,
In her owne blood all wallow’d wofully,
That her gay clothes did in discolour die.
Much was he moued at that ruefull sight;
And flam’d with zeale of vengeance inwardly,[246]
He askt, who had that Dame so fouly dight;
Or whether his owne hand, or whether other wight?

Ah woe is me, and well away[247] (quoth hee) xv
Bursting forth teares, like springs out of a banke,
That euer I this dismall day did see:
Full farre was I from thinking such a pranke;
Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke,
If I should graunt that I haue doen the same,
That I mote drinke the cup, whereof she dranke:
But that I should die guiltie of the blame,
The which another did, who now is fled with shame.

Who was it then (sayd _Artegall_) that wrought? xvi
And why?[248] doe it declare vnto me trew.
A knight (said he) if knight he may be thought,
That did his hand in Ladies bloud embrew,
And for no cause, but as I shall you shew.
This day as I in solace sate hereby
With a fayre loue, whose losse I now do rew,
There came this knight, hauing in companie
This lucklesse Ladie, which now here doth headlesse lie.

He, whether mine seem’d fayrer in his eye, xvii
Or that he wexed weary of his owne,
Would change with me; but I did it denye;
So did the Ladies both, as may be knowne,
But he, whose spirit was with pride vpblowne,
Would not so rest contented with his right,
But hauing from his courser her downe throwne,
Fro me reft mine away by lawlesse might,
And on his steed her set, to beare her out of sight.

Which when his Ladie saw, she follow’d fast, xviii
And on him catching hold, gan loud to crie
Not so to leaue her, nor away to cast,
But rather of his hand besought to die.
With that his sword he drew all wrathfully,
And at one stroke cropt off her head with scorne,
In that same place, whereas it now doth lie.
So he my loue away with him hath borne,
And left me here, both his and mine owne loue to morne.

Aread (sayd he) which way then did he make? xix
And by what markes may he be knowne againe?
To hope (quoth he) him soone to ouertake,
That hence so long departed, is but vaine:
But yet he pricked ouer yonder plaine,
And as I marked, bore vpon his shield,
By which it’s easie him to know againe,
A broken sword within a bloodie field;
Expressing well his nature, which the same did wield.

No sooner sayd, but streight he after sent xx
His yron page, who him pursew’d so light,
As that it seem’d aboue the ground he went:
For he was swift as swallow in her flight,
And strong as Lyon in his Lordly might.
It was not long, before he ouertooke
Sir _Sanglier_; (so cleeped was that Knight)
Whom at the first he ghessed by his looke,
And by the other markes, which of his shield he tooke.

He bad him stay, and backe with him retire; xxi
Who full of scorne to be commaunded so,
The Lady to alight did eft require,
Whilest he reformed that vnciuill fo:
And streight at him with all his force did go.
Who mou’d no more therewith, then when a rocke
Is lightly stricken with some stones throw;
But to him leaping, lent him such a knocke,
That on the ground he layd him like a sencelesse blocke.

But ere he could him selfe recure againe, xxii
Him in his iron paw he seized had;
That when he wak’t out of his warelesse paine,
He found him selfe,[249] vnwist, so ill bestad,
That lim he could not wag. Thence he him lad,
Bound like a beast appointed to the stall:
The sight whereof the Lady sore adrad,
And fain’d to fly for feare of being thrall;
But he her quickly stayd, and forst to wend withall.

When to the place they came, where _Artegall_ xxiii
By that same carefull Squire did then abide,
He gently gan him to demaund of all,
That did betwixt him and that Squire betide.
Who with sterne countenance and indignant pride
Did aunswere, that of all he guiltlesse stood,
And his accuser thereuppon defide:
For neither he did shed that Ladies bloud,
Nor tooke away his loue, but his owne proper good.

Well did the Squire perceiue him selfe too weake, xxiv
To aunswere his defiaunce in the field,
And rather chose his challenge off to breake,
Then to approue his right with speare and shield.
And rather guilty chose him selfe to yield.
But _Artegall_ by signes perceiuing plaine,
That he it was not, which that Lady kild,
But that strange Knight, the fairer loue to gaine,
Did cast about by sleight the truth thereout to straine.

And sayd, Now[250] sure this doubtfull causes right xxv
Can hardly but by Sacrament be tride,
Or else by ordele, or by blooddy fight;
That ill perhaps mote fall to either side.
But if ye please, that I your cause decide,
Perhaps I may all further quarrell end,
So ye will sweare my iudgement to abide.
Thereto they both did franckly condiscend,
And to his doome with listfull eares did both attend.

Sith then (sayd he) ye both the dead deny, xxvi
And both the liuing Lady claime your right,
Let both the dead and liuing equally
Deuided be betwixt you here in sight,
And each of either take his share aright.
But looke who does dissent from this my read,
He for a twelue moneths day shall in despight
Beare for his penaunce that same Ladies head;
To witnesse to the world, that she by him is[251] dead.

Well pleased with that doome was _Sangliere_, xxvii
And offred streight the Lady to be slaine.
But that same Squire, to whom she was more dere,
When as he saw she should be cut in twaine,
Did yield, she rather should with him remaine
Aliue, then to him selfe be shared dead;
And rather then his loue should suffer paine,
He chose with shame to beare that Ladies head.
True loue despiseth shame, when life is cald in dread.

Whom when so willing _Artegall_ perceaued; xxviii
Not so thou Squire, (he sayd) but thine I deeme
The liuing Lady, which from thee he reaued:
For worthy thou of her doest rightly seeme.
And you, Sir Knight, that loue so light esteeme,
As that ye would for little leaue the same,
Take here your owne, that doth you best beseeme,
And with it beare the burden of defame;
Your owne dead Ladies head, to tell abrode your shame.

But _Sangliere_ disdained much his doome, xxix
And sternly gan repine at his beheast;
Ne would for ought obay, as did become,
To beare that Ladies head before his breast.
Vntill that _Talus_ had his pride represt,
And forced him, maulgre, it vp to reare.
Who when he saw it bootelesse to resist,
He tooke it vp, and thence with him did beare,
As rated Spaniell takes his burden vp for feare.

Much did that Squire Sir _Artegall_ adore, xxx
For his great iustice, held in high regard;
And as his Squire him offred euermore
To serue, for want of other meete reward,
And wend with him on his aduenture hard.
But he thereto would by no meanes consent;
But leauing him forth on his iourney far’d:
Ne wight with him but onely _Talus_ went.
They two enough t’encounter an whole Regiment.

FOOTNOTES:

[245] iv 1 _Eirena_ _1596_

[246] xiv 7 inwardly: _1609_

[247] xv 1 weal-away _1609_

[248] xvi 2 why, _1596_

[249] xxii 4 selfe _1596_, _1609_

[250] xxv 1 now _1596_

[251] xxvi 9 is] his _1609_

_Cant. II._

_Artegall heares of Florimell,
Does with the Pagan fight:
Him slaies, drownes Lady Munera[252],
Does race her castle quight._
]

Nought is more honorable to a knight, i
Ne better doth beseeme braue cheualry,
Then to defend the feeble in their right,
And wrong redresse in such as wend awry.
Whilome those great Heroes got thereby
Their greatest glory, for their rightfull deedes,
And place deserued with the Gods on hy.
Herein the noblesse of this knight exceedes,
Who now to perils great for iustice sake proceedes.

To which as he now was vppon the way, ii
He chaunst to meet a Dwarfe in hasty course;
Whom he requir’d his forward hast to stay,
Till he of tidings mote with him discourse.
Loth was the Dwarfe, yet did he stay perforse,
And gan of sundry newes his store to tell,
As[253] to his memory they had recourse:
But chiefely of the fairest _Florimell_,
How she was found againe, and spousde to _Marinell_.

For this was _Dony_, _Florimels_ owne Dwarfe, iii
Whom hauing lost (as ye haue heard whyleare)
And finding in the way the scattred scarfe,
The fortune of her life long time did feare.
But of her health when _Artegall_ did heare,
And safe returne, he was full inly glad,
And askt him where, and when her bridale cheare
Should be solemniz’d: for if time he had,
He would be there, and honor to her spousall ad.

Within three daies (quoth hee[254]) as I do here, iv
It will be at the Castle of the strond;
What time if naught me let, I will be there
To doe her seruice, so as I am bond.
But in my way a little here beyond
A cursed cruell Sarazin doth wonne,
That keepes a Bridges passage by strong hond,
And many errant Knights hath there fordonne;
That makes all men for feare that passage for to shonne.

What mister wight (quoth he) and how far hence v
Is he, that doth to trauellers such harmes?
He is (said he) a man of great defence;
Expert in battell and in deedes of armes;
And more emboldned by the wicked charmes,
With which his daughter doth him still support;
Hauing great Lordships got and goodly farmes,
Through strong oppression of his powre extort;
By which he stil them holds, and keepes with strong effort.

And dayly he his wrongs encreaseth more, vi
For neuer wight he lets to passe that way,[255]
Ouer his Bridge, albee he rich or poore,
But he him makes his passage-penny pay:
Else he doth hold him backe or beat away.
Thereto he hath a groome of euill guize,
Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bewray,
Which pols and pils the poore in piteous wize;
But he him selfe vppon the rich doth tyrannize.

His name is hight _Pollente_, rightly so vii
For that he is so puissant and strong,
That with his powre he all doth ouergo,
And makes them subiect to his mighty wrong;
And some by sleight he eke doth vnderfong.
For on a Bridge he custometh to fight,
Which is but narrow, but exceeding long;
And in the same are many trap fals pight,
Through which the rider downe doth fall through ouersight.[256]

And vnderneath the same a riuer flowes, viii
That is both swift and dangerous deepe withall;
Into the which whom so he ouerthrowes,
All destitute of helpe doth headlong fall,
But he him selfe, through practise vsuall,
Leapes forth into the floud, and there assaies
His foe confused through his sodaine fall,
That horse and man he equally dismaies,
And either both them drownes, or trayterously slaies.

Then doth he take the spoile of them at will, ix
And to his daughter brings, that dwels thereby:
Who all that comes doth take, and therewith fill
The coffers of her wicked threasury;
Which she with wrongs hath heaped vp so hy,
That many Princes she in wealth exceedes,
And purchast all the countrey lying ny
With the reuenue of her plenteous meedes,
Her name is _Munera_, agreeing with her deedes.

Thereto she is full faire, and rich attired, x
With golden hands and siluer feete beside,
That many Lords haue her to wife desired:
But she them all despiseth for great pride.
Now by my life (sayd he) and God to guide,
None other way will I this day betake,
But by that Bridge, whereas he doth abide:
Therefore me thither lead. No more he spake,
But thitherward forthright his ready way did make.

Vnto the place he came within a while, xi
Where on the Bridge he ready armed saw
The Sarazin, awayting for some spoile.
Who[257] as they to the passage gan to draw,
A villaine to them came with scull all raw,
That passage money did of them require,
According to the custome of their law.
To whom he aunswerd wroth, Loe[258] there thy hire;
And with that word him strooke, that streight he did expire.

Which when the Pagan saw, he wexed wroth, xii
And streight him selfe vnto the fight addrest,
Ne was Sir _Artegall_ behinde: so both
Together ran with ready speares in rest.
Right in the midst, whereas they brest to brest
Should meete, a trap was letten downe to fall
Into the floud: streight leapt the Carle vnblest,
Well weening that his foe was falne withall:
But he was well aware, and leapt before his fall.

There being both together in the floud, xiii
They each at other tyrannously flew;
Ne ought the water cooled their whot bloud,
But rather in them kindled choler new.
But there the Paynim, who that vse well knew
To fight in water, great aduantage had,
That oftentimes him nigh he ouerthrew:
And eke the courser, whereuppon he rad,
Could swim like to a fish, whiles he his backe bestrad.

Which oddes when as Sir _Artegall_ espide, xiv
He saw no way, but close with him in hast;
And to him driuing strongly downe the tide,
Vppon his iron coller griped fast,
That with the straint his wesand nigh he brast.
There they together stroue and struggled long,
Either the other from his steede to cast;
Ne euer _Artegall_ his griple strong
For any thing wold[259] slacke, but still vppon him hong.

As when a Dolphin and a Sele are met, xv
In the wide champian of the Ocean plaine:
With cruell chaufe their courages they whet,
The maysterdome of each by force to gaine,
And dreadfull battaile twixt them do darraine:
They snuf, they snort, they bounce, they rage, they rore,
That all the sea disturbed with their traine,
Doth frie with fome aboue the surges hore.
Such was betwixt these two the troublesome vprore.

So _Artegall_ at length him forst forsake xvi
His horses backe, for dread of being drownd,
And to his handy swimming him betake.
Eftsoones him selfe he from his hold vnbownd,
And then no ods at all in him he fownd:
For _Artegall_ in swimming skilfull was,
And durst the depth of any water sownd.
So ought each Knight, that vse of perill has,
In swimming be expert through waters force to pas.

Then very doubtfull was the warres euent, xvii
Vncertaine whether had the better side:
For both were skild in that experiment,
And both in armes well traind and throughly tride.
But _Artegall_ was better breath’d beside,
And towards th’end, grew greater in his might,
That his faint foe no longer could abide
His puissance, ne beare him selfe vpright,
But from the water to the land betooke his flight.

But _Artegall_ pursewd him still so neare, xviii
With bright Chrysaor in his cruell hand,
That as his head he gan a litle reare
Aboue the brincke, to tread vpon the land,
He smote it off, that tumbling on the strand
It bit the earth for very fell despight,
And gnashed with his teeth, as if he band
High God, whose goodnesse he despaired quight,
Or curst the hand, which did that vengeance on him dight.[260]

His corps was carried downe along the Lee, xix
Whose waters with his filthy bloud it stayned:
But his blasphemous head, that all might see,
He pitcht vpon a pole on high ordayned;
Where many years it afterwards remayned,
To be a mirrour to all mighty men,
In whose right hands great power is contayned,
That none of them the feeble ouerren,
But alwaies doe their powre within iust compasse pen.

That done, vnto the Castle he did wend, xx
In which the Paynims daughter did abide,
Guarded of many which did her defend:
Of whom he entrance sought, but was denide,
And with reprochfull blasphemy defide,
Beaten with stones downe from the battilment,
That he was forced to withdraw aside;
And bad his seruant _Talus_ to inuent
Which way he enter might, without endangerment.

Eftsoones his Page drew to the Castle gate, xxi
And with his iron flale at it let flie,
That all the warders it did sore amate,
The which erewhile spake so reprochfully,
And made them stoupe, that looked earst so hie.
Yet still he bet, and bounst vppon the dore,
And thundred strokes thereon so hideouslie,
That all the peece he shaked from the flore,
And filled all the house with feare and great vprore.

With noise whereof the Lady forth appeared xxii
Vppon the Castle wall, and when she saw
The daungerous state, in which she stood, she feared
The sad effect of her neare ouerthrow;
And gan entreat that iron man below,
To cease his outrage, and him faire besought,
Sith neither force of stones which they did throw,
Nor powr of charms, which she against him wrought,
Might otherwise preuaile, or make him cease for ought.

But when as yet she saw him to proceede, xxiii
Vnmou’d with praiers, or with piteous thought,
She ment him to corrupt with goodly meede;
And causde great sackes with endlesse riches fraught,
Vnto the battilment to be vpbrought,
And powred forth ouer the Castle wall,
That she might win some time, though dearly bought
Whilest he to gathering of the gold did fall.
But he was nothing mou’d, nor tempted therewithall.

But still continu’d his assault the more, xxiv
And layd on load with his huge yron flaile,
That at the length he has yrent the dore,
And made way for his maister to assaile.
Who being entred, nought did then auaile
For wight, against his powre them selues to reare:
Each one did flie; their hearts began to faile,
And hid them selues in corners here and there;
And eke their dame halfe dead did hide her self for feare.

Long they her sought, yet no where could they finde her, xxv
That sure they ween’d she was escapt away:
But _Talus_, that could like a limehound winde her,
And all things secrete wisely could bewray,
At length found out, whereas she hidden lay
Vnder an heape of gold. Thence he her drew
By the faire lockes, and fowly did array,
Withouten pitty of her goodly hew,
That _Artegall_ him selfe her seemelesse plight did rew.

Yet for no pitty would he change the course xxvi
Of Iustice, which in _Talus_ hand did lye;
Who rudely hayld her forth without remorse,
Still holding vp her suppliant hands on hye,
And kneeling at his feete submissiuely.
But he her suppliant hands, those hands of gold,
And eke her feete, those feete of siluer trye,
Which sought vnrighteousnesse, and iustice sold,
Chopt off, and nayld on high, that all might them behold.

Her selfe then tooke he by the sclender[261] wast, xxvii
In vaine loud crying, and into the flood
Ouer the Castle wall adowne her cast,
And there her drowned in the durty mud:
But the streame washt away her guilty blood.
Thereafter all that mucky pelfe he tooke,
The spoile of peoples euill gotten good,
The which her sire had scrap’t by hooke and crooke,
And burning all to ashes, powr’d it downe the brooke.

And lastly all that Castle quite he raced, xxviii
Euen from the sole of his foundation,
And all the hewen stones thereof defaced,
That there mote be no hope of reparation,
Nor memory thereof to any nation.
All which when _Talus_ throughly had perfourmed,
Sir _Artegall_ vndid the euill fashion,
And wicked customes of that Bridge refourmed.
Which done, vnto his former iourney he retourned.

In which they measur’d mickle weary way, xxix
Till that at length nigh to the sea they drew;
By which as they did trauell on a day,
They saw before them, far as they could vew,
Full many people gathered in a crew;
Whose great assembly they did much admire.
For neuer there the like resort they knew.
So towardes them they coasted, to enquire
What thing so many nations met, did there desire.

There they beheld a mighty Gyant stand xxx
Vpon a rocke, and holding forth on hie
An huge great paire of ballance in his hand,
With which he boasted in his surquedrie,
That all the world he would weigh equallie,
If ought he had the same to counterpoys.
For want whereof he weighed vanity,
And hid his ballaunce full of idle toys:
Yet was admired much of fooles, women, and boys.

He sayd that he would all the earth vptake, xxxi
And all the sea, deuided each from either:
So would he of the fire one ballaunce make,
And one of th’ayre, without or wind, or wether:
Then would he ballaunce heauen and hell together,
And all that did within them all containe;
Of all whose weight, he would not misse a fether.
And looke what surplus did of each remaine,
He would to his owne part restore the same againe.

For why, he sayd they all vnequall were, xxxii
And had encroched vppon others share,
Like as the sea (which plaine he shewed there)
Had worne the earth[262], so did the fire the aire,
So all the rest did others parts empaire.
And so were realmes and nations run awry.
All which he vndertooke for to repaire,
In sort as they were formed aunciently;
And all things would reduce vnto equality.

Therefore the vulgar did about him flocke, xxxiii
And cluster thicke vnto his leasings vaine,
Like foolish flies about an hony crocke,
In hope by him great benefite to gaine,
And vncontrolled freedome to obtaine.
All which when _Artegall_ did see, and heare,
How he mis-led the simple peoples traine,
In sdeignfull wize he drew vnto him neare,
And thus vnto him spake, without regard or feare.

Thou that presum’st to weigh the world anew, xxxiv
And all things to an equall to restore,
In stead of right me seemes great wrong dost shew,
And far aboue thy forces pitch to sore.
For ere thou limit what is lesse or more
In euery thing, thou oughtest first to know,
What was the poyse of euery part of yore:
And looke then how much it doth ouerflow,
Or faile thereof, so much is more then iust to trow.

For at the first they all created were xxxv
In goodly measure, by their Makers might,
And weighed out in ballaunces so nere,
That not a dram was missing of their right,
The earth was in the middle centre pight,
In which it doth immoueable abide,
Hemd in with waters like a wall in sight;
And they with aire, that not a drop can slide:
Al which the heauens containe, and in their courses guide.

Such heauenly iustice doth among them raine, xxxvi
That euery one doe know their certaine bound,
In which they doe these many yeares remaine,
And mongst them al no change hath yet beene found.
But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in pound,
We are not sure they would so long remaine:
All change is perillous, and all chaunce vnsound.
Therefore leaue off to weigh them all againe,
Till we may be assur’d they shall their course retaine.

Thou foolishe Elfe (said then the Gyant wroth) xxxvii
Seest not, how badly all things present bee,
And each estate quite out of order goth?
The sea it selfe doest thou not plainely see
Encroch vppon the land there vnder thee;
And th’earth it selfe how daily its increast,
By all that dying to it turned be?[263]
Were it not good that wrong were then surceast,
And from the most, that some were giuen to the least?

Therefore I will throw downe these[264] mountaines hie, xxxviii
And make them leuell with the lowly plaine:
These towring rocks, which reach vnto the skie,
I will thrust downe into the deepest maine,
And as they were, them equalize againe.
Tyrants that make men subiect to their law,
I will suppresse, that they no more may raine;
And Lordings curbe, that commons ouer-aw;
And all the wealth of rich men to the poore will draw.

Of things vnseene how canst thou deeme aright, xxxix
Then answered the righteous _Artegall_,
Sith thou misdeem’st so much of things in sight?
What though the sea with waues continuall
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all:
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,
For whatsoeuer from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide vnto an other brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Likewise the earth is not augmented more, xl
By all that dying into it doe fade.
For of the earth they formed were of yore,
How euer gay their blossome or their blade
Doe flourish now, they into dust shall vade.
What wrong then is it, if that when they die,
They turne to that, whereof they first were made?
All in the powre of their great Maker lie:
All creatures must obey the voice of the most hie.

They liue, they die, like as he doth ordaine, xli
Ne euer any asketh reason why.
The hils doe not the lowly dales disdaine;
The dales doe not the lofty hils enuy.
He maketh Kings to sit in souerainty;
He maketh subiects to their powre obay;
He pulleth downe, he setteth vp on hy;
He giues to this, from that he takes away.
For all we haue is his: what he list doe, he may.

What euer thing is done, by him is donne, xlii
Ne any may his mighty will withstand;
Ne any may his soueraine power shonne,
Ne loose that he hath bound with stedfast band.
In vaine therefore doest thou now take in hand,
To call to count, or weigh his workes anew,
Whose counsels depth thou canst not vnderstand,
Sith of things subiect to thy daily vew
Thou doest not know the causes, nor their courses dew.

For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise, xliii
And weigh the winde, that vnder heauen doth blow;
Or weigh the light, that in the East doth rise;
Or weigh the thought, that from mans mind doth flow.
But if the weight of these thou canst not show,
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall.
For how canst thou those greater secrets know,
That doest not know the least thing of them all?
Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small.

Therewith the Gyant much abashed sayd; xliv
That he of little things made reckoning light,
Yet the least word that euer could be layd
Within his ballaunce, he could way aright.
Which is (sayd he) more heauy then in weight,
The right or wrong, the false or else the trew?
He answered, that he would try it streight,
So he the words into his ballaunce threw,
But streight the winged words out of his ballaunce flew.

Wroth wext he then, and sayd, that words were light, xlv
Ne would within his ballaunce well abide.
But he could iustly weigh the wrong or right.
Well then, sayd _Artegall_, let it be tride.
First in one ballance set the true aside.
He did so first; and then the false he layd
In th’other scale; but still it downe did slide,
And by no meane could in the weight be stayd.
For by no meanes the false will with the truth be wayd.

Now take the right likewise, sayd _Artegall_, xlvi
And counterpeise the same with so much wrong.
So first the right he put into one scale;
And then the Gyant stroue with puissance strong
To fill the other scale with so much wrong.
But all the wrongs that he therein could lay,
Might not it peise; yet did he labour long,
And swat, and chauf’d, and proued euery way:
Yet all the wrongs could not a litle right downe way[265].

Which when he saw, he greatly grew in rage, xlvii
And almost would his balances haue broken:
But _Artegall_ him fairely gan asswage,
And said; Be[266] not vpon thy balance wroken:
For they doe nought but right or wrong betoken;
But in the mind the doome of right must bee;
And so likewise of words, the which be spoken,
The eare must be the ballance, to decree
And iudge, whether with truth or falshood they agree.

But set the truth and set the right aside, xlviii
For they with wrong or falshood will not fare;
And put two wrongs together to be tride,
Or else two falses, of each equall share;
And then together doe them both compare.
For truth is one, and right is euer one.
So did he, and then plaine it did appeare,
Whether of them the greater were attone.
But right sate in the middest of the beame alone.

But he the right from thence did thrust away, xlix
For it was not the right, which he did seeke;
But rather stroue extremities to way,
Th’one to diminish, th’other for to eeke.
For of the meane he greatly did misleeke.
Whom when so lewdly minded _Talus_ found,
Approching nigh vnto him cheeke by cheeke,
He shouldered him from off the higher ground,
And down the rock him throwing, in the sea him dround.

Like as a ship, whom cruell tempest driues l
Vpon a rocke with horrible dismay,
Her shattered ribs in thousand peeces riues,
And spoyling all her geares and goodly ray,
Does make[267] her selfe misfortunes piteous pray.
So downe the cliffe the wretched Gyant tumbled;
His battred ballances in peeces lay,
His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled,
So was the high aspyring with huge ruine humbled.

That when the people, which had there about li
Long wayted, saw his sudden desolation,
They gan to gather in tumultuous rout,
And mutining, to stirre vp ciuill faction,
For certaine losse of so great expectation.
For well they hoped to haue got great good,[268]
And wondrous riches by his innouation.
Therefore resoluing to reuenge his blood,
They rose in armes, and all in battell order stood.

Which lawlesse multitude him comming too lii
In warlike wise, when _Artegall_ did vew,
He much was troubled, ne wist what to doo.
For loth he was his noble hands t’embrew
In the base blood of such a rascall crew;
And otherwise, if that he should retire,
He fear’d least they with shame would him pursew.
Therefore he _Talus_ to them sent, t’inquire
The cause of their array, and truce for to desire.

But soone as they him nigh approching spide, liii
They gan with all their weapons him assay,
And rudely stroke[269] at him on euery side:
Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought dismay.
But when at them he with his flaile gan lay,
He like a swarme of flyes them ouerthrew;
Ne any of them durst come in his way,
But here and there before his presence flew,
And hid themselues in holes and bushes from his vew.

As when a Faulcon hath with nimble flight liv
Flowne at a flush of Ducks, foreby the brooke,
The trembling foule dismayd with dreadfull sight
Of death, the which them almost ouertooke,
Doe hide themselues from her astonying looke,
Amongst the flags and couert round about.
When _Talus_ saw they all the field forsooke
And none appear’d of all that raskall rout,
To _Artegall_ he turn’d, and went with him throughout.

FOOTNOTES:

[252] Arg. 3 _Momera_ _1596_, _1609_: _corr. Hughes_

[253] ii 7 As] And _1596_

[254] iv 1 hee] she _1596_

[255] vi 2 way; _1596_

[256] vii 9 ouersight _1596_

[257] xi 4 Who] Tho _conj. Church_: When _Morris_

[258] 8 loe _1596_, lo _1609_

[259] xiv 9 would _1609_

[260] xviii 9 dight _1596_

[261] xxvii 1 slender _1609 passim_

[262] xxxii 4 earth] eare _1596_

[263] xxxvii 7 be _1596_

[264] xxxviii 1 those _1609_

[265] xlvi 9 way] lay _1609_

[266] xlvii 4 be _1596_

[267] l 5 makes _1596_

[268] li 6 good; _1596_

[269] liii 3 strooke _1609_

_Cant. III._

_The spousals of faire Florimell,
where turney many knights:
There Braggadochio is vncas’d
in all the Ladies sights._
]

After long stormes and tempests ouerblowne, i
The sunne at length his ioyous face doth cleare:
So when as fortune all her spight hath showne,
Some blisfull houres at last must needes appeare;
Else should afflicted wights oftimes despeire.
So comes it now to _Florimell_ by tourne,
After long sorrowes suffered whyleare,
In which captiu’d she many moneths did mourne,
To tast of ioy, and to wont pleasures to retourne.

Who being freed from _Proteus_ cruell band ii
By _Marinell_, was vnto him affide,
And by him brought againe to Faerie land;
Where he her spous’d, and made his ioyous bride.
The time and place was blazed farre and wide;
And solemne feasts and giusts ordain’d therefore.
To which there did resort from euery side
Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store;
Ne any Knight was absent, that braue courage bore.

To tell the glorie of the feast that day, iii
The goodly seruice, the deuicefull sights,
The bridegromes state, the brides most rich aray,
The pride of Ladies, and the worth of knights,
The royall banquets, and the rare delights
Were worke fit for an Herauld, not for me:
But for so much as to my lot here lights,
That with this present treatise doth agree,
True vertue to aduance, shall here recounted bee.

When all men had with full satietie iv
Of meates and drinkes their appetites suffiz’d,
To deedes of armes and proofe of cheualrie
They gan themselues addresse, full rich aguiz’d,
As each one had his furnitures deuiz’d.
And first of all issu’d Sir _Marinell_,
And with him sixe knights more, which enterpriz’d
To chalenge all in right of _Florimell_,
And to maintaine, that she all others did excell.

The first of them was hight Sir _Orimont_, v
A noble Knight, and tride in hard assayes:
The second had to name Sir _Bellisont_,
But second vnto none in prowesse prayse;
The third was _Brunell_, famous in his dayes;
The fourth _Ecastor_, of exceeding might;
The fift _Armeddan_, skild in louely layes;
The sixt was _Lansack_, a redoubted Knight:
All sixe well seene in armes, and prou’d in many a fight.

And them against came all that list to giust, vi
From euery coast and countrie vnder sunne:
None was debard, but all had leaue that lust.
The trompets sound; then all together ronne.
Full many deedes of armes that day were donne,
And many knights vnhorst, and many wounded,
As fortune fell; yet litle lost or wonne:
But all that day the greatest prayse redounded
To _Marinell_, whose name the Heralds loud resounded.

The second day, so soone as morrow light vii
Appear’d in heauen, into the field they came,
And there all day continew’d cruell fight,
With diuers fortune fit for such a game,
In which all stroue with perill to winne fame.
Yet whether side was victor, note be ghest:
But at the last the trompets did proclame
That _Marinell_ that day deserued best.
So they disparted were, and all men went to rest.

The third day came, that should due tryall lend viii
Of all the rest, and then this warlike crew
Together met, of all to make an end.
There _Marinell_ great deeds of armes did shew;
And through the thickest like a Lyon flew,
Rashing off helmes, and ryuing plates a sonder,
That euery one his daunger did eschew.
So terribly his dreadfull strokes did thonder,
That all men stood amaz’d, and at his might did wonder.

But what on earth can alwayes happie stand? ix
The greater prowesse greater perils find.
So farre he past amongst his enemies band,
That they haue him enclosed so behind,
As by no meanes he can himselfe outwind.
And now perforce they haue him prisoner taken;
And now they doe with captiue bands him bind;
And now they lead him thence, of all forsaken,
Vnlesse some succour had in time him ouertaken.