The Faerie Queene (62 page)

Belphebe
raunging in that forrest wide,

The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare,

And drew thereto, making her eare her guide.

Whom when that theefe approching nigh espide,

With bow in hand, and arrowes ready bent,

He by his former combate would not bide,

But fled away with ghastly dreriment,

Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument

30
Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed

With winged feete, as nimble as the winde,

And euer in her bow she ready shewed,

The arrow, to his deadly marke desynde.

As when
Latonaes
daughter cruell kynde,

In vengement of her mothers great disgrace,

With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde

Gainst wofull
Niobes
vnhappy race,

That all the gods did mone her miserable case.

31
So well she sped her and so far she ventred,

That ere vnto his hellish den he raught,

Euen as he ready was there to haue entred,

She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught,

That in the very dore him ouercaught,

And in his nape arriuing, through it thrild

His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught,

That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,

And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fild.

32
Whom when on ground she groueling saw to rowle,

She ran in hast his life to haue bereft:

But ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle

Hauing his carrion corse quite sencelesse left,

Was fled to hell, surcharg'd with spoile and theft.

Yet ouer him she there long gazing stood,

And oft admir'd his monstrous shape, and oft

His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud

The place there ouerflowne, seemd like a sodaine flood.

33
Thenceforth she past into his dreadfull den,

Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,

Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then

Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound.

With that she askt, what ghosts there vnder ground

Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?

And bad them, if so be they were not bound,

To come and shew themselues before the light,

Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight

34
Then forth the sad
Æmylia
issewed,

Yet trembling euery ioynt through former feare;

And after her the Hag, there with her mewed,

A foule and lothsome creature did appeare;

A leman fit for such a louer deare.

That mou'd
Belphebe
her no lesse to hate,

Then for to rue the others heauy cheare;

Of whom she gan enquire of her estate.

Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.

35
Thence she them brought toward the place, where late

She left the gentle Squire with
Amoret:

There she him found by that new louely mate,

Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,

From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet,

Which softly sold, and kissing them atweene,

And handling soft the hurts, which she did get.

For of that Carle she sorely bruz'd had beene,

Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene.

36
Which when she saw, with sodaine glaundng eye,

Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild

With deepe disdaine, and great indignity,

That in her wrath she thought them both haue thrild,

With that selfe arrow, which the Carle had kild:

Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore,

But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld;

Is this the faith she said, and said no more,

But turnd her face, and fled away for euermore.

37
He seeing her depart, arose vp light,

Right sore agrieued at her sharpe reproofe,

And follow'd fast: but when he came in sight,

He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,

For dread of her displeasures vtmost proofe.

And euermore, when he did grace entreat,

And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,

Her mortall arrowes, she at him did threat,

And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat.

38
At last when long he follow'd had in vaine,

Yet found no ease of griefe, nor hope of grace,

Vnto those woods he turned backe againe,

Full of sad anguish, and in heauy case:

And finding there fit solitary place

For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,

Where hardly eye mote see bright heauens face,

For mossy trees, which couered all with shade

And sad melancholy, there he his cabin made.

39
His wonted warlike weapons all he broke,

And threw away, with vow to vse no more,

Ne thenceforth euer strike in battell stroke,

Ne euer word to speake to woman more;

But in that wildernesse, of men forlore,

And of the wicked world forgotten quight,

His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,

And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight;

So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne despight.

40
And eke his garment, to be thereto meet,

He wilfully did cut and shape anew;

And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet

To be embauhn'd, and sweat out dainty dew,

He let to grow and griesly to concrew,

Vncomb'd, vncurl'd, and carelesly vnshed;

That in short time his face they ouergrew,

And ouer all his shoulders did dispred,

That who he whilome was, vneath was to be red.

41
There he continued in this carefull plight,

Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,

Through wilfull penury consumed quight,

That like a pined ghost he soone appeares.

For other food then that wilde forrest beares,

Ne other drinke there did he euer tast,

Then running water, tempred with his teares,

The more his weakened body so to wast:

That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last

42
For on a day, by fortune as it fell,

His owne deare Lord Prince
Arthure
came that way,

Seeking aduentures, where he mote heare tell;

And as he through the wandring wood did stray,

Hauing espide this Cabin far away,

He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne;

Weening therein some holy Hermit lay,

That did resort of sinfull people shonne;

Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorching sunne.

43
Arriuing there, he found this wretched man,

Spending his daies in dolour and despaire,

And through long fasting woxen pale and wan,

All ouergrowen with rude and rugged haire;

That albeit his owne deare Squire he were,

Yet he him knew not, ne auiz'd at all,

But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where,

Saluting him, gan into speach to fall,

And pitty much his plight, that liu'd like outcast thrall.

44
But to his speach he aunswered no whit,

But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum,

Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit,

As one with griefe and anguishe ouercum,

And vnto euery thing did aunswere mum:

And euer when the Prince vnto him spake,

He louted lowly, as did him becum,

And humble homage did vnto him make,

Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.

45
At which his vncouth guise and vsage quaint

The Prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse

The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint;

Yet weend by secret signes of manlinesse,

Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,

That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene,

Traind vp in feats of armes and knightlinesse;

Which he obseru'd, by that he him had seene

To weld his naked sword, and try the edges keene.

46
And eke by that he saw on euery tree,

How he the name of one engrauen had,

Which likly was his liefest loue to be,

For whom he now so sorely was bestad;

Which was by him
BELPHEBE
rightly rad.

Yet who was that
Belphebe,
he ne wist;

Yet saw he often how he wexed glad,

When he it heard, and how the ground he kist,

Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist.

47
Tho when he long had marked his demeanor,

And saw that all he said and did, was vaine,

Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor,

Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine,

He left him there in languor to remaine,

Till time for him should remedy prouide,

And him restore to former grace againe.

Which for it is too long here to abide,

I will deferre the end vntill another tide.

The gentle Squire reamers grace,
   Sclaunder her guests doth staine:
Corflambo chaseth Placidas,
   And is by Arthure slaine.

1
Well said the wiseman, now prou'd true by this,

Which to this gentle Squire did happen late,

That the displeasure of the mighty is

Then death it selfe more dread and desperate.

For naught the same may calme ne mitigate,

Till time the tempest doe thereof delay

With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can abate,

And haue the sterne remembrance wypt away

Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein infixed lay.

2
Like as it fell to this vnhappy boy,

Whose tender heart the faire
Belphebe
had,

With one sterne looke so daunted, that no ioy

In all his life, which afterwards he lad,

He euer tasted, but with penaunce sad

And pensiue sorrow pind and wore away,

Ne euer laught, ne once shew'd countenance glad;

But alwaies wept and wailed night and day,

As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish & decay;

3
Till on a day, as in his wonted wise

His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle Doue

To come, where he his dolors did deuise,

That likewise late had lost her dearest loue,

Which losse her made like passion also proue.

Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart

With deare compassion deeply did emmoue,

That she gan mone his vndeserued smart,

And with her dolefull accent beare with him a part.

4
Shee sitting by him as on ground he lay,

Her mournefull notes full piteously did frame,

And thereof made a lamentable lay,

So sensibly compyld, that in the same

Him seemed oft he heard his owne right name.

With that he forth would poure so plenteous teares,

And beat his breast vnworthy of such blame,

And knocke his head, and rend his rugged heares,

That could haue perst the hearts of Tigres & of Beares.

5
Thus long this gentle bird to him did vse,

Withouten dread of perill to repaire

Vnto his wonne, and with her mournefull muse

Him to recomfort in his greatest care,

That much did ease his mourning and misfare:

And euery day for guerdon of her song,

He part of his small feast to her would share;

That at the last of all his woe and wrong

Companion she became, and so continued long.

6
Vpon a day as she him sate beside,

By chance he certaine miniments forth drew,

Which yet with him as relickes did abide

Of all the bounty, which
Belphebe
threw

On him, whilst goodly grace she did him shew:

Amongst the rest a iewell rich he found,

That was a Ruby of right perfect hew,

Shap'd like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound,

And with a litle golden chaine about it bound.

7
The same he tooke, and with a riband new,

In which his Ladies colours were, did bind

About the turtles necke, that with the vew

Did greatly solace his engrieued mind.

All vnawares the bird, when she did find

Her selfe so deckt, her nimble wings displaid,

And flew away, as lightly as the wind:

Which sodaine accident him much dismaid,

And looking after long, did marke which way she straid.

8
But when as long he looked had in vaine,

Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,

His weary eie returnd to him againe,

Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,

That both his iuell he had lost so light,

And eke his deare companion of his care.

But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right

Through the wide region of the wastfull aire,

Vntill she came where wonned his
Belphebe
faire.

9
There found she her (as then it did betide)

Sitting in couert shade of arbors sweet,

After late weary toile, which she had tride

In saluage chase, to rest as seem'd her meet.

There she alighting, fell before her feet,

And gan to her her mournfull plaint to make,

As was her wont, thinking to let her weet

The great tormenting griefe, that for her sake

Her gentle Squire through her displeasure did pertake.

10
She her beholding with attentiue eye,

At length did marke about her purple brest

That precious iuell, which she formerly

Had knowne right well with colourd ribbands drest:

Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest

With ready hand it to haue reft away.

But the swift bird obayd not her behest,

But swaru'd aside, and there againe did stay;

She follow'd her, and thought againe it to assay.

11
And euer when she nigh approcht, the Doue

Would flit a litle forward, and then stay,

Till she drew neare, and then againe remoue;

So tempting her still to pursue the pray,

And still from her escaping soft away:

Till that at length into that forrest wide,

She drew her far, and led with slow delay.

In th'end she her vnto that place did guide,

Whereas that wofull man in languor did abide.

12
Efisoones she flew vnto his fearelesse hand,

And there a piteous ditty new deuiz'd,

As if she would haue made him vnderstand,

His sorrowes cause to be of her despis'd.

Whom when she saw in wretched weedes disguiz'd,

With heary glib deform'd, and meiger face,

Like ghost late risen from his graue agryz'd,

She knew him not, but pittied much his case,

And wisht it were in her to doe him any grace.

13
He her beholding, at her feet downe fell,

And kist the ground on which her sole did tread,

And washt the same with water, which did well

From his moist eies, and like two streames procead,

Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread

What mister wight he was, or what he ment,

But as one daunted with her presence dread,

Onely few ruefull lookes vnto her sent,

As messengers of his true meaning and intent.

14
Yet nathemore his meaning she ared,

But wondred much at his so selcouth case,

And by his persons secret seemlyhed

Well weend, that he had beene some man of place,

Before misfortune did his hew deface:

That being mou'd with ruth she thus bespake.

Ah wofull man, what heauens hard disgrace,

Or wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake?

Of selfe disliked life doth thee thus wretched make?

15
If heauen, then none may it redresse or blame,

Sith to his powre we all are subiect borne:

If wrathfull wight, then fowle rebuke and shame

Be theirs, that haue so cruell thee forlorne;

But if through inward griefe or wilfull scorne

Of life it be, then better doe aduise.

For he whose dales in wilfull woe are worne,

The grace of his Creator doth despise,

That will not vse his gifts for thanklesse nigardise.

16
When so he heard her say, eftsoones he brake

His sodaine silence, which he long had pent,

And sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake;

Then haue they all themselues against me bent:

For heauen, first author of my languishment,

Enuying my too great felicity,

Did closely with a cruell one consent,

To cloud my daies in dolefull misery,

And make me loath this life, still longing for to die.

17
Ne any but your selfe, ô dearest dred,

Hath done this wrong, to wreake on worthlesse wight

Your high displesure, through misdeeming bred:

That when your pleasure is to deeme aright,

Ye may redresse, and me restore to light.

Which sory words her mightie hart did mate

With mild regard, to see his ruefull plight,

That her inburning wrath she gan abate,

And him receiu'd againe to former fauours state.

18
In which he long time afterwards did lead

An happie life with grace and good accord,

Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or enuies dread,

And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare Lord

The noble Prince, who neuer heard one word

Of tydings, what did vnto him betide,

Or what good fortune did to him afford,

But through the endlesse world did wander wide,

Him seeking euermore, yet no where him descride.

19
Till on a day as through that wood he rode,

He chaunst to come where those two Ladies late,

Æmylia
and
Amoret
abode,

Both in full sad and sorrowfull estate;

The one right feeble through the euill rate

Of food, which in her duresse she had found:

The other almost dead and desperate

Through her late hurts, and through that haplesse wound,

With which the Squire in her defence her sore astound.

20
Whom when the Prince beheld, he gan to rew

The euill case in which those Ladies lay;

But most was moued at the piteous vew

Of Amoret,
so neare vnto decay,

That her great daunger did him much dismay.

Eftsoones that pretious liquour forth he drew,

Which he in store about him kept alway,

And with few drops thereof did softly dew

Her wounds, that vnto strength restor'd her soone anew.

21
Tho when they both recouered were right well,

He gan of them inquire, what euill guide

Them thether brought, and how their harmes befell.

To whom they told all, that did them betide,

And how from thraldome vile they were vntide

Of that same wicked Carle, by Virgins hond;

Whose bloudie corse they shew'd him there beside,

And eke his caue, in which they both were bond:

At which he wondred much, when all those signes he fond.

22
And euermore he greatly did desire

To know, what Virgin did them thence vnbind;

And oft of them did earnestly inquire,

Where was her won, and how he mote her find.

But when as nought according to his mind

He could outlearne, he them from ground did reare:

No seruice lothsome to a gentle kind;

And on his warlike beast them both did beare,

Himselfe by them on foot, to succour them from feare.

23
So when that forrest they had passed well,

A litle cotage farre away they spide,

To which they drew, ere night vpon them fell;

And entring in, found none therein abide,

But one old woman sitting there beside,

Vpon the ground in ragged rude attyre,

With filthy lockes about her scattered wide,

Gnawing her nayles for felnesse and for yre,

And there out sucking venime to her parts entyre.

24
A foule and loathly creature sure in sight,

And in conditions to be loath'd no lesse:

For she was stuft with rancour and despight

Vp to the throat, that oft with bittemesse

It forth would breake, and gush in great excesse,

Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall

Gainst all, that truth or vertue doe professe,

Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall,

And wickedly backbite: Her name men
Sclaunder
call.

25
Her nature is all goodnesse to abuse,

And causelesse crimes continually to frame,

With which she guiltlesse persons may accuse,

And steale away the crowne of their good name;

Ne euer Knight so bold, ne euer Dame

So chast and loyall liu'd, but she would striue

With forged cause them falsely to defame;

Ne euer thing so well was doen aliue,

But she with blame would blot, & of due praise depriue.

26
Her words were not, as common words are ment,

T'expresse the meaning of the inward mind,

But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit sent

From inward parts, with cancred malice lind,

And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind;

Which passing through the eares, would pierce the hart,

And wound the soule it selfe with griefe vnkind:

For like the stings of Aspes, that kill with smart,

Her spightfull words did pricke, & wound the inner part

27
Such was that Hag, vnmeet to host such guests,

Whom greatest Princes court would welcome fayne,

But neede, that answers not to all requests,

Bad them not looke for better entertayne;

And eke that age despysed nicenesse vaine,

Enur'd to hardnesse and to homely fare,

Which them to warlike discipline did trayne,

And manly limbs endur'd with litle care

Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse misfare.

28
Then all that euening welcommed with cold,

And chearelesse hunger, they together spent;

Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did scold

And rayle at them with grudgefull discontent,

For lodging there without her owne consent:

Yet they endured all with patience milde,

And vnto rest themselues all onely lent,

Regardlesse of that queane so base and vilde,

To be vniustly blamd, and bitterly reuilde.

29
Here well I weene, when as these rimes be red

With misregard, that some rash witted wight,

Whose looser thought will h'ghtly be misled,