XV

Not all so satisfide, with greedie eye

He sought all round about, his thristie blade

To bath in bloud of faithlesse enemy;

Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:

He standes amazed, how he thence should fade.

At last the trumpets Triumph sound on hie,

And running Heralds humble homage made,

Greeting him goodly with new victorie,

And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmitie.

XVI

Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine Queene,

And falling her before on lowly knee,

To her makes present of his service seene:

Which she accepts, with thankes, and goodly gree,

Greatly advauncing his gay chevalree.

So marcheth home, and by her takes the knight,

Whom all the people follow with great glee,

Shouting, and clapping all their hands on hight,

That all the aire it fils, and flyes to heaven bright.

XVII

Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed:

Where many skilfull leaches him abide,

To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled.

In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide,

And softly can embalme on every side.

And all the while, most heavenly melody

About the bed sweet musicke did divide,

Him to beguile of griefe and agony:

And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.

XVIII

As when a wearie traveller that strayes

By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,

Unweeting of the perillous wandring wayes,

Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile,

Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile,

The foolish man, that pitties all this while

His mournefull plight, is swallowed up unawares,

Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares.

XIX

So wept Duessa untill eventide,

That shyning lampes in Joves high house were light:

Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide,

But comes unto the place, where th' Hethen knight

In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright,

Lay cover'd with inchaunted cloud all day:

Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,

To wayle his woefull case she would not stay,

But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way.

XX

That Phœbus chearefull face durst never vew,

And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad,

She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew,

Where she all day did hide her hated hew.

Before the dore her yron charet stood,

Alreadie harnessed for journey new;

And coleblacke steedes yborne of hellish brood,

That on their rustie bits did champ, as they were wood.

XXI

Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,

Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,

She greatly grew amazed at the sight,

And th' unacquainted light began to feare:

For never did such brightnesse there appeare,

And would have backe retyred to her cave,

Until the witches speech she gan to heare,

Saying, Yet, O thou dreaded Dame, I crave

Abide, till I have told the message which I have.

XXII

She stayd, and foorth Duessa gan proceede

O thou most auncient Grandmother of all,

More old then Jove, whom thou at first didst breede,

Or that great house of Gods cælestiall,

Which wast begot in Daemogorgons hall,

And sawst the secrets of the world unmade,

Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare to fall

With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade?

Lo where the stout Sansjoy doth sleepe in deadly shade.

XXIII

And him before, I saw with bitter eyes

The bold Sansfoy shrinke underneath his speare;

And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,

That whylome was to me too dearely deare.

If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare?

Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne,

When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne?

XXIV

Up then, up dreary Dame, of darknesse Queene,

Go gather up the reliques of thy race,

Or else goe them avenge, and let be seene,

That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,

And can the children of faire light deface.

Her feeling speeches some compassion moved

In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face:

Yet pittie in her hart was never proved

Till then: for evermore she hated, never loved.

XXV

And said, Deare daughter rightly may I rew

The fall of famous children borne of mee,

But who can turne the streame of destinee,

Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat?

The sonnes of Day he favoureth, I see,

And by my ruines thinkes to make them great:

XXVI

Yet shall they not escape so freely all;

For some shall pay the price of others guilt:

And he the man that made Sansfoy to fall,

But what art thou, that telst of Nephews kilt?

I that do seeme not I, Duessa am,

(Quoth she) how ever now in garments gilt,

And gorgeous gold arrayd I to thee came;

Duessa I, the daughter of Deceipt and Shame.

XXVII

Then bowing downe her aged backe, she kist

The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face

The false resemblance of Deceipt I wist

Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace

It carried, that I scarce in darkesome place

Could it discerne, though I the mother bee

Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race.

O welcome child, whom I have longd to see,

And now have seene unwares. Lo now I go with thee.

XXVIII

Then to her yron wagon she betakes,

And with her beares the fowle welfavourd witch:

Through mirkesome aire her readie way she makes.

Her twyfold Teme, of which two blacke as pitch,

And two were browne, yet each to each unlich,

Did softly swim away, ne ever stampe,

Unlesse she chaunst their stubborne mouths to twitch;

Then foming tarre, their bridles they would champe,

And trampling the fine element would fiercely rampe.

XXIX

So well they sped, that they be come at length

Unto the place, whereas the Paynim lay,

Devoid of outward sense, and native strength,

Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of day

And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray.

His cruell wounds with cruddy bloud congeald

They binden up so wisely, as they may,

And handle softly, till they can be healed:

So lay him in her charet close in night concealed.

XXX

And all the while she stood upon the ground,

As giving warning of th' unwonted sound,

With which her yron wheeles did them affray,

And her darke griesly looke them much dismay:

With drery shriekes did also her bewray;

And hungry Wolves continually did howle,

At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle.

XXXI

Thence turning backe in silence soft they stole,

And brought the heavie corse with easie pace

By that same hole an entrance darke and bace

With smoake and sulphure hiding all the place,

Descends to hell: there creature never past,

That backe returned without heavenly grace;

But dreadfull Furies which their chaines have brast,

And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast.

XXXII

By that same way the direfull dames doe drive

Their mournefull charet, fild with rusty blood,

And downe to Plutoes house are come bilive:

Which passing through, on every side them stood

The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood,

Chattring their yron teeth, and staring wide

With stonie eyes; and all the hellish brood

Of feends infernall flockt on every side,

To gaze on earthly wight that with the Night durst ride.

XXXIII

They pas the bitter waves of Acheron,

Where many soules sit wailing woefully,

And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,

Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry,

And with sharpe shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse cry,

Cursing high Jove, the which them thither sent.

The house of endlesse paine is built thereby,

In which ten thousand sorts of punishment

The cursed creatures doe eternally torment.

XXXIV

His three deformed heads did lay along,

Curled with thousand adders venemous,

And lilled forth his bloudie flaming tong:

At them he gan to reare his bristles strong,

And felly gnarre, until Dayes enemy

Did him appease; then downe his taile he hong

And suffred them to passen quietly:

For she in hell and heaven had power equally.

XXXV

For daring tempt the Queene of heaven to sin;

And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele

Against an hill, ne might from labour lin;

There thirsty Tantalus hong by the chin;

And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw;

Typhœus joynts were stretched on a gin,

Theseus condemnd to endlesse slouth by law,

And fifty sisters water in leake vessels draw.

XXXVI

They all beholding worldly wights in place,

Leave off their worke, unmindfull of their smart,

To gaze on them; who forth by them doe pace,

Till they be come unto the furthest part;

Where was a Cave ywrought by wondrous art,

Deepe, darke, uneasie, dolefull, comfortlesse,

Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse,

For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse.

XXXVII

Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was

That wont in charett chace the foming Bore:

He all his Peeres in beauty did surpas,

But Ladies love as losse of time forbore:

His wanton stepdame loved him the more,

But when she saw her offred sweets refused,

Her love she turnd to hate, and him before

His father fierce of treason false accused,

And with her gealous termes his open eares abused.

XXXVIII

Who all in rage his Sea-god syre besought,

Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to cast,

From surging gulf two monsters straight were brought,

With dread whereof his chasing steedes aghast,

Both charet swift and huntsman overcast.

His goodly corps on ragged cliffs yrent,

Was quite dismembred, and his members chast

Scattered on every mountaine, as he went,

That of Hippolytus was left no moniment.

XXXIX

His cruell step-dame seeing what was donne,

Her wicked dayes with wretched knife did end,

In death avowing th' innocence of her sonne,

Which hearing, his rash Syre began to rend

His haire, and hastie tongue that did offend.

Tho gathering up the relicks of his smart,

By Dianes meanes, who was Hippolyts frend,

Them brought to Æsculape, that by his art

Did heale them all againe, and joyned every part.

XL

Such wondrous science in mans wit to raine

When Jove avizd, that could the dead revive,

Of endlesse life he might him not deprive,

But unto hell did thrust him downe alive,

With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore:

Where long remaining, he did alwaies strive

Himselfe with salves to health for to restore,

And slake the heavenly fire, that raged evermore.

XLI

There auncient Night arriving, did alight

From her nigh wearie waine, and in her armes

To Æsculapius brought the wounded knight:

Whom having softly disarayd of armes,

Tho gan to him discover all his harmes,

Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise,

If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes

A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise,

He would at her request prolong her nephews daies.

XLII

Ah Dame (quoth he) thou temptest me in vaine,

To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew,

And the old cause of my continued paine

With like attempt to like end to renew.

Is not enough, that thrust from heaven dew

Here endlesse penance for one fault I pay,

But that redoubled crime with vengeance new

Thou biddest me to eeke? can Night defray

The wrath of thundring Jove that rules both night and day?

XLIII

Not so (quoth she) but sith that heavens king

From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight,

Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing;

And fearest not, that more thee hurten might,

Now in the powre of everlasting Night?

Goe to then, O thou farre renowmed sonne

Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might

In medicine, that else hath to thee wonne

XLIV

Her words prevaild: And then the learned leach

His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay,

And all things else, the which his art did teach:

Which having seene, from thence arose away

The mother of dread darknesse, and let stay

Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure,

And backe returning tooke her wonted way,

To runne her timely race, whilst Phœbus pure,

In westerne waves his weary wagon did recure.

XLV

The false Duessa leaving noyous Night,

Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pride;

Where when she came, she found the Faery knight

Departed thence, albe his woundes wide

Not throughly heald, unreadie were to ride.

Good cause he had to hasten thence away;

For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spide

Where in a dongeon deepe huge numbers lay

Of caytive wretched thrals, that wayled night and day.

XLVI

A ruefull sight, as could be seene with eie;

Of whom he learned had in secret wise

The hidden cause of their captivitie,

How mortgaging their lives to Covetise,

Through wastfull Pride and wanton Riotise,

They were by law of that proud Tyrannesse,

Provokt with Wrath, and Envies false surmise,

Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse,

Where they should live in woe, and die in wretchednesse.

XLVII

That would compell all nations to adore,

And him as onely God to call upon,

Till through celestiall doome throwne out of dore,

Into an Oxe he was transform'd of yore:

His hart too high through his great riches store;

His cursed hand gainst God and on his altars daunst.

XLVIII

That first the world with sword and fire warrayd;

In princely pompe, of all the world obayd;

Low under all, yet above all in pride,

That name of native syre did fowle upbrayd,

And would as Ammons sonne be magnifide,

Till scornd of God and man a shamefull death he dide.

XLIX

All these together in one heape were throwne,

Like carkases of beasts in butchers stall.

And in another corner wide were strowne

The antique ruines of the Romaines fall:

L

Amongst these mightie men were wemen mixt,

Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their yoke:

With sonnes own blade, her fowle reproches spoke;

With wilfull cord, for wanting of her will;

Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill:

And thousands moe the like, that did that dongeon fill;

LI

Besides the endlesse routs of wretched thralles,

Which thither were assembled day by day,

From all the world after their wofull falles

Through wicked pride, and wasted wealthes decay.

But most of all, which in the Dongeon lay,

Fell from high Princes courts, or Ladies bowres;

Where they in idle pompe, or wanton play,

Consumed had their goods, and thriftlesse howres,

And lastly throwne themselves into these heavy stowres.

LII

Whose case when as the carefull Dwarfe had tould,

And made ensample of their mournefull sight

Unto his maister, he no lenger would

There dwell in perill of like painefull plight,

But early rose, and ere that dawning light

Discovered had the world to heaven wyde,

He by a privie Posterne tooke his flight,

That of no envious eyes he mote be spyde:

For doubtlesse death ensewd, if any him descryde.

LIII

Scarse could he footing find in that fowle way,

For many corses, like a great Lay-stall,

Of murdred men which therein strowed lay,

Without remorse, or decent funerall:

Which all through that great Princesse pride did fall

And came to shamefull end. And them beside

Forth ryding underneath the castell wall,

A donghill of dead carkases he spide,

The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house of Pride.

I

AS when a ship, that flyes faire under saile,

An hidden rocke escaped hath unwares,

That lay in waite her wrack for to bewaile,

The Marriner yet halfe amazed stares

At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares

To joy at his foole-happie oversight:

So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares

The dreadlesse courage of this Elfin knight,

Having escapt so sad ensamples in his sight.

II

Yet sad he was that his too hastie speede

The faire Duess' had forst him leave behind;

And yet more sad, that Una his deare dreed

Her truth had staind with treason so unkind;

Yet crime in her could never creature find,

But for his love, and for her owne selfe sake,

Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake,

Till her unwares the fiers Sansloy did overtake.

III

Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat,

Led her away into a forest wilde,

And turning wrathfull fyre to lustfull heat,

With beastly sin thought her to have defilde,

And made the vassal of his pleasures wilde.

Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes,

Her to persuade that stubborne fort to yilde:

For greater conquest of hard love he gaynes,

That workes it to his will, then he that it constraines.

IV

With fawning words he courted her awhile,

And looking lovely, and oft sighing sore,

Her constant hart did tempt with diverse guile,

But wordes and lookes, and sighes she did abhore;

As rocke of Diamond steadfast evermore,

Yet for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye,

He snatcht the vele that hong her face before;

Then gan her beautie shyne, as brightest skye

And burnt his beastly hart t'efforce her chastitye.

V

So when he saw his flatt'ring artes to fayle,

And subtile engines bett from batteree;

With greedy force he gan the fort assayle,

Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee,

And with rich spoile of ransackt chastitee.

Ah heavens! that do this hideous act behold,

And heavenly virgin thus outraged see,

How can ye vengeance just so long withold

And hurle not flashing flames upon that Paynim bold?

VI

The pitteous maiden carefull comfortlesse,

Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shrieking cryes,

The last vaine helpe of womens great distresse,

And with loud plaints importuneth the skyes,

That molten starres do drop like weeping eyes;

And Phœbus flying so most shameful sight,

His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,

And hides for shame. What wit of mortall wight

Can now devise to quit a thrall from such a plight?

VII

Eternal providence exceeding thought,

Where none appeares can make herselfe a way:

A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,

From Lyons clawes to pluck the griped pray.

Her shrill outcryes and shriekes so loud did bray,

That all the woodes and forestes did resownd;

Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,

VIII

Who when they heard that pitteous strained voice,

In haste forsooke their rurall meriment,

And ran towards the far rebownded noyce,

To weet, what wight so loudly did lament.

Unto the place they come incontinent:

Whom when the raging Sarazin espide,

A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement,

Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide,

But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride.

IX

The wyld woodgods arrived in the place,

There find the virgin dolefull desolate,

With ruffled rayments, and faire blubbred face,

As her outrageous foe had left her late;

And trembling yet through feare of former hate:

All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,

And gin to pittie her unhappie state;

All stand astonied at her beautie bright,

In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight.

X

She more amaz'd, in double dread doth dwell;

And every tender part for feare doth shake:

As when a greedie Wolfe, through hunger fell,

A seely Lambe farre from the flocke does take,

Of whom he meanes his bloudie feast to make,

A Lyon spyes fast running towards him,

The innocent pray in hast he does forsake,

Which quit from death yet quakes in every lim

XI

Such fearefull fit assaid her trembling hart,

Ne word to speake, ne joynt to move she had:

The salvage nation feele her secret smart,

And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad;

Their frowning forheads with rough hornes yclad,

And gently grenning, show a semblance glad

To comfort her, and feare to put away,

XII

The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet commit

But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sit,

They in compassion of her tender youth,

And wonder of her beautie soveraine,

Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth,

And all prostrate upon the lowly plaine,

Do kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count'nance faine.

XIII

Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,

And yieldes her to extremitie of time;

So from the ground she fearlesse doth arise,

They all as glad, as birdes of joyous Prime,

Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,

Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme,

And with greene braunches strowing all the ground,

XIV

And all the way their merry pipes they sound,

That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring,

Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring.

So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;

Who with the noyse awaked commeth out

To weet the cause, his weake steps governing,

And aged limbs on Cypresse stadle stout;

And with an yvie twyne his wast is girt about.

XV

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad,

They drawing nigh, unto their God present

That flowre of faith and beautie excellent.

Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent;

And Pholoe fowle when her to this he doth compaire.