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Therefore I read? beware." "Fly, fly!” At last resolving forward still to fare,
quoth then Till that some end they finde, or in or out,
The fearefull dwarfe: "this is no place for
living men.” That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare,
XIV And like to lead the labyrinth about;l But full of fire and greedy hardiment, Which when by tract? they hunted had The youthfull knight could not for ought throughout,
be staide, At length it brought them to a hollowe
But forth unto the darksom hole he went, cave,
And looked in: his glistring armor made 121 Amid the thickest woods. The champion A litle glooming light, much like a shade, stout
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, Eftsoones dismounted from his courser Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, brave,
But th' other halfe did womans shape reAnd to the dwarfe a while his needlesse taine,
125 spere he gave.
Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile
"Be well aware," quoth then that ladie
milde, "Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash pro His lady, seeing all that chaunst, from voke:
235 The danger hid, the place unknowne and Approcht in hast to greet his victorie, wilde,
And saide, “Faire knight, borne under Breedes dreadfull doubts: oft fire is with
happie starre, out smoke,
Who see your vanquisht foes before you And perill without show: therefore your lye, stroke,
Well worthie be you of that armory, Sirknight, with-hold, till further tryall Wherein ye have great glory wonne this made." 105 day,
240 "Ah, ladie,” sayd he, "shame were to re
And proov'd your strength on a strong enivoke
mie, The forward footing for an hidden shade: Your first adventure: many such I pray, Vertue gives her selfe light, through And henceforth ever wish that like succeed darkenesse for to wade."4
Then mounted he upon his steede againe, “Yea, but,” quoth she, “the perill of this And with the lady backward sought to place
245 I better wot then you; though nowe too That path he kept which beaten was most late
plaine, To wish you backe returne with foule dis Ne ever would to any by way bend, grace,
But still did follow one unto the end, Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the The which at last out of the wood them
brought. To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. So forward on his way (with God to frend) This is the wandring wood, this Errours He passed forth, and new adventure den,
251 A monster vile, whom God and man does Long way he traveiled, before he heard of hate:
4 walk, go.
8 impetuous hardihood.
May ever passe, but thorough great dis
tresse. At length they chaunst to meet upon the
“Now,” saide the ladie, “draweth toward way An aged sire, in long blacke weedes1
And well I wote, that of your later fight yclad,
Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,285 His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie
But, wanting rest, will also want of might? gray,
255 And by his belte his booke he hanging had;
The Sunne, that measures heaven all day Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,
long, And to the ground his eyes were lowly
At night doth baites his steedes the ocean bent,
waves emong. Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad,
XXXIII And all the way he prayed as he went, 260 And often knockt his brest, as one that did “Then with the Sunne take, sir, your repent.
timely rest, XXX
And with new day new worke at once be
gin: He faire the knight saluted, louting? low,
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell Who faire him quited, as that courteous
“Right well, sir knight, ye have advised And after asked him, if he did know
bin," Of straunge adventures, which abroad did Quoth then that aged man; “the way to pas.
win “Ah! my dear sonne," quoth he, “how
Is wisely to advise: now day is spent; should, alas!
Therefore with me ye may take up your Silly* old man, that lives in hidden cell,
295 Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,
For this same night.” The knight was Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell?
well content: With holy father sits not with such
So with that godly father to his home they thinges to mell.?
XXXIV "But if of daunger, which hereby doth
A litle lowly hermitage it was, dwell,
Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, And homebredd evil desire to heare,
Far from resort of people, that did pas 300 ye
In traveill to and froe: a litle wydelo
There was an holy chappell edifyde, 11
Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say neare." "Of such," saide he, "I chiefly doe in
His holy thinges each morne and even
275 And shall you well rewarde to shew the Thereby a christall streame did gently place,
Which from a sacred fountaine welled In which that wicked wight his dayes doth
forth alway. For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace,
XXXV That such a cursed creature lives so long a Arrived there, the little house they fill, space.'
Ne looke for entertainement, where none XXXII “Far hence,” quoth he, “in wastfull wil
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their
280 His dwelling is, by which no living wight The noblest mind the best contentment
310 1 clothes. 3 requited. 4 simple.
take thought, consider. 5 telling, counting.
10 a little way off.
With faire discourse the evening so they To aide his friendes, or fray: his enimies: pas:
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, For that olde man of pleasing wordes had | And fittest for to forge true-seeming store,
340 And well could file his tongue as smooth | The one of them he gave a message too, as glas:
The other by him selfe staide, other worke He told of saintes and popes, and ever
And through the world of waters wide and The drouping night thus creepeth on them deepe, fast,
To Morpheus house doth hastily reAnd the sad humor loading their eye paire.
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast And low, where dawning day doth never Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep peepe, them biddes:
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Unto their lodgings then his guestes he Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth riddes 2
320 steepe Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, 350 he findes,
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle He to his studie goes, and there amiddes black doth spred. His magick bookes and artes of sundrie kindes,
XL He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble Whose doublé gates he findeth locked fast, sleepy minds.
The one faire fram'd of burnisht
yvory, The other all with silver overcast; XXXVII
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe Then choosing out few words most horri- lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy, (Let none them read) thereof did verses Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. frame;
By them the sprite doth passe in quietly, With which and other spelles like terrible, And
unto Morpheus comes, whom He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame,
drowned deepe And cursed heven, and spake reprochful In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he shame
takes keepe. Of highest God, the Lord of life and
330 A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name
And more to lulle him in his slumber soft, Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead A trickling streame from high rock tumnight,
bling downe, At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put
And ever drizling raine upon the loft, to flight.
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a And forth he cald out of deepe darknes Swowne:
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous Legions of sprights, the which, like litle
As stille are wont t'annoy the walled Fluttring about his ever damned hedd,
towne, Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
widely diffused. heavy moisture.
2 sends ofl.
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet
From CANTO III lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.
Nought is there under heav'ns wide XLII
hotlownesse, The messenger approching him That moves more deare compassion of spake,
mind, But his waste wordes retournd to him in Then beautie brought t'unworthie wretchvaine:
ednesse So sound he slept, that nought mought him Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes awake.
unkind: Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with I, whether lately through her brightnes paine,
5 Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe Or through alleageance and fast fealty, Shooke him so hard, that forced him to Which I do owe unto all womankynd, speake.
hart perst with so great agony, As one then in a dreame, whose dryer When such I see, that all for pitty I could braine
dy. Is tost with troubled sights and fancies
II weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his
And now it is empassioned so deepe, silence breake.
For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing,
That my frayle eies these lines with teares XLIII
To thinke how she through guyleful The sprite then gan more boldly him to
handeling, wake, And threatned unto him the dreaded Though true as touch, though daughter of
380 Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake,
Though faire as ever living wight was And, lifting up his lompish head, with
15 Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, blame
Is from her knight divorced in despayre, Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. "Hether," quoth he, "me Archimago sent,
And her dew loves deryv'd' to that vile He that the stubborne sprites can wisely
witches shayre. tame;
385 He bids thee to him send for his intent A fit false dreame, that can delude the Yet she, most faithfull Ladie, all this while sleepers sent."1
Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd,
In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd, The god obayde, and calling forth straight To seeke her knight; who, subtily betrayd way
Through that late vision which th' enA diverse dreame out of his prison darke, chaunter wrought, Delivered it to him, and downe did lay 390 Had her abandond. She, of nought His heavie head, devoide of careful carke;? affrayd,
25 Whose sences all were straight benumbd Through woods and wastnes wide him and starke.
daily sought; He, backe returning by the yvorie dore, Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her Remounted up as light as cheareful larke,
brought. And on his litle winges the dreame he bore In hast unto his lord, where he him left afore.
One day, nigh wearie of the yrksome way,
From her unhastie beast she did alight; ? anxiety. : i. e. beauty's. 4 diverted.
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay,
VIII In secrete shadow, far from all mens
Redounding teares did choke th' end of her sight:
plaint, From her fayre head her fillet she undight, which softly ecchoed from the neighbour And layd her stole aside. Her angels face
65 As the great eye of heaven shyned bright, And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint, And made a sunshine in the shady place;35 The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; Did never mortall eye behold such heav
With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry enly grace.
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne, V
Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
And to her snowy palfrey got agayne, A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly,
To seeke her strayed champion if she Hunting full greedy after salvage' blood.
might attayne. Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have attonce devourd her tender corse;? The lyon would not leave her desolate, But to the pray when as he drew more
But with her went along, as a strong gard ny,
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate75 His bloody rage aswaged with remorse,
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: And, with the sight amazd, forgat his Still, when she slept, he kept both watch furious forse.
45 and ward,
And when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard: In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
From her fayre eyes he tooke commandeAnd lickt her lilly hands with fawning
And ever by her lookes conceived her As he her wronged innocence did weet.3
CANTO XI sion,
The knight with that old Dragon fights Still dreading death, when she had marked
Two days incessantly: long,
The third him overthrowes, and gayns Her hart gan melt in great compassion,
Most glorious victory.
To thinke of those her captive parents "The lyon, lord of everie beast in field,” 55 deare, Quoth she, “his princely puissance doth And their forwasted' kingdom to repayre: abate,
Whereto whenas they now approched And mightie proud to humble weake does
With hartie wordes her knight she gan to Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late cheare,
5 Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: And in her modest maner thus bespake: But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, 60 “Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was How does he find in cruell hart to hate
deare, Her that him lov'd and ever most adord That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake, As the God of my life? why hath he me High heven behold the tedious toyle ye for
abhord?” savage. 2 body.