XVIII

Then with his waving wings displayed wyde,

Himselfe up high he lifted from the ground,

And with strong flight did forcibly divide

The yielding aire, which nigh too feeble found

To beare so great a weight: he cutting way

With his broad sayles, about him soared round:

Snatcht up both horse and man, to beare them quite away.

XIX

Long he them bore above the subject plaine,

So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send,

Till struggling strong did him at last constraine

To let them downe before his flightes end:

His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend

To trusse the pray too heavy for his flight;

Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight.

XX

The knight his thrillant speare again assayd

In his bras-plated body to embosse,

And three mens strength unto the stroke he layd;

Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as affrayd,

And glauncing from his scaly necke, did glyde

Close under his left wing, then broad displayd:

The percing steele there wrought a wound full wyde,

That with the uncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde.

XXI

He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore,

When wintry storme his wrathfull wreck does threat

The roaring billowes beat the ragged shore,

As they the earth would shoulder from her seat,

His neighbour element in his revenge:

To move the world from off his steadfast henge,

And boystrous battell make, each other to avenge.

XXII

The steely head stucke fast still in his flesh,

Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood,

And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh

A gushing river of blacke goarie blood,

That drowned all the land, whereon he stood;

The streame thereof would drive a water-mill:

Trebly augmented was his furious mood

With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill,

That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill.

XXIII

His hideous tayle then hurled he about,

And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes

Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout

Striving to loose the knot that fast him tyes,

Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes,

That to the ground he is perforce constraynd

To throw his rider: who can quickly ryse

From off the earth, with durty blood distaynd,

For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd.

XXIV

And fiercely tooke his trenchand blade in hand,

With which he stroke so furious and so fell,

That nothing seemd the puissaunce could withstand:

Upon his crest the hardned yron fell,

But his more hardned crest was armd so well,

That deeper dint therein it would not make;

Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell,

That from thenceforth he shund the like to take,

But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake.

XXV

The knight was wroth to see his stroke beguyld,

And smote againe with more outrageous might;

But backe againe the sparckling steele recoyld,

And left not any marke, where it did light,

As if in Adamant rocke it had bene pight.

The beast impatient of his smarting wound,

And of so fierce and forcible despight,

Thought with his wings to stye above the ground;

But his late wounded wing unserviceable found.

XXVI

Then full of griefe and anguish vehement,

He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard,

A flake of fire, that, flashing in his beard,

Him all amazd, and almost made affeard:

The scorching flame sore swinged all his face,

And through his armour all his body seard,

That he could not endure so cruell cace,

But thought his armes to leave, and helmet to unlace.

XXVII

Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt,

And hath for twelve huge labours high extold,

So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt,

When him the poysond garment did enchaunt,

With Centaures bloud and bloudie verses charm'd;

As did this knight twelve thousand dolours daunt,

Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm'd,

That erst him goodly arm'd, now most of all him harm'd.

XXVIII

With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire,

That never man such mischiefes did torment;

Death better were, death did he oft desire,

But death will never come, when needes require.

Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld,

He cast to suffer him no more respire,

But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld,

And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld.

XXIX

It fortuned, (as faire it then befell,)

Behind his backe unweeting, where he stood,

Of auncient time there was a springing well,

From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,

Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good.

Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got

That happy land, and all with innocent blood

Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot

XXX

For unto life the dead it could restore,

And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away,

Those that with sicknesse were infected sore

It could recure, and aged long decay

Renew, as one were borne that very day.

Into the same the knight back overthrowen, fell.

XXXI

Now gan the golden Phœbus for to steepe

His fierie face in billowes of the west,

And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe,

Whiles from their journall labours they did rest,

When that infernall Monster, having kest

His wearie foe into that living well,

Can high advance his broad discoloured brest

Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell,

And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell.

XXXII

Which when his pensive Ladie saw from farre,

Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay,

As weening that the sad end of the warre,

And gan to highest God entirely pray,

That feared chance from her to turne away;

With folded hands and knees full lowly bent,

All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay

Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment,

But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.

XXXIII

The morrow next gan early to appeare,

That Titan rose to runne his daily race;

But early ere the morrow next gan reare

Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face,

Up rose the gentle virgin from her place,

And looked all about, if she might spy

For she had great doubt of his safety,

Since late she saw him fall before his enemy.

XXXIV

At last she saw, where he upstarted brave

Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay:

Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray,

And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay,

Like Eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies,

His newly budded pineons to assay,

And marveiles at himselfe, still as he flies:

So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise.

XXXV

Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy,

No wonder if he wondred at the sight,

And doubted, whether his late enemy

It were, or other new supplied knight.

He, now to prove his late renewed might,

Upon his crested scalpe so sore did smite,

That to the scull a yawning wound it made;

The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid.

XXXVI

I wote not, whether the revenging steele

Were hardned with that holy water dew,

Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,

Or his baptized hands now greater grew;

Or other secret vertue did ensew;

Else never could the force of fleshly arme,

For till that stownd could never wight him harme,

By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme.

XXXVII

The cruell wound enraged him so sore,

That loud he yelded for exceeding paine;

As hundred ramping Lyons seem'd to rore,

Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine:

Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine,

And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore,

That to his force to yeelden it was faine;

Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,

That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore.

XXXVIII

The same advauncing high above his head,

That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,

Ne living wight would have him life behot:

The mortall sting his angry needle shot

Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd,

Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got:

The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd,

Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd.

XXXIX

But yet more mindfull of his honour deare,

Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring,

From loathed soile he can him lightly reare,

And strove to loose the far infixed sting:

Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling,

Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he heft,

And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string

Of his huge taile he quite a sunder cleft,

Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left.

XL

Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes,

With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,

The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skyes,

That all was covered with darkenesse dire:

Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire,

He cast at once him to avenge for all,

And gathering up himselfe out of the mire,

With his uneven wings did fiercely fall,

Upon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall.

XLI

Much was the man encombred with his hold,

In feare to lose his weapon in his paw,

Ne wist yet, how his talaunts to unfold;

For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw

To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw

Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw,

And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay,

It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray.

XLII

Tho when he saw no power might prevaile,

His trustie sword he cald to his last aid,

Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile,

And double blowes about him stoutly laid,

That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid;

As sparckles from the Andvile use to fly,

When heavy hammers on the wedge are swaid;

Therewith at last he forst him to unty

One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby.

XLIII

The other foot, fast fixed on his shield,

Whenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraine

To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield,

He smot thereat with all his might and maine,

That nought so wondrous puissaunce might sustaine;

Upon the joint the lucky steele did light,

And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine;

But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight.

XLIV

From his infernall fournace forth he threw

Huge flames, that dimmed all the heavens light,

Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew:

As burning Aetna from his boyling stew

Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke,

And ragged ribs of mountains molten new,

Enwrapt in coleblacke clouds and filthy smoke,

That all the land with stench, and heaven with horror choke.

XLV

The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence

So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire

A little backward for his best defence,

To save his body from the scorching fire,

Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.

It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide,)

As he recoiled backward, in the mire

His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide,

And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide.

XLVI

Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,

As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,

For happy life to all which thereon fed,

And life eke everlasting did befall:

Great God it planted in that blessed sted

With his Almighty hand, and did it call

XLVII

In all the world like was not to be found,

Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,

And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,

As incorrupted Nature did them sow,

Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.

Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,

Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know

Both good and ill: O mornefull memory:

That tree through one mans fault hath doen us all to dy.

XLVIII

From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,

A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine

And dainty deare, which on the ground, still fell,

And overflowed all the fertile plaine,

As it had deawed bene with timely raine:

Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,

And deadly wounds could heale and reare againe

The senselesse corse appointed for the grave.

Into that same he fell: which did from death him save.

XLIX

For nigh thereto the ever damned beast

And all that life preserved did detest:

Yet he is oft adventur'd to invade.

By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,

And yield his roome to sad succeeding night,

Who with her sable mantle gan to shade

The face of earth, and wayes of living wight,

And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.

L

When gentle Una saw the second fall

Of her deare knight, who wearie of long fight,

And faint through losse of blood, mov'd not at all,

But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight,

Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might

Did heale his wounds, and scorching heat alay,

Againe she stricken was with sore affright,

And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,

And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.

LI

The joyous day gan early to appeare,

And faire Aurora from the deawy bed

Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare

With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;

Her golden locks for haste were loosely shed

About her eares, when Una her did marke

Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred;

From heaven high to chase the chearelesse darke,

With merry note her loud salutes the mounting larke.

LII

Then freshly up arose the doughtie knight,

All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,

And did himselfe to battell ready dight;

Whose early foe awaiting him beside

To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,

When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare,

As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,

He woxe dismayd, and gan his fate to feare;

Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare.

LIII

He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight,

And rusht upon him with outragious pride;

Who him r'encountring fierce, as hauke in flight

Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright

Taking advantage of his open jaw,

Ran through his mouth with so importune might,

That deepe emperst his darksome hollow maw,

LIV

So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,

That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift;

So downe he fell, that th' earth him underneath

Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift;

So downe he fell, as an huge rockie clift,

Whose false foundation waves have washt away,

With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,

And rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay;

So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.

LV

The knight himselfe even trembled at his fall,

So huge and horrible a masse it seem'd,

And his deare Ladie, that beheld it all,

But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend

She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright,

She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:

Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight,

That had atchieved so great a conquest by his might.

I

BEHOLD I see the haven nigh at hand,

To which I meane my wearie course to bend;

The which afore is fairely to be kend,

And seemeth safe from storms that may offend;

There this faire virgin wearie of her way

Must landed be, now at her journeyes end:

There eke my feeble barke a while may stay

Till merry wind and weather call her thence away.

II

Scarsely had Phœbus in the glooming East

Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme,

Ne reard above the earth his flaming creast;

When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme

That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme

Unto the watchman on the castle wall,

Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme,

And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call,

To tell how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall.

III

Uprose with hastie joy, and feeble speed

That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land,

And looked forth, to weet if true indeede

Those tydings were, as he did understand,

Which whenas true by tryall he out found,

He bad to open wyde his brazen gate,

Proclaymed joy and peace through all his state;

For dead now was their foe which them forrayed late.

IV

Then gan triumphant Trompets sound on hie,

That sent to heaven the ecchoed report

Of their new joy, and happie victorie

Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort,

And fast imprisoned in sieged fort.

Then all the people, as in solemne feast,

To him assembled with one full consort,

Rejoycing at the fall of that great beast,

From whose eternall bondage now they were releast.

V

Forth came that auncient Lord and aged Queene,

Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground,

And sad habiliments right well beseene;

A noble crew about them waited round

Of sage and sober Peres, all gravely gownd;

Whom farre before did march a goodly band

But now they laurell braunches bore in hand;

Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land.

VI

Unto that doughtie Conquerour they came,

And him before themselves prostrating low,

Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame,

And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw.

Soone after them all dauncing on a row

The comely virgins came, with girlands dight,

As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow,

When morning deaw upon their leaves doth light:

And in their hands sweet Timbrels all upheld on hight.

VII

And them before, the fry of children young

Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play,

In well attuned notes, a joyous lay,

And made delightfull musicke all the way,

Untill they came, where that faire virgin stood;

As faire Diana in fresh sommers day,

Beholds her Nymphes enraung'd in shadie wood,

Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood:

VIII

So she beheld those maydens meriment

With chearefull vew; who when to her they came,

Themselves to ground with gracious humblesse bent,

And her ador'd by honorable name,

Lifting to heaven her everlasting fame:

Then on her head they set a girland greene,

And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game;

Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene.

IX

Heaped together in rude rablement,

To see the face of that victorious man:

Whom all admired, as from heaven sent,

And gazd upon with gaping wonderment.

But when they came where that dead Dragon lay,

Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent,

The sight with idle feare did them dismay,

Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay.

X

Some feard, and fled; some feard and well it faynd;

One that would wiser seeme then all the rest,

Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd

Some lingring life within his hollow brest,

Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest

Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed;

Another said, that in his eyes did rest

Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed;

Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.

XI

One mother, when as her foolehardie chyld

Did come too neare, and with his talants play,

Halfe dead through feare, her little babe revyld,

And to her gossips gan in counsell say;

How can I tell, but that his talants may

Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand?

So diversly themselves in vaine they fray;

Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand,

To prove how many acres he did spread of land.

XII

Thus flocked all the folke him round about,

The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine,

Being arrived where that champion stout

After his foes defeasance did remaine,

Him goodly greetes, and faire does entertaine

With princely gifts of yvorie and gold,

And thousand thankes him yeelds for all his paine.

Then when his daughter deare he does behold,

Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold.

XIII

And after to his Pallace he them brings,

With shaumes, and trompets, and with Clarions sweet;

And all the way the joyous people sings,

And with their garments strowes the paved street:

Whence mounting up, they find purveyance meet

Of all that royall Princes court became,

And all the floore was underneath their feet

XIV

In which was nothing riotous nor vaine?

What needs of dainty dishes to devize,

Of comely services, or courtly trayne?

My narrow leaves cannot in them containe

The large discourse of royall Princes state.

Yet was their manner then but bare and plaine:

For th' antique world excesse and pride did hate;

Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen up but late.

XV

Then when with meates and drinkes of every kinde

Their fervent appetites they quenched had,

That auncient Lord gan fit occasion finde,

Of straunge adventures, and of perils sad,

Which in his travell him befallen had,

For to demaund of his renowmed guest:

Who then with utt'rance grave, and count'nance sad,

From point to point, as is before exprest,

Discourst his voyage long, according his request.

XVI

Great pleasures mixt with pittiful regard,

That godly King and Queene did passionate,

Whiles they his pittifull adventures heard,

That oft they did lament his lucklesse state,

And often blame the too importune fate,

That heaped on him so many wrathfull wreakes:

For never gentle knight, as he of late,

So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes;

And all the while salt teares bedeawd the hearers cheaks.