XVI

The woodborne people fall before her flat,

And worship her as Goddesse of the wood;

And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what

To thinke of wight so faire, but gazing stood,

In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood;

Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see,

But Venus never had so sober mood;

Sometimes Diana he her takes to bee,

But misseth bow, and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.

XVII

By vew of her he ginneth to revive

And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,

And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse

A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy

Did love as life, above all worldly blisse;

XVIII

Her to behold do thither runne apace,

Flocke all about to see her lovely face:

But when they vewed have her heavenly grace,

They envy her in their malitious mind,

And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace:

And henceforth nothing faire but her on earth they find.

XIX

Did her content to please their feeble eyes,

And long time with that salvage people staid,

To gather breath in many miseries.

During which time her gentle wit she plyes,

To teach them truth, which worshipt her in vaine,

But when their bootlesse zeale she did restraine

From her own worship, they her Asse would worship fayn.

XX

To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right,

From whence he tooke his well deserved name:

He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame,

And fild far lands with glorie of his might,

Plaine, faithfull, true, and enimy of shame,

And ever lov'd to fight for Ladies right:

But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did delight.

XXI

A Satyres sonne yborne in forrest wyld,

By straunge adventure as it did betyde,

And there begotten of a Lady myld,

That was in sacred bands of wedlocke tyde

To Therion, a loose unruly swayne;

Who had more joy to raunge the forrest wyde,

And chase the salvage beast with busie payne,

Then serve his Ladies love, and wast in pleasures vayne.

XXII

The forlorne mayd did with loves longing burne

And could not lacke her lovers company,

But to the wood she goes, to serve her turne,

And seeke her spouse that from her still does fly,

And followes other game and venery:

A Satyre chaunst her wandring for to finde,

*          *          *          *          *

And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind.

XXIII

So long in secret cabin there he held

*          *          *          *          *

Then home he suffred her for to retyre,

For ransome leaving him the late borne childe;

Whom till to ryper yeares he gan aspire,

He noursled up in life and manners wilde,

Emongst wild beasts and woods, from lawes of men exilde.

XXIV

To banish cowardize and bastard feare;

His trembling hand he would him force to put

Upon the Lyon and the rugged Beare;

And from the she Beares teats her whelps to teare;

And eke wyld roaring Buls he would him make

To tame, and ryde their backes not made to beare;

And the Robuckes in flight to overtake,

That every beast for feare of him did fly and quake.

XXV

Thereby so fearlesse, and so fell he grew,

And oft for dread of hurt would him advise,

The angry beasts not rashly to despise,

Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne

The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise,

(A lesson hard) and make the Libbard sterne

Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.

XXVI

And for to make his powre approved more,

Wyld beasts in yron yokes he would compell;

The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore,

The Pardale swift, and the tigre cruell,

The Antelope, and Wolfe both fierce and fell;

And them constraine in equall teme to draw.

Such joy he had, their stubborne harts to quell,

And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull aw,

That his beheast they feared, as a tyrans law.

XXVII

His loving mother came upon a day

Unto the woods, to see her little sonne;

And chaunst unwares to meet him in the way,

After his sportes, and cruell pastime donne;

When after him a Lyonesse did runne,

That roaring all with rage, did lowd requere

Her children deare, whom he away had wonne:

The Lyon whelpes she saw how he did beare,

And lull in rugged armes, withouten childish feare.

XXVIII

The fearefull Dame all quaked at the sight,

And turning backe, gan fast to fly away,

Untill with love revokt from vaine affright,

She hardly yet perswaded was to stay,

And then to him these womanish words gan say;

Ah Satyrane, my dearling, and my joy,

For love of me leave off this dreadfull play;

To dally thus with death is no fit toy,

Go find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy.

XXIX

In these and like delights of bloudy game

He trayned was, till ryper yeares he raught;

And there abode, whilst any beast of name

Walkt in that forest, whom he had not taught

To feare his force: and then his courage haught

Desird of forreine foemen to be knowne,

And far abroad for straunge adventures sought;

In which his might was never overthrowne;

XXX

Yet evermore it was his manner faire,

After long labours and adventures spent,

Unto those native woods for to repaire,

To see his sire and offspring auncient.

And now he thither came for like intent;

Where he unwares the fairest Una found,

Straunge Lady, in so straunge habiliment,

Teaching the Satyres, which her sat around,

Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound.

XXXI

He wondred at her wisedome heavenly rare,

Whose like in womens wit he never knew;

And when her curteous deeds he did compare,

Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew,

Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw,

And joyd to make proofe of her crueltie,

On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse, and so trew:

Thenceforth he kept her goodly company,

And learnd her discipline of faith and veritie.

XXXII

But she all vowd unto the Redcrosse knight,

His wandring perill closely did lament,

Ne in this new acquaintaunce could delight,

But her deare heart with anguish did torment,

And all her wit in secret counsels spent,

How to escape. At last in privie wise

To Satyrane she shewed her intent;

Who glad to gain such favour, gan devise

How with that pensive Maid he best might thence arise.

XXXIII

So on a day when Satyres all were gone

To do their service to Sylvanus old,

The gentle virgin left behind alone

He led away with courage stout and bold.

Too late it was, to Satyres to be told,

Or ever hope recover her againe:

In vaine he seekes that having cannot hold.

So fast he carried her with carefull paine,

That they the woods are past, and come now to the plaine.

XXXIV

The better part now of the lingring day,

They traveild had, whenas they farre espide

A weary wight forwandring by the way,

And towards him they gan in haste to ride,

To weete of newes, that did abroad betide,

Or tydings of her knight of the Redcrosse.

But he them spying, gan to turne aside,

For feare as seemd, or for some feigned losse;

More greedy they of newes, fast towards him do crosse.

XXXV

A silly man, in simple weedes forworne,

And soild with dust of the long dried way;

His sandales were with toilsome travell torne,

And face all tand with scorching sunny ray,

As he had traveild many a sommers day,

Through boyling sands of Arabie and Ynde;

His wearie limbes upon: and eke behind,

His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.

XXXVI

The knight approaching nigh, of him inquerd

Tidings of warre, and of adventures new;

But warres, nor new adventures none he herd.

Then Una gan to aske, if ought he knew,

Or heard abroad of that her champion trew,

That in his armour bare a croslet red.

Aye me, Deare dame (quoth he) well may I rew

To tell the sad sight which mine eies have red.

These eies did see that knight both living and eke ded.

XXXVII

That cruell word her tender hart so thrild,

That suddein cold did runne through every vaine,

And stony horrour all her sences fild

With dying fit, that downe she fell for paine.

The knight her lightly reared up againe,

And comforted with curteous kind reliefe:

Then, wonne from death, she bad him tellen plaine

The further processe of her hidden griefe:

The lesser pangs can beare, who hath endur'd the chiefe.

XXXVIII

Then gan the Pilgrim thus, I chaunst this day,

This fatall day, that shall I ever rew,

To see two knights in travell on my way

(A sory sight) arraung'd in battell new,

Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew:

My fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife,

To see their blades so greedily imbrew,

That drunke with bloud, yet thristed after life:

What more? the Redcrosse knight was slaine with Paynim knife.

XXXIX

Ah dearest Lord (quoth she) how might that bee,

And he the stoughtest knight, that ever wonne?

Ah dearest dame (quoth he) how might I see

The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne?

Where is (said Satyrane) that Paynims sonne,

That him of life, and us of joy hath reft?

Not far away (quoth he) he hence doth wonne

Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left

Washing his bloudy wounds, that through the steele were cleft.

XL

Therewith the knight thence marched forth in hast,

Whiles Una with huge heavinesse opprest,

Could not for sorrow follow him so fast;

And soone he came, as he the place had ghest,

Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did rest,

In secret shadow by a fountaine side:

Even he it was, that earst would have supprest

Faire Una: whom when Satyrane espide,

With fowle reprochfull words he boldly him defide.

XLI

And said, Arise thou cursed Miscreaunt,

That hast with knightlesse guile and trecherous train

Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest vaunt

That good knight of the Redcrosse to have slain:

Arise, and with like treason now maintain

Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield.

The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain,

And catching up in hast his three-square shield,

And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field.

XLII

And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborne Elfe,

In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent,

Anothers wrongs to wreake upon thy selfe:

Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blent

My name with guile and traiterous intent:

That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew,

XLIII

Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,

To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile

Each other bent his enimy to quell,

That with their force they perst both plate and maile,

And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile,

That it would pitty any living eie.

Large floods of bloud adowne their sides did raile;

But floods of bloud could not them satisfie:

Both hungred after death: both chose to win, or die.

XLIV

So long they fight, and fell revenge pursue,

That fainting each, themselves to breathen let,

And oft refreshed, battell oft renue:

Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret,

Til breathlesse both them selves aside retire,

Where foming wrath, their cruell tuskes they whet,

And trample th' earth, the whiles they may respire;

Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire.

XLV

So fiersly, when these knights had breathed once,

They gan to fight returne, increasing more

Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce.

With heaped strokes more hugely then before,

That with their drerie wounds and bloudy gore

They both deformed, scarsely could be known.

By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore,

Led with their noise, which through the aire was thrown:

Arriv'd, wher they in erth their fruitles bloud had sown.

XLVI

Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin

Espide, he gan revive the memory

Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin,

And left the doubtfull battell hastily,

To catch her, newly offred to his eie:

But Satyrane with strokes him turning, staid,

And sternely bad him other businesse plie,

Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid:

Wherewith he all enrag'd, these bitter speaches said.

XLVII

O foolish faeries son, what fury mad

Hath thee incenst, to hast thy doefull fate?

Were it not better I that Lady had,

Then that thou hadst repented it too late?

Most senseless man he, that himselfe doth hate

To love another. Lo then for thine ayd

So they two fight; the whiles the royall Mayd

Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afrayd.

XLVIII

But that false Pilgrim, which that leasing told,

Being in deed old Archimage, did stay

In secret shadow, all this to behold,

And much rejoiced in their bloudy fray:

But when he saw the Damsell passe away,

He left his stond, and her pursewd apace,

And eke this battels end, will need another place.

I

WHAT man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,

As to discry the crafty cunning traine,

By which deceipt doth maske in visour faire,

And cast her colours dyed deepe in graine,

To seeme like Truth, whose shape she well can faine,

And fitting gestures to her purpose frame;

The guiltlesse man with guile to entertaine?

Great maistresse of her art was that false Dame,

The false Duessa, cloked with Fidessaes name.

II

Who when returning from the drery Night,

She fownd not in that perilous house of Pryde,

Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse knight,

Her hoped pray; she would no lenger bide,

But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide.

Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate

To rest him selfe, foreby a fountaine side,

Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,

And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.

III

His sweatie forehead in the breathing wind,

Which through the trembling leaves full gently playes,

Wherein the cherefull birds of sundry kind

Do chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mind:

The Witch approaching gan him fairely greet,

And with reproch of carelesnesse unkind

Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet,

With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet.

IV

Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,

And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous shade,

Which shielded them against the boyling heat,

And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade,

About the fountaine like a girlond made;

Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,

Ne ever would through fervent sommer fade:

The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell,

Was out of Dianes favour, as it then befell.

V

With all her band was following the chace,

This Nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of scorching ayre,

Sat downe to rest in middest of the race:

The goddesse wroth gan fowly her disgrace,

And bad the waters, which from her did flow,

Be such as she her selfe was then in place.

Thenceforth her waters waxed dull and slow,

VI

Hereof this gentle knight unweeting was,

And lying downe upon the sandie graile,

Drunke of the streame, as cleare as cristall glas:

Eftsoones his manly forces gan to faile,

And mightie strong was turned to feeble fraile.

His chaunged powres at first them selves not felt,

Till crudled cold his corage gan assaile,

And cheareful bloud in faintnesse chill did melt,

Which like a fever fit through all his body swelt.

VII

Yet goodly court he made still to his Dame,

Both carelesse of his health, and of his fame:

Till at the last he heard a dreadfull sownd,

Which through the wood loud bellowing did rebownd,

That all the earth for terrour seemd to shake,

And trees did tremble. Th' Elfe therewith astownd,

And his unready weapons gan in hand to take.

VIII

But ere he could his armour on him dight,

Or get his shield, his monstrous enimy

With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight,

That with his tallnesse seemd to threat the skye,

The ground eke groned under him for dreed;

His living like saw never living eye,

Ne durst behold: his stature did exceed

The hight of three the tallest sonnes of mortall seed.

IX

The greatest Earth his uncouth mother was,

And blustering Æolus his boasted syre,

*          *          *          *          *

Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slime

Puft up with emptie wind, and fild with sinfull crime.

X

So growen great through arrogant delight

Of th' high descent, whereof he was yborne,

And through presumption of his matchlesse might,

All other powres and knighthood he did scorne.

Such now he marcheth to this man forlorne,

And left to losse: his stalking steps are stayde

Upon a snaggy Oke, which he had torne

Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made

His mortall mace, wherewith his foeman he dismayde.

XI

That when the knight he spide, he gan advance

With huge force and insupportable mayne,

And towardes him with dreadfull fury praunce;

Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in vaine

Did to him pace, sad battaile to darrayne,

Disarmd, disgrast, and inwardly dismayde,

And eke so faint in every joynt and vaine,

Through that fraile fountaine, which him feeble made,

That scarsely could he weeld his bootlesse single blade.

XII

The Geaunt strooke so maynly mercilesse,

That could have overthrowne a stony towre,

And were not heavenly grace, that did him blesse,

He had beene pouldred all, as thin as flowre:

But he was wary of that deadly stowre,

And lightly lept from underneath the blow:

Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre,

That with the wind it did him overthrow,

And all his sences stound, that still he lay full low.

XIII

In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies skill,

With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught,

And ramd with bullet round, ordaind to kill,

Conceiveth fire, the heavens it doth fill

With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth choke,

That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will,

Through smouldry cloud of duskish stincking smoke,

XIV

So daunted when the Geaunt saw the knight,

His heavie hand he heaved up on hye,

And him to dust thought to have battred quight,

Untill Duessa loud to him gan crye;

O great Orgoglio, greatest under skye,

O hold thy mortall hand for Ladies sake,

But vanquisht thine eternall bondslave make,

And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy Leman take.

XV

He hearkned, and did stay from further harmes,

To gayne so goodly guerdon, as she spake:

So willingly she came into his armes,

Who her as willingly to grace did take,

And was possessed of his new found make.

Then up he tooke the slombred sencelesse corse,

And ere he could out of his swowne awake,

Him to his castle brought with hastie forse,

And in a Dongeon deepe him threw without remorse.

XVI

From that day forth Duessa was his deare,

And highly honourd in his haughtie eye,

He gave her gold and purple pall to weare,

And triple crowne set on her head full hye,

And her endowd with royall majestye:

Then for to make her dreaded more of men,

And peoples harts with awfull terrour tye,

XVII

Which great Alcides in Stremona slew,

Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake,

Whose many heads out budding ever new

Did breed him endlesse labour to subdew:

But this same Monster much more ugly was;

For seven great heads out of his body grew,

And all embrewd in bloud, his eyes did shine as glas.

XVIII

His tayle was stretched out in wondrous length,

And with extorted powre, and borrow'd strength,

The ever-burning lamps from thence it braught,

And prowdly threw to ground, as things of naught;

And underneath his filthy feet did tread

Upon this dreadfull Beast with sevenfold head

He sett the false Duessa, for more aw and dread.

XIX

The wofull Dwarfe, which saw his maisters fall,

Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed,

And valiant knight become a caytive thrall,

His mightie armour, missing most at need;

His silver shield, now idle maisterlesse;

His poynant speare, that many made to bleed,

And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse.

XX

He had not travaild long, when on the way

He wofull Ladie, wofull Una met,

Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,

Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let:

Who when her eyes she on the Dwarfe had set,

And saw the signes, that deadly tydings spake,

She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret,

And lively breath her sad brest did forsake,

Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake.

XXI

The messenger of so unhappie newes,

Would faine have dyde: dead was his hart within,

Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes:

At last recovering hart, he does begin

To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin,

And everie tender part does tosse and turne.

Unto her native prison to retourne:

Then gins her grieved ghost thus to lament and mourne.

XXII

Ye dreary instruments of dolefull sight,

That doe this deadly spectacle behold,

Why do ye lenger feed on loathed light,

Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,

Sith cruell fates the carefull threeds unfould,

The which my life and love together tyde?

Now let the stony dart of senselesse cold

Perce to my hart, and pas through every side,

And let eternall night so sad sight fro me hide.