XVII

Then sayd the royall Pere in sober wise;

Deare Sonne, great beene the evils which ye bore

From first to last in your late enterprise,

That I note whether prayse, or pitty more:

For never living man, I weene, so sore

In sea of deadly daungers was distrest;

But since now safe ye seised have the shore,

And well arrived are, (high God be blest)

Let us devize of ease and everlasting rest.

XVIII

Ah, dearest Lord, said then that doughty knight,

Of ease or rest I may not yet devize,

For by the faith, which I to armes have plight,

I bounden am streight after this emprize,

As that your daughter can ye well advize,

Backe to returne to that great Faerie Queene,

And her to serve six yeares in warlike wize,

Therefore I ought crave pardon, till I there have beene.

XIX

Unhappie falles that hard necessitie,

(Quoth he) the troubler of my happie peace,

And vowed foe of my felicitie;

Ne I against the same can justly preace:

But since that band ye cannot now release,

Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall cease,

Ye then shall hither backe returne againe,

The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain.

XX

Which for my part I covet to performe,

That whoso kild that monster most deforme,

And him in hardy battaile overcame,

Should have mine onely daughter to his Dame,

And of my kingdome heyre apparaunt bee:

Therefore since now to thee perteines the same,

By dew desert of noble chevalree,

Both daughter and eke kingdome, lo, I yield to thee.

XXI

Then forth he called that his daughter faire,

The fairest Un' his onely daughter deare,

His onely daughter, and his onely heyre;

Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare,

As bright as doth the morning starre appeare

Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight,

To tell that dawning day is drawing neare,

And to the world does bring long wished light:

So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her selfe in sight.

XXII

So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in May;

For she had layd her mournefull stole aside,

And widow-like sad wimple throwne away,

Wherewith her heavenly beautie she did hide,

Whiles on her wearie journey she did ride;

And on her now a garment she did weare,

All lilly white, withoutten spot, or pride,

That seemd like silke and silver woven neare,

But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare.

XXIII

The blazing brightnesse of her beauties beame,

And glorious light of her sunshyny face,

To tell, were as to strive against the streame;

My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace,

Her heavenly lineaments for to enchace.

Ne wonder; for her owne deare loved knight,

Did wonder much at her celestiall sight:

Oft had he seene her faire, but never so faire dight.

XXIV

So fairely dight, when she in presence came,

She to her Sire made humble reverence,

And bowed low, that her right well became,

And added grace unto her excellence:

Who with great wisedome and grave eloquence

Thus gan to say. But eare he thus had said,

With flying speede, and seeming great pretence

Came running in, much like a man dismaid,

A Messenger with letters, which his message said.

XXV

All in the open hall amazed stood

At suddeinnesse of that unwarie sight,

And wondred at his breathlesse hastie mood.

But he for nought would stay his passage right,

Till fast before the king he did alight;

Where falling flat, great humblesse he did make,

And kist the ground, whereon his foot was pight;

Then to his hands that writ he did betake,

Which he disclosing, red thus, as the paper spake.

XXVI

To thee, most mighty king of Eden faire,

Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest,

The wofull daughter, and forsaken heire

Of that great Emperour of all the West;

And bids thee be advized for the best,

Ere thou thy daughter linck in holy band

Of wedlocke to that new unknowen guest:

For he already plighted his right hand

Unto another love, and to another land.

XXVII

To me sad mayd, or rather widow sad,

He was affiaunced long time before,

And sacred pledges he both gave, and had,

False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore:

Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore,

And guiltie heavens of his bold perjury,

Which though he hath polluted oft of yore,

Yet I to them for judgement just do fly,

And them conjure t'avenge this shamefull injury.

XXVIII

Therefore since mine he is, or free or bond,

Or false or trew, or living or else dead,

Withhold, O soveraine Prince, your hasty hond

From knitting league with him, I you aread;

Ne weene my right with strength adowne to tread,

Through weaknesse of my widowhed, or woe;

For truth is strong her rightfull cause to plead,

And shall find friends, if need requireth soe.

So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, Fidessa.

XXIX

When he these bitter byting wordes had red,

The tydings straunge did him abashed make,

That still he sate long time astonished,

As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.

At last his solemne silence thus he brake,

With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest;

Redoubted knight, that for mine onely sake

Thy life and honour late adventurest,

Let nought be hid from me, that ought to be exprest.

XXX

What meane these bloody vowes, and idle threats,

Throwne out from womanish impatient mind?

What heavens? what altars? what enraged heates

Here heaped up with termes of love unkind,

My conscience cleare with guilty bands would bind?

High God be witnesse, that I guiltlesse ame.

But if your selfe, Sir knight, ye faultie find,

Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame,

With crime do not it cover, but disclose the same.

XXXI

To whom the Redcrosse knight this answere sent

My Lord, my King, be nought hereat dismayd,

Till well ye wote by grave intendiment,

What woman, and wherefere doth me upbrayd

With breach of love, and loyalty betrayd.

It was in my mishaps, as hitherward

I lately traveild, that unwares I strayd

Out of my way, through perils straunge and hard;

That day should faile me, ere I had them all declard.

XXXII

There did I find, or rather I was found

Of this false woman, that Fidessa hight,

Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on ground,

Most false Duessa, royall richly dight,

That easy was to invegle weaker sight:

Who by her wicked arts, and wylie skill,

Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,

Unwares me wrought unto her wicked will,

And to my foe betrayd, when least I feared ill.

XXXIII

Then stepped forth the goodly royall Mayd,

And on the ground her selfe prostrating low,

With sober countenaunce thus to him sayd;

O pardon me, my soveraigne Lord, to show

The secret treasons, which of late I know

To have bene wroght by that false sorceresse.

She onely she it is, that earst did throw

This gentle knight into so great distresse,

That death him did awaite in dayly wretchednesse.

XXXIV

And now it seemes, that she suborned hath

This craftie messenger with letters vaine,

To worke new woe and unprovided scath,

By breaking of the band betwixt us twaine;

Wherein she used hath the practicke paine

Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse,

Whom if ye please for to discover plaine,

Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse,

The falsest man alive; who tries shall find no lesse.

XXXV

The king was greatly moved at her speach,

And, all with suddein indignation fraight,

Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.

Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait,

Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait:

Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,

With idle force did faine them to withstand,

And often semblaunce made to scape out of their hand.

XXXVI

But they him layd full low in dungeon deepe,

And bound him hand and foote with yron chains

And with continual watch did warely keepe:

Who then would thinke, that by his subtile trains

He could escape fowle death or deadly paines?

Thus when that princes wrath was pacifide,

He gan renew the late forbidden bains,

And to the knight his daughter dear he tyde,

With sacred rites and vowes for ever to abyde.

XXXVII

His owne two hands the holy knots did knit,

That none but death for ever can devide;

His owne two hands, for such a turne most fit,

And holy water thereon sprinckled wide;

At which the bushy Teade a groome did light,

And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide,

Where it should not be quenched day nor night,

For feare of evill fates, but burnen ever bright.

XXXVIII

Then gan they sprinckle all the posts with wine,

And made great feast to solemnize that day;

They all perfumde with frankencense divine,

And precious odours fetcht from far away,

That all the house did sweat with great aray:

And all the while sweete Musicke did apply

Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play,

To drive away the dull Melancholy;

The whiles one sung a song of love and jollity.

XXXIX

During the which there was an heavenly noise

Heard sound through all the Pallace pleasantly,

Like as it had bene many an Angels voice

Singing before th' eternall Majesty,

Yet wist no creature whence that heavenly sweet

Proceeded, yet eachone felt secretly

Himselfe thereby reft of his sences meet,

And ravished with rare impression in his sprite.

XL

Great joy was made that day of young and old,

And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land,

That their exceeding merth may not be told:

Suffice it heare by signes to understand

The usuall joyes at knitting of loves band.

Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did hold,

Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand,

And ever, when his eye did her behold,

His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures manifold.

XLI

Her joyous presence, and sweet company

In full content he there did long enjoy;

Ne wicked envie, ne vile gealosy,

His deare delights were able to annoy:

Yet swimming in that sea of blissfull joy,

He nought forgot how he whilome had sworne,

In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,

Unto his Faerie Queene backe to returne;

The which he shortly did, and Una left to mourne.

XLII

Now strike your sailes ye jolly Mariners,

For we be come unto a quiet rode,

Where we must land some of our passengers,

And light this wearie vessell of her lode.

Here she a while may make her safe abode,

And wants supplide. And then againe abroad

On the long voyage whereto she is bent:

Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent.