XII. 100 'Be well aware,' quoth then that lady mild, 'Lest sudden mischief ye too rash provoke; The danger hid, the place unkown and wild, Breeds dreadful doubts. Oft fire is without smoke, 104 And peril without show; therefore your stroke, Sir Knight, withhold, till further trial made.' 'Ah, Lady,' said he, 'shame were to revoke The forward footing for a hidden shade: 108 Virtue gives herself light through darkness for to wade.' XIII. 'Yea but,' quoth she, 'the peril of this place I better wot than you, though now too late To wish you back return with foul disgrace; 112 Yet wisdom warns, whilst foot is in the gait, To stay the step, ere forced to retreat. This is the Wand'ring Wood, this Error's den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate. 116 Therefore I read beware.' 'Fly, fly,' quoth then The fearful dwarf, 'this is no place for living men.' XIV. But full of fire and greedy hardiment, The youthful knight could not for ought be stay'd, 120 But forth unto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: his glist'ring armour made A little glooming light, much like a shade, By which he saw the ugly monster plain, 124 Half like a serpent horribly display'd, But th' other half did woman's shape retain, Most loathsome, filthy, foul, and full of vile disdain. XV. And as she lay upon the dirty ground, Soon as that uncouth light upon them shone, XVI. 186 Their dam upstart out of her den afraid, And rushed forth, hurling her hideous tail About her cursed head, whose folds display'd Were stretch'd now forth at length without entrail. 140 She look'd about, and seeing one in mail, 144 Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plain. XVII. Which when the valiant elf perceiv'd, he leapt And with his trenchant blade her boldly kept 152 Who, nought aghast, his mighty hand enhanced: The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glanced. XVIII. Much daunted with that dint her sense was daz'd; Yet, kindling rage, herself she gathered round, 166 And all at once her beastly body rais'd With doubled forces high above the ground: 160 All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stir he strove in vain. God help the man so wrapt in Error's endless train. XIX. His lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 164 Cried out, 'Now, now, Sir Knight, show what ye be; XX. 172 Therewith she spew'd out of her filthy maw A flood of poison, horrible and black, Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw, Which stunk so vilely, that it forced him slack 176 His grasping hold, and from her turn him back. Her vomit full of books and papers was, With loathly frogs and toads, which eyes did lack And creeping sought way in the weedy grass: 180 Her filthy parbreak all the place defiled has. XXI. As when old father Nilus 'gins to swell Huge heaps of mud he leaves, wherein there breed 188 And partly female, of his fruitful seed: Such ugly monstrous shapes elsewhere may no man read. XXII. The same so sore annoyed has the knight, 192 His forces fail, ne can no longer fight. Whose courage when the fiend perceived to shrink, 196 Deformed monsters, foul, and black as ink, And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all. XXIII. As gentle shepherd in sweet even-tide, 200 When ruddy Phoebus 'gins to welk in west, That from their noyance he nowhere can rest, He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings; XXIV. 208 Thus ill bested, and fearful more of shame 212 Or soon to lose, before he once would lin; That from her body, full of filthy sin, He raft her hateful head without remorse: 216 A stream of coal-black blood forth gushed from her corse. XXV. Her scattered brood, soon as their parent dear They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groaning full deadly, all with troublous fear 220 Gathered themselves about her body round. Weening their wonted entrance to have found Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good. XXVI. That detestable sight him much amaz'd, To see th' unkindly imps, of heaven accurst, Their bellies swoln he saw with fullness burst, 232 Of such as drunk her life, the which them nursed. Now needeth him no longer labour spend, His foes have slain themselves, with whom he should contend. XXVII. His lady, seeing all that chanced from far, 240 Wherein ye have great glory won this day, And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.' XXVIII. 244 Then mounted he upon his steed again, And with the lady backward sought to wend. 248 But still did follow one unto the end, The which at last out of the wood them brought. SONNET. [From Amoretti (1595)] LXX. Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, 4 In goodly colours gloriously array'd, Go to my love, where she is careless laid, Yet in her winter's bower not well awake; Tell her the joyous time will not be stay'd, 8 Unless she do him by the forelock take; Bid her, therefore, herself soon ready make, Make haste, therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime; From the EPITHALAMION. [1595] Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time; The merry lark her matins sings aloft; The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays; 10 So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long? Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing, My love is now awake out of her dreams, 20 And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were 25 But first come ye fair Hours, which were begot And all, that ever in this world is fair, Do make and still repair: 30 And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen, 80 The which do still adorn her beauty's pride, Help to adorn my beautifullest bride: And, as ye her array, still throw between 85 And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring. |