A Note on the Renascence Editions text:

This HTML etext of The Faerie Queene was prepared from The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Edmund Spenser [Grosart, London, 1882] by Risa S. Bear at the University of Oregon. Inside lines of stanzas appear left-justified due to limitations of proportional fonts in html. The text is in the public domain. Unique content is copyright © 1995 University of Oregon; this text is distributed for nonprofit use only.

T He waies, through which my weary steps I guyde,
  In this delightfull land of Faery,
  Are so exceeding spacious and wyde,
  And sprinckled with such sweet variety,
  Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye,
  That I nigh rauisht with rare thoughts delight,
  My tedious trauell doe forget thereby;
  And when I gin to feele decay of might,
It strength to me supplies, & chears my dulled spright.

Such secret comfort, and such heauenly pleasures,
  Ye sacred imps, that on Parnasso dwell,
  And there the keeping haue of learnings threasures,
  Which doe all worldly riches farre excell,
  Into the mindes of mortall men doe well,
  And goodly fury into them infuse;
  Guyde ye my footing, and conduct me well
  In these strange waies, where neuer foote did vse,
Ne none can find, but who was taught them by the Muse.

Reuele to me the sacred noursery
  Of vertue, which with you doth there remaine,
  Where it in siluer bowre does hidden ly
  From view of men, and wicked worlds disdaine.
  Since it at first was by the Gods with paine
  Planted in earth, being deriu'd at furst
  From heauenly seedes of bounty soueraine,
  And by them long with carefull labour nurst,
Till it to ripenesse grew, and forth to honour burst.

Amongst them all growes not a fayrer flowre,
  Then is the bloosme of comely courtesie,
  Which though it on a lowly stalke doe bowre,
  Yet brancheth forth in braue nobilitie,
  And spreds it selfe through all ciuilitie:
  Of which though present age doe plenteous seeme,
  Yet being matcht with plaine Antiquitie,
  Ye will them all but fayned showes esteeme,
Which carry colours faire, that feeble eies misdeeme.

But in the triall of true curtesie,
  Its now so farre from that, which then it was,
  That it indeed is nought but forgerie,
  Fashion'd to please the eies of them, that pas,
  Which see not perfet things but in a glas:
  Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can blynd
  The wisest sight, to thinke gold that is bras.
  But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd,
And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd.

But where shall I in all Antiquity
  So faire a patterne finde, where may be seene
  The goodly praise of Princely curtesie,
  As in your selfe, O soueraine Lady Queene,
  In whose pure minde, as in a mirrour sheene
  It showes, and with her brightnesse doth inflame
  The eyes of all, which thereon fixed beene;
  But meriteth indeede an higher name:
Yet so from low to high vplifted is your fame.

Then pardon me, most dreaded Soueraine,
  That from your selfe I doe this vertue bring,
  And to your selfe doe it returne againe:
  So from the Ocean all riuers spring,
  And tribute backe repay as to their King.
  Right so from you all goodly vertues well
  Into the rest, which round about you ring,
  Faire Lords and Ladies, which about you dwell,
And doe adorne your Court, where courtesies excell.

Calidore saues from Maleffort,
  A Damzell vsed vylde:
Doth vanquish Crudor, and doth make
  Briana wexe more mylde.

O F Court it seemes, men Courtesie doe call,
  For that it there most vseth to abound;
  And well beseemeth that in Princes hall
  That vertue should be plentifully found,
  Which of all goodly manners is the ground,
  And roote of ciuill conuersation.
  Right so in Faery court it did redound,
  Where curteous Knights and Ladies most did won
Of all on earth, and made a matchlesse paragon.

But mongst them all was none more courteous Knight,
  Then Calidore, beloued ouer all,
  In whom it seemes, that gentlenesse of spright
  And manners mylde were planted naturall;
  To which he adding comely guize withall,
  And gracious speach, did steale mens hearts away.
  Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall,
  And well approu'd in batteilous affray,
That him did much renowme, and far his fame display.

Ne was there Knight, ne was there Lady found
  In Faery court, but him did deare embrace,
  For his faire vsage and conditions sound,
  The which in all mens liking gayned place,
  And with the greatest purchast greatest grace:
  Which he could wisely vse, and well apply,
  To please the best, and th'euill to embase.
  For he loathd leasing, and base flattery,
And loued simple truth and stedfast honesty.

And now he was in trauell on his way,
  Vppon an hard aduenture sore bestad,
  Whenas by chaunce he met vppon a day
  With Artegall, returning yet halfe sad
  From his late conquest, which he gotten had.
  Who whenas each of other had a sight,
  They knew them selues, and both their persons rad:
  When Calidore thus first; Haile noblest Knight
Of all this day on ground, that breathen liuing spright.

Now tell, if please you, of the good successe,
  Which ye haue had in your late enterprize.
  To whom Sir Artegall gan to expresse
  His whole exploite, and valorous emprize,
  In order as it did to him arize.
  Now happy man (sayd then Sir Calidore)
  Which haue so goodly, as ye can deuize,
  Atchieu'd so hard a quest, as few before;
That shall you most renowmed make for euermore.

But where ye ended haue, now I begin
  To tread an endlesse trace, withouten guyde,
  Or good direction, how to enter in,
  Or how to issue forth in waies vntryde,
  In perils strange, in labours long and wide;
  In which although good Fortune me befall,
  Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.
  What is that quest (quoth then Sir Artegall)
That you into such perils presently doth call?

The Blattant Beast (quoth he) I doe pursew,
  And through the world incessantly doe chase,
  Till I him ouertake, or else subdew:
  Yet know I not or how, or in what place
  To find him out, yet still I forward trace.
  What is that Blattant Beast? (then he replide)
  It is a Monster bred of hellishe race,
  (Then answerd he) which often hath annoyd
Good Knights and Ladies true, and many else destroyd.

Of Cerberus whilome he was begot,
  And fell Chimaelig;ra in her darkesome den,
  Through fowle commixture of his filthy blot;
  Where he was fostred long in Stygian fen,
  Till he to perfect ripenesse grew, and then
  Into this wicked world he forth was sent,
  To be the plague and scourge of wretched men:
  Whom with vile tongue and venemous intent
He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment.

Then since the saluage Island I did leaue
  Sayd Artegall, I such a Beast did see,
  The which did seeme a thousand tongues to haue,
  That all in spight and malice did agree,
  With which he bayd and loudly barkt at mee,
  As if that he attonce would me deuoure.
  But I that knew my selfe from perill free,
  Did nought regard his malice nor his powre,
But he the more his wicked poyson forth did poure.

That surely is that Beast (saide Calidore)
  Which I pursue, of whom I am right glad
  To heare these tidings, which of none afore
  Through all my weary trauell I haue had:
  Yet now some hope your words vnto me add.
  Now God you speed (quoth then Sir Artegall)
  And keepe your body from the daunger drad:
  For ye haue much adoe to deale withall.
So both tooke goodly leaue, and parted seuerall.

Sir Calidore thence trauelled not long,
  When as by chaunce a comely Squire he found,
  That thorough some more mighty enemies wrong,
  Both hand and foote vnto a tree was bound:
  Who seeing him from farre, with piteous sound
  Of his shrill cries him called to his aide.
  To whom approching, in that painefull stound
  When he him saw, for no demaunds he staide,
But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him saide.

Vnhappy Squire, what hard mishap thee brought
  Into this bay of perill and disgrace?
  What cruell hand thy wretched thraldome wrought,
  And thee captyued in this shamefull place?
  To whom he answerd thus; My haplesse case
  Is not occasiond through my misdesert,
  But through misfortune, which did me abase
  Vnto this shame, and my young hope subuert,
Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well expert.

Not farre from hence, vppon yond rocky hill,
  Hard by a streight there stands a castle strong,
  Which doth obserue a custome lewd and ill,
  And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong:
  For may no Knight nor Lady passe along
  That way, (and yet they needs must passe that way),
  By reason of the streight, and rocks among,
  But they that Ladies lockes doe shaue away,
And that knights berd for toll, which they for passage pay.

A shamefull vse as euer I did heare,
  Sayd Calidore, and to be ouerthrowne.
  But by what meanes did they at first it reare,
  And for what cause, tell if thou haue it knowne.
  Sayd then that Squire: The Lady which doth owne
  This Castle, is by name Briana hight.
  Then which a prouder Lady liueth none:
  She long time hath deare lou'd a doughty Knight,
And sought to win his loue by all the meanes she might.

His name is Crudor, who through high disdaine
  And proud despight of his selfe pleasing mynd,
  Refused hath to yeeld her loue againe,
  Vntill a Mantle she for him doe fynd,
  With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies lynd.
  Which to prouide, she hath this Castle dight,
  And therein hath a Seneschall assynd,
  Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might,
Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight.

He this same day, as I that way did come
  With a faire Damzell, my beloued deare,
  In execution of her lawlesse doome,
  Did set vppon vs flying both for feare:
  For little bootes against him hand to reare.
  Me first he tooke, vnhable to withstond;
  And whiles he her pursued euery where,
  Till his returne vnto this tree he bond:
Ne wote I surely, whether her he yet haue fond.

Thus whiles they spake, they heard a ruefull shrieke
  Of one loud crying, which they streight way ghest,
  That it was she, the which for helpe did seeke.
  Tho looking vp vnto the cry to lest,
  They saw that Carle from farre, with hand vnblest
  Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare,
  That all her garments from her snowy brest,
  And from her head her lockes he nigh did teare,
Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for feare.

Which haynous sight when Calidore beheld,
  Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so him left,
  With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld,
  For to pursue that villaine, which had reft
  That piteous spoile by so iniurious theft.
  Whom ouertaking, loude to him he cryde;
  Leaue faytor quickely that misgotten weft
  To him, that hath it better iustifyde,
And turne thee soone to him, of whom thou art defyde.

Who hearkning to that voice, him selfe vpreard,
  And seeing him so fiercely towardes make,
  Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard,
  But rather more enrag'd for those words sake;
  And with sterne count'naunce thus vnto him spake.
  Art thou the caytiue, that defyest me,
  And for this Mayd, whose party thou doest take,
  Wilt giue thy beard, though it but little bee?
Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free.

With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd
  On hideous strokes with most importune might,
  That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd,
  And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight.
  But Calidore, that was well skild in fight,
  Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar'd,
  Lying in waite, how him he damadge might.
  But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward,
He greater grew, and gan to driue at him more hard.

Like as a water streame, whose swelling sourse
  Shall driue a Mill, within strong bancks is pent,
  And long restrayned of his ready course;
  So soone as passage is vnto him lent,
  Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent.
  Such was the fury of Sir Calidore,
  When once he felt his foeman to relent;
  He fiercely him pursu'd, and pressed sore,
Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more.

The heauy burden of whose dreadfull might
  When as the Carle no longer could sustaine,
  His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight
  Toward the Castle, where if need constraine,
  His hope of refuge vsed to remaine.
  Whom Calidore perceiuing fast to flie,
  He him pursu'd and chaced through the plaine,
  That he for dread of death gan loude to crie
Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie.

They from the wall him seeing so aghast,
  The gate soone opened to receiue him in,
  But Calidore did follow him so fast,
  That euen in the Porch he him did win,
  And cleft his head asunder to his chin.
  The carkasse tumbling downe within the dore,
  Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,
  That it could not be shut, whilest Calidore
Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.

With that the rest, the which the Castle kept,
  About him flockt, and hard at him did lay;
  But he them all from him full lightly swept,
  As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,
  With his long taile the bryzes brush away.
  Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,
  Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay
  He was ymett, who with vncomely shame
Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame.

False traytor Knight, (sayd she) no Knight at all,
  But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand
  Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall;
  Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand,
  And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand?
  Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight
  Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand,
  Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right:
And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.

Much was the Knight abashed at that word;
  Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame,
  But to the shamefull doer it afford.
  Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame
  To punish those, that doe deserue the same;
  But they that breake bands of ciuilitie,
  And wicked customes make, those doe defame
  Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.
No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.

Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, forgoe
  This euill manner, which ye here maintaine,
  And doe in stead thereof mild curt'sie showe
  To all, that passe. That shall you glory gaine
  More then his loue, which thus ye seeke t'obtaine.
  Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde;
  Vile recreant, know that I doe much disdaine
  Thy courteous lore, that doest my loue deride,
Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde.

To take defiaunce at a Ladies word
  (Quoth he) I hold it no indignity;
  But were he here, that would it with his sword
  Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.
  Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly,
  Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place.
  If I doe so, (sayd he) then liberty
  I leaue to you, for aye me to disgrace
With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to deface.

With that a Dwarfe she cald to her in hast,
  And taking from her hand a ring of gould,
  A priuy token, which betweene them past,
  Bad him to flie with all the speed he could,
  To Crudor, and desire him that he would
  Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight,
  Who through stro[n]g powre had now her self in hould,
  Hauing late slaine her Seneschall in fight,
And all her people murdred with outragious might.

The Dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night;
  But Calidore did with her there abyde
  The comming of that so much threatned Knight,
  Where that discourteous Dame with scornfull pryde,
  And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,
  That yron heart it hardly could sustaine:
  Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,
  Did well endure her womanish disdaine,
And did him selfe from fraile impatience refraine.

The morrow next, before the lampe of light,
  Aboue the earth vpreard his flaming head,
  The Dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight,
  Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread,
  He would her succour, and aliue or dead
  Her foe deliuer vp into her hand:
  Therefore he wild her doe away all dread;
  And that of him she mote assured stand,
He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band.

Thereof full blyth the Lady streight became,
  And gan t'augment her bitternesse much more:
  Yet no whit more appalled for the same,
  Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore,
  But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore.
  And hauing soone his armes about him dight,
  Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore;
  Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight
He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might.

Well weend he streight, that he should be the same,
  Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine;
  Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,
  But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine.
  They bene ymett in middest of the plaine,
  With so fell fury, and dispiteous forse,
  That neither could the others stroke sustaine,
  But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse,
Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse.

But Calidore vprose againe full light,
  Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound,
  Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:
  For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.
  But when Briana saw that drery stound,
  There where she stood vppon the Castle wall,
  She deem'd him sure to haue bene dead on ground,
  And made such piteous mourning therewithall,
That from the battlements she ready seem'd to fall.

Nathlesse at length him selfe he did vpreare
  In lustlesse wise, as if against his will,
  Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,
  And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill
  Of his late fall, a while he rested still:
  But when he saw his foe before in vew,
  He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill
  Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew,
To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew.

There then began a fearefull cruell fray
  Betwixt them two, for maystery of might.
  For both were wondrous practicke in that play,
  And passing well expert in single fight,
  And both inflam'd with furious despight:
  Which as it still encreast, so still increast
  Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;
  Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,
Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast.

Thus long they trac'd and trauerst to and fro,
  And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make
  Into the life of his malignant foe;
  They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder brake,
  As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake
  Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood,
  That at the last like to a purple lake
  Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood,
Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood.

At length it chaunst, that both their hands on hie,
At once did heaue, with all their powre and might,
  Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie,
  And proue the finall fortune of the fight:
  But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight,
  And nimbler handed, then his enemie,
  Preuented him before his stroke could light,
  And on the helmet smote him formerlie,
That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie.

And ere he could recouer foot againe,
  He following that faire aduantage fast,
  His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,
  That him vpon the ground he groueling cast;
  And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast
  His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way.
  Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast,
  Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay,
But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.

With that his mortall hand a while he stayd,
  And hauing somewhat calm'd his wrathfull heat
  With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;
  And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,
  That menaced me from the field to beat,
  Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne,
  Strangers no more so rudely to intreat,
  But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne,
The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne.

For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,
  That court'sie doth as well as armes professe,
  How euer strong and fortunate in fight,
  Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.
  In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,
  Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:
  All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse,
  Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new;
What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you.

Who will not mercie vnto others shew,
  How can he mercy euer hope to haue?
  To pay each with his owne is right and dew.
  Yet since ye mercie now doe need to craue,
  I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue;
  With these conditions, which I will propound:
  First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue
  Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground;
Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound.

The wretched man, that all this while did dwell
  In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,
  And promist to performe his precept well,
  And whatsoeuer else he would requere.
  So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare
  By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,
  To take Briana for his louing fere,
  Withouten dowre or composition;
But to release his former foule condition.

All which accepting, and with faithfull oth
  Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,
  He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth,
  And swore to him true fealtie for aye.
  Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay
  The sad Briana, which all this beheld:
  Who comming forth yet full of late affray,
  Sir Calidore vpcheard, and to her teld
All this accord, to which he Crudor had compeld.

Whereof she now more glad, then sory earst,
  All ouercome with infinite affect,
  For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
  Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
  Before his feet her selfe she did proiect,
  And him adoring as her liues deare Lord,
  With all due thankes, and dutifull respect,
  Her selfe acknowledg'd bound for that accord,
By which he had to her both life and loue restord.

So all returning to the Castle glad,
  Most ioyfully she them did entertaine,
  Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
  To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,
  By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:
  And after all, vnto Sir Calidore
  She freely gaue that Castle for his paine,
  And her selfe bound to him for euermore;
So wondrously now chaung'd, from that she was afore.

But Calidore himselfe would not retaine
  Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede,
  But gaue them streight vnto that Squire againe,
  Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,
  And to his damzell as their rightfull meed,
  For recompence of all their former wrong:
  There he remaind with them right well agreed,
  Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

Calidore sees young Tristram slay
  A proud discourteous knight:
He makes him Squire, and of him learnes
  his state and present plight.

VV Hat vertue is so fitting for a knight,
  Or for a Ladie, whom a knight should loue,
  As Curtesie, to beare themselues aright
  To all of each degree, as doth behoue?
  For whether they be placed high aboue,
  Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know
  Their good, that none them rightly may reproue
  Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend:
  For some so goodly gratious are by kind,
  That euery action doth them much commend,
  And in the eyes of men great liking find;
  Which others, that haue greater skill in mind,
  Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine.
  For euerie thing, to which one is inclin'd,
  Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine:
Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine.

That well in courteous Calidore appeares,
  Whose euery act and word, that he did say,
  Was like enchantment, that through both the eares,
  And both the eyes did steale the hart away.
  He now againe is on his former way,
  To follow his first quest, when as he spyde
  A tall young man from thence not farre away,
  Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,
Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde.

And them beside a Ladie faire he saw,
  Standing alone on foot, in foule array:
  To whom himselfe he hastily did draw,
  To weet the cause of so vncomely fray,
  And to depart them, if so be he may.
  But ere he came in place, that youth had kild
  That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
  Which when he saw, his hart was inly child
With great amazement, & his thought with wonder fild.

Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee
  A goodly youth of amiable grace,
  Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see
  Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face
  That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race.
  All in a woodmans iacket he was clad
  Of Lincolne greene, belayd with siluer lace;
  And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had.

Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,
  Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part,
  As then the guize was for each gentle swayne;
  In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
  Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
  And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare,
  With which he wont to launch the saluage hart
  Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare
That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare.

Whom Calidore a while well hauing vewed,
  At length bespake; What meanes this, gentle swaine?
  Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed
  In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,
  By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine?
  Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken
  The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,
  Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

For not I him, as this his Ladie here
  May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,
  Ne surely thus vnarm'd I likely were;
  But he me first, through pride and puissance strong
  Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.
  Perdie great blame, (then said Sir Calidore)
  For armed knight a wight vnarm'd to wrong.
  But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne vprore.

That shall I sooth (said he) to you declare.
  I whose vnryper yeares are yet vnfit
  For thing of weight, or worke of greater care,
  Doe spend my dayes, and bend my carelesse wit
  To saluage chace, where I thereon may hit
  In all this forrest, and wyld wooddie raine:
  Where, as this day I was enraunging it,
  I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine,
Together with this Ladie, passing on the plaine.

The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,
  And this his Ladie, (that him ill became,)
  On her faire feet by his horse side did pas
  Through thicke and thin, vnfit for any Dame.
  Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
  When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,
  He with his speare, that was to him great blame,
  Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe.

Which when I saw, as they me passed by,
  Much was I moued in indignant mind,
  And gan to blame him for such cruelty
  Towards a Ladie, whom with vsage kind
  He rather should haue taken vp behind.
  Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,
  Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find,
  And me in lieu thereof reuil'd againe,
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a chyld pertaine.

Which I no lesse disdayning, backe returned
  His scornefull taunts vnto his teeth againe,
  That he streight way with haughtie choler burned,
  And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine;
  Which I enforst to beare though to my paine,
  Cast to requite, and with a slender dart,
  Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,
  Strooke him, as seemeth, vnderneath the hart,
That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.

Much did Sir Calidore admyre his speach
  Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the stroke
  That through the mayles had made so strong a breach
  Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke
  His wrath on him, that first occasion broke.
  Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
  Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke,
  Were soothly so, and that th'vnrighteous ire
Of her owne knight, had giuen him his owne due hire.

Of all which, when as she could nought deny,
  But cleard that stripling of th'imputed blame,
  Sayd then Sir Calidore; Neither will I
  Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:
  For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame;
  And what he did, he did him selfe to saue:
  Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.
  For knights and all men this by nature haue,
Towards all womenkind them kindly to behaue.

But sith that he is gone irreuocable,
  Please it you Ladie, to vs to aread,
  What cause could make him so dishonourable,
  To driue you so on foot vnfit to tread,
  And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead?
  Certes Sir knight (sayd she) full loth I were
  To rayse a lyuing blame against the dead:
  But since it me concernes, my selfe to clere,
I will the truth discouer, as it chaunst whylere.

This day, as he and I together roade
  Vpon our way, to which we weren bent,
  We chaunst to come foreby a couert glade
  Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent
  Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment
  Of their franke loues, free from all gealous spyes:
  Faire was the Ladie sure, that mote content
  An hart, not carried with too curious eyes,
And vnto him did shew all louely courtesyes.

Whom when my knight did see so louely faire,
  He inly gan her louer to enuy,
  And wish, that he part of his spoyle might share.
  Whereto when as my presence he did spy
  To be a let, he bad me by and by
  For to alight: but when as I was loth,
  My loues owne part to leaue so suddenly,
  He with strong hand down fro[m] his steed me throw'th,
And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight go'th.

Vnarm'd all was the knight, as then more meete
  For Ladies seruice, and for loues delight,
  Then fearing any foeman there to meete:
  Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight
  Himselfe to yeeld his loue, or else to fight.
  Whereat the other starting vp dismayd,
  Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might;
  To leaue his loue he should be ill apayd,
In which he had good right gaynst all, that it gainesayd.

Yet since he was not presently in plight
  Her to defend, or his to iustifie,
  He him requested, as he was a knight,
  To lend him day his better right to trie,
  Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,
  Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot,
  Ne time would giue, nor any termes aby,
  But at him flew, and with his speare him smot;
From which to thinke to saue himselfe, it booted not.

Meane while his Ladie, which this outrage saw,
  Whilest they together for the quarrey stroue,
  Into the couert did her selfe withdraw,
  And closely hid her selfe within the groue.
  My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger droue
  And left sore wounded: but when her he mist,
  He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan roue
  And range through all the wood, where so he wist
She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list.

But when as her he by no meanes could find,
  After long search and chauff, he turned backe
  Vnto the place, where me he left behind:
  There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke
  Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke
  To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong.
  Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe,
  Stroue to appease him, and perswaded long:
But still his passion grew more violent and strong.

Then as it were t'auenge his wrath on mee,
  When forward we should fare, he flat refused
  To take me vp (as this young man did see)
  Vpon his steed, for no iust cause accused,
  But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,
  Pounching me with the butt end of his speare,
  In vaine complayning, to be so abused.
  For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,
But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare.

So passed we, till this young man vs met,
  And being moou'd with pittie of my plight,
  Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret:
  Whereof befell, what now is in your sight.
  Now sure (then said Sir Calidore) and right
  Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:
  Who euer thinkes through confidence of might,
  Or through support of count'nance proud and hault
To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault.

Then turning backe vnto that gentle boy,
  Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;
  Seeing his face so louely sterne and coy,
  And hearing th'answeres of his pregnant wit,
  He praysd it much, and much admyred it;
  That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,
  With whom those graces did so goodly fit:
  And when he long had him beholding stood,
He burst into these words, as to him seemed good.

Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,
  That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost wonne,
  Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,
  As they are wont vnto Latonaes sonne,
  After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne:
  Well may I certes such an one thee read,
  As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,
  Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead,
That in thy face appeares and gratious goodlyhead.

But should it not displease thee it to tell;
  (Vnlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale,
  For loue amongst the woodie Gods to dwell;)
  I would thy selfe require thee to reueale,
  For deare affection and vnfayned zeale,
  Which to thy noble personage I beare,
  And wish thee grow in worship and great weale.
  For since the day that armes I first did reare,
I neuer saw in any greater hope appeare.

To whom then thus the noble youth; May be
  Sir knight, that by discouering my estate,
  Harme may arise vnweeting vnto me;
  Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,
  To you I will not feare it to relate.
  Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne,
  Sonne of a King, how euer thorough fate
  Or fortune I my countrie haue forlorne,
And lost the crowne, which should my head by right adorne.

And Tristram is my name, the onely heire
  Of good king Meliogras which did rayne
  In Cornewale, till that he through liues despeire
  Vntimely dyde, before I did attaine
  Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine.
  After whose death, his brother seeing mee
  An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,
  Vpon him tooke the roiall high degree,
And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.

The widow Queene my mother, which then hight
  Faire Emiline, conceiuing then great feare
  Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might
  Of him, that did the kingly Scepter beare,
  Whose gealous dread induring not a peare,
  Is wont to cut off all, that doubt may breed,
  Thought best away me to remoue somewhere
  Into some forrein land, where as no need
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humour feed.

So taking counsell of a wise man red,
  She was by him aduiz'd, to send me quight
  Out of the countrie wherein I was bred,
  The which the fertile Lionesse is hight,
  Into the land of Faerie, where no wight
  Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong.
  To whose wise read she hearkning, sent me streight
  Into this land, where I haue wond thus long,
Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to stature strong.

All which my daies I haue not lewdly spent,
  Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares
  In ydlesse, but as was conuenient,
  Haue trayned bene with many noble feres
  In gentle thewes, and such like seemely leres.
  Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been,
  To hunt the saluage chace amongst my peres,
  Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene;
Of which none is to me vnknowne, that eu'r was seene.

Ne is there hauke, which mantleth her on pearch,
  Whether high towring, or accoasting low,
  But I the measure of her flight doe search,
  And all her pray, and all her diet know.
  Such be our ioyes, which in these forrests grow:
  Onely the vse of armes, which most I ioy,
  And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,
  I haue not tasted yet, yet past a boy,
And being now high time these strong ioynts to imploy.

Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion fit
  Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may,
  Let me this craue, vnworthy though of it,
  That ye will make me Squire without delay,
  That from henceforth in batteilous array
  I may beare armes, and learne to vse them right;
  The rather since that fortune hath this day
  Giuen to me the spoile of this dead knight,
These goodly gilden armes, which I haue won in fight.

All which when well Sir Calidore had heard,
  Him much more now, then earst he gan admire,
  For the rare hope which in his yeares appear'd,
  And thus replide; Faire chyld, the high desire
  To loue of armes, which in you doth aspire,
  I may not certes without blame denie;
  But rather wish, that some more noble hire,
  (Though none more noble then is cheualrie,)
I had, you to reward with greater dignitie.

There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare
  Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,
  And neuer to be recreant, for feare
  Of perill, or of ought that might befall:
  So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.
  Full glad and ioyous then young Tristram grew,
  Like as a flowre, whose silken leaues small,
  Long shut vp in the bud from heauens vew,
At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew.

Thus when they long had treated to and fro,
  And Calidore betooke him to depart,
  Chyld Tristram prayd, that he with him might goe
  On his aduenture, vowing not to start,
  But wayt on him in euery place and part.
  Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,
  And greatly ioy'd at his so noble hart,
  In hope he sure would proue a doughtie knight:
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.

Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire,
  To haue thy presence in my present quest,
  That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
  And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:
  But I am bound by vow, which I profest
  To my dread Soueraine, when I it assayd,
  That in atchieuement of her high behest,
  I should no creature ioyne vnto mine ayde,
For thy I may not graunt, that ye so greatly prayde.

But since this Ladie is all desolate,
  And needeth safegard now vpon her way,
  Ye may doe well in this her needfull state
  To succour her, from daunger of dismay;
  That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.
  The noble ympe of such new seruice fayne,
  It gladly did accept, as he did say.
  So taking courteous leaue, they parted twayne,
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.

But Tristram then despoyling that dead knight
  Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
  Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight
  Of the bright mettall, shyning like Sunne rayes;
  Handling and turning them a thousand wayes.
  And after hauing them vpon him dight,
  He tooke that Ladie, and her vp did rayse
  Vpon the steed of her owne late dead knight:
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.

There to their fortune leaue we them awhile,
  And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore;
  Who ere he thence had traueild many a mile,
  Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore
  This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore
  Another knight in his despiteous pryde;
  There he that knight found lying on the flore,
  With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments, and the grasse in vermeill dyde.

And there beside him sate vpon the ground
  His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning
  With loud laments that most vnluckie stound,
  And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning
  To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.
  Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew
  With heauie eyne, from teares vneath refrayning,
  His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

Then speaking to the Ladie, thus he sayd:
  Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach
  To tell, what cruell hand hath thus arayd
  This knight vnarm'd, with so vnknightly breach
  Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach,
  I may auenge him of so foule despight.
  The Ladie hearing his so courteous speach,
  Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heauie words forth sigh't.

In which she shew'd, how that discourteous knight
  (Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found,
  Ioying together in vnblam'd delight,
  And him vnarm'd, as now he lay on ground,
  Charg'd with his speare and mortally did wound,
  Withouten cause, but onely her to reaue
  From him, to whom she was for euer bound:
  Yet when she fled into that couert greaue,
He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leaue.

When Calidore this ruefull storie had
  Well vnderstood, he gan of her demand,
  What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
  Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
  She then, like as she best could vnderstand,
  Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large,
  Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
  Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A Ladie on rough waues, row'd in a sommer barge.

Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streightway
  By many signes, which she described had,
  That this was he, whom Tristram earst did slay,
  And to her said; Dame be no longer sad:
  For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad,
  Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight;
  These eyes him saw vpon the cold earth sprad,
  The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to your selfe he wrought, & to your loued knight.

Therefore faire Lady lay aside this griefe,
  Which ye haue gathered to your gentle hart,
  For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
  Were best deuise for this your louers smart,
  And how ye may him hence, and to what part
  Conuay to be recur'd. She thankt him deare,
  Both for that newes he did to her impart,
  And for the courteous care, which he did beare
Both to her loue; and to her selfe in that sad dreare.

Yet could she not deuise by any wit,
  How thence she might conuay him to some place.
  For him to trouble she it thought vnfit,
  That was a straunger to her wretched case;
  And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.
  Which when as he perceiu'd, he thus bespake;
  Faire Lady let it not you seeme disgrace,
  To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.

So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
  Vpon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
  And powring balme, which he had long puruayd,
  Into his wounds, him vp thereon did reare,
  And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
  Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.
  Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,
  In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:
Where what ensu'd, shall in next Canto be begonne.

Calidore brings Priscilla home,
  Pursues the Blatant Beast:
Saues Serena, whilest Calepine
  By Turpine is opprest.

T rue is, that whilome that good Poet sayd,
  The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
  For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd,
  As by his manners, in which plaine is showne
  Of what degree and what race he is growne.
  For seldome seene, a trotting Stalion get
  An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne:
  So seldome seene, that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew, with curteous manners met.

But euermore contrary hath bene tryde,
  That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;
  As well may be in Calidore descryde,
  By late ensample of that courteous deed,
  Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,
  Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought
  Vnto the Castle where they had decreed.
  There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,
To make abode that night he greatly was besought.

He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,
  That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
  And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares:
  But now weake age had dimd his candle light.
  Yet was he courteous still to euery wight,
  And loued all that did to armes incline.
  And was the father of that wounded Knight,
  Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine,
And Aldus was his name, and his sonnes Aladine.

Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight,
  With bleeding wounds, brought home vpon a Beare
  By a faire Lady, and a straunger Knight,
  Was inly touched with compassion deare,
  And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,
  That he these words burst forth; Ah sory boy,
  Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
  Thou brings? aie me, is this the timely ioy,
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope;
  So tickle is the state of earthly things,
  That ere they come vnto their aymed scope,
  They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,
  And bring vs bale and bitter sorrowings,
  In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:
  This is the state of Keasars and of Kings.
  Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieue at any his vnlucky case.

So well and wisely did that good old Knight
  Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,
  To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night,
  And make their welcome to them well appeare:
  That to Sir Calidore was easie geare;
  But that faire Lady would be cheard for nought,
  But sigh't and sorrow'd for her louer deare,
  And inly did afflict her pensiue thought,
With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.

For she was daughter to a noble Lord,
  Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy
  To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
  Ne could her liking to his loue apply,
  But lou'd this fresh young Knight, who dwelt her ny,
  The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne,
  And of lesse liuelood and hability,
  Yet full of valour, the which did adorne
His meanesse much, & make her th'others riches scorne.

So hauing both found fit occasion,
  They met together in that luckelesse glade;
  Where that proud Knight in his presumption
  The gentle Aladine did earst inuade,
  Being vnarm'd, and set in secret shade.
  Whereof she now bethinking, gan t'aduize,
  How great a hazard she at earst had made
  Of her good fame, and further gan deuize,
How she the blame might salue with coloured disguize.

But Calidore with all good courtesie
  Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away
  The pensiue fit of her melancholie;
  And that old Knight by all meanes did assay,
  To make them both as merry as he may.
  So they the euening past, till time of rest,
  When Calidore in seemly good array
  Vnto his bowre was brought, and there vndrest,
Did sleepe all night through weary trauell of his quest.

But faire Priscilla (so that Lady hight)
  Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
  But by her wounded loue did watch all night,
  And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,
  And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe.
  So well she washt them, and so well she watcht him,
  That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe
  He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,
And droue away the stound, which mortally attacht him.

The morrow next, when day gan to vplooke,
  He also gan vplooke with drery eye,
  Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:
  Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by,
  He deepely sigh't, and groaned inwardly,
  To thinke of this ill state, in which she stood,
  To which she for his sake had weetingly
  Now brought her selfe, and blam'd her noble blood:
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.

Which she perceiuing, did with plenteous teares
  His care more then her owne compassionate,
  Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares:
  So both conspiring, gan to intimate
  Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
  And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast,
  How to saue hole her hazarded estate;
  For which the onely helpe now left them last
Seem'd to be Calidore: all other helpes were past.

Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed,
  A courteous Knight, and full of faithfull trust:
  Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed
  Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust.
  Earely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust
  Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay
  All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust,
  Calidore rising vp as fresh as day,
Gan freshly him addresse vnto his former way.

But first him seemed fit, that wounded Knight
  To visite, after this nights perillous passe,
  And to salute him, if he were in plight,
  And eke that Lady his faire louely lasse.
  There he him found much better then he was,
  And moued speach to him of things of course,
  The anguish of his paine to ouerpasse:
  Mongst which he namely did to him discourse,
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse.

Of which occasion Aldine taking hold,
  Gan breake to him the fortunes of his loue,
  And all his disaduentures to vnfold;
  That Calidore it dearly deepe did moue.
  In th'end his kyndly courtesie to proue,
  He him by all the bands of loue besought,
  And as it mote a faithfull friend behoue,
  To safeconduct his loue, and not for ought
To leaue, till to her fathers house he had her brought.

Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight,
  It to performe: so after little stay,
  That she her selfe had to the iourney dight,
  He passed forth with her in faire array,
  Fearelesse, who ought did thinke, or ought did say,
  Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite.
  So as they past together on their way,
  He can deuize this counter-cast of slight,
To giue faire colour to that Ladies cause in sight.

Streight to the carkasse of that Knight he went,
  The cause of all this euill, who was slaine
  The day before by iust auengement
  Of noble Tristram, where it did remaine:
  There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,
  And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.
  So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,
  Till to that Ladies fathers house he came;
Most pensiue man, through feare, what of his childe became.

There he arriuing boldly, did present
  The fearefull Lady to her father deare,
  Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent
  Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood sweare,
  Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
  Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft,
  And by outragious force away did beare:
  Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left,
And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft.

Most ioyfull man her sire was her to see,
  And heare th'aduenture of her late mischaunce;
  And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee
  Of his large paines in her deliueraunce
  Did yeeld; Ne lesse the Lady did aduaunce.
  Thus hauing her restored trustily,
  As he had vow'd, some small continuaunce
  He there did make, and then most carefully
Vnto his first exploite he did him selfe apply.

So as he was pursuing of his quest
  He chaunst to come whereas a iolly Knight,
  In couert shade him selfe did safely rest,
  To solace with his Lady in delight:
  His warlike armes he had from him vndight:
  For that him selfe he thought from daunger free,
  And far from enuious eyes that mote him spight.
  And eke the Lady was full faire to see,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree.

To whom Sir Calidore approaching nye,
  Ere they were well aware of liuing wight,
  Them much abasht, but more him selfe thereby,
  That he so rudely did vppon them light,
  And troubled had their quiet loues delight.
  Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,
  Him selfe thereof he labour'd to acquite,
  And pardon crau'd for his so rash assault,
That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default.

With which his gentle words and goodly wit
  He soone allayd that Knights conceiu'd displeasure,
  That he besought him downe by him to sit,
  That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure;
  And of aduentures, which had in his measure
  Of so long waies to him befallen late.
  So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure
  His long aduentures gan to him relate,
Which he endured had through daungerous debate.

Of which whilest they discoursed both together,
  The faire Serena (so his Lady hight)
  Allur'd with myldnesse of the gentle wether,
  And pleasaunce of the place, the which was dight
  With diuers flowres distinct with rare delight,
  Wandred about the fields, as liking led
  Her wauering lust after her wandring sight,
  To make a garland to adorne her hed,
Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred.

All sodainely out of the forrest nere
  The Blatant Beast forth rushing vnaware,
  Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there,
  And in his wide great mouth away her bare,
  Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare
  Vnto the Knights, and calling oft for ayde;
  Who with the horrour of her haplesse care
  Hastily starting vp, like men dismayde,
Ran after fast, to reskue the distressed mayde.

The Beast with their pursuit incited more,
  Into the wood was bearing her apace
  For to haue spoyled her, when Calidore
  Who was more light of foote and swift in chace,
  Him ouertooke in middest of his race:
  And fiercely charging him with all his might,
  Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,
  And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight;
For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight.

Who nathelesse, when he the Lady saw
  There left on ground, though in full euill plight,
  Yet knowing that her Knight now neare did draw,
  Staide not to succour her in that affright,
  But follow'd fast the Monster in his flight:
  Through woods and hils he follow'd him so fast,
  That he nould let him breath nor gather spright,
  But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast,
As if his lungs and lites were nigh a sunder brast.

And now by this Sir Calepine, so hight,
  Came to the place, where he his Lady found
  In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
  All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
  Hauing both sides through grypt with griesly wound.
  His weapons soone from him he threw away,
  And stouping downe to her in drery swound,
  Vprear'd her from the ground whereon she lay,
And in his tender armes her forced vp to stay.

So well he did his busie paines apply,
  That the faint sprite he did reuoke againe,
  To her fraile mansion of mortality.
  Then vp he tooke her twixt his armes twaine,
  And setting on his steede, her did sustaine
  With carefull hands soft footing her beside,
  Till to some place of rest they mote attaine,
  Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,
Till she recured were of those her woundes wide.

Now when as Phoebus with his fiery waine
  Vnto his Inne began to draw apace;
  Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine,
  In trauelling on foote so long a space,
  Not wont on foote with heauy armes to trace,
  Downe in a dale forby a riuers syde,
  He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,
  To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,
In hope there for his loue some succour to prouyde.

But comming to the riuers side, he found
  That hardly passable on foote it was:
  Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,
  Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas.
  Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,
  Deuising what to doe, he nigh espyde
  An armed Knight approaching to the place,
  With a faire Lady lincked by his syde,
The which themselues prepard thorough the foord to ride.

Whom Calepine saluting (as became)
  Besought of courtesie in that his neede,
  For safe conducting of his sickely Dame,
  Through that same perillous foord with better heede,
  To take him vp behinde vpon his steed:
  To whom that other did this taunt returne.
  Perdy thou peasant Knight, mightst rightly reed
  Me then to be full base and euill borne,
If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

But as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame,
  So fare on foote till thou another gayne,
  And let thy Lady likewise doe the same.
  Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,
  And proue thy manhood on the billowes vayne.
  With which rude speach his Lady much displeased,
  Did him reproue, yet could him not restrayne,
  And would on her owne Palfrey him haue eased,
For pitty of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased.

Sir Calepine her thanckt, yet inly wroth
  Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused,
  And carelesly into the riuer goth,
  As in despight to be so fowle abused
  Of a rude churle, whom often he accused
  Of fowle discourtesie, vnfit for Knight;
  And strongly wading through the waues vnused,
  With speare in th'one hand, stayd him selfe vpright,
With th'other staide his Lady vp with steddy might.

And all the while, that same discourteous Knight,
  Stood on the further bancke beholding him,
  At whose calamity, for more despight
  He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.
  But when as Calepine came to the brim,
  And saw his carriage past that perill well,
  Looking at that same Carle with count'nance grim,
  His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,
And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell.

Vnknightly Knight, the blemish of that name,
  And blot of all that armes vppon them take,
  Which is the badge of honour and of fame,
  Loe I defie thee, and here challenge make,
  That thou for euer doe those armes forsake,
  And be for euer held a recreant Knight,
  Vnlesse thou dare for thy deare Ladies sake,
  And for thine owne defence on foote alight,
To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.

The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde,
  Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all,
  But laught them out, as if his greater pryde
  Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall:
  Or had no courage, or else had no gall.
  So much the more was Calepine offended,
  That him to no reuenge he forth could call,
  But both his challenge and him selfe contemned,
Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

But he nought weighing what he sayd or did,
  Turned his steede about another way,
  And with his Lady to the Castle rid,
  Where was his won; ne did the other stay,
  But after went directly as he may,
  For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke;
  Where he arriuing with the fall of day,
  Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke,
And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke.

But the rude Porter that no manners had,
  Did shut the gate against him in his face,
  And entraunce boldly vnto him forbad.
  Nathelesse the Knight now in so needy case,
  Gan him entreat euen with submission base,
  And humbly praid to let them in that night:
  Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no place
  Of lodging fit for any errant Knight,
Vnlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight.

Full loth am I (quoth he) as now at earst,
  When day is spent, and rest vs needeth most,
  And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst
  With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost:
  Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,
  That should to me such curtesie afford,
  Vnlesse that I were thereunto enforst.
  But yet aread to me, how hight thy Lord,
That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford.

His name (quoth he) if that thou list to learne,
  Is hight Sir Turpine, one of mickle might,
  And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne
  In all assaies to euery errant Knight,
  Because of one, that wrought him fowle despight.
  Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiaunt be,
  That he should be so sterne to stranger wight:
  For seldome yet did liuing creature see,
That curtesie and manhood euer disagree.

But go thy waies to him, and fro me say,
  That here is at his gate an errant Knight,
  That house-rome craues, yet would be loth t'assay
  The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night,
  Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:
  Yet if he needes will fight, craue leaue till morne,
  And tell withall, the lamentable plight,
  In which this Lady languisheth forlorne,
That pitty craues, as he of woman was yborne.

The groome went streight way in, and to his Lord
  Declar'd the message, which that Knight did moue;
  Who sitting with his Lady then at bord,
  Not onely did not his demaund [ap]proue,
  But both himselfe reuil'd, and eke his loue;
  Albe his Lady, that Blandina hight,
  Him of vngentle vsage did [re]proue
  And earnestly entreated that they might
Finde fauour to be lodged there for that same night.

Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,
  Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.
  Which answer when the groome returning, brought
  To Calepine, his heart did inly flame
  With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,
  That he could not thereof auenged bee:
  But most for pitty of his dearest Dame,
  Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;
Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee.

But all in vaine; for why, no remedy
  He saw, the present mischiefe to redresse,
  But th'vtmost end perforce for to aby,
  Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.
  So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse,
  And layd her vnderneath a bush to sleepe,
  Couer'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse,
  Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe,
And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day
  Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,
  Serena full of dolorous dismay,
  Twixt darkenesse dread, and hope of liuing light,
  Vprear'd her head to see that chearefull sight.
  Then Calepine, how euer inly wroth,
  And greedy to auenge that vile despight,
  Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth
To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney goth.

He goth on foote all armed by her side,
  Vpstaying still her selfe vppon her steede,
  Being vnhable else alone to ride;
  So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:
  Till that at length, in his extreamest neede,
  He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy,
  Pursuing him apace with greedy speede,
  Whom well he wist to be some enemy,
That meant to make aduantage of his misery.

Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew,
  To weet what issue would thereof betyde,
  Tho whenas he approched nigh in vew,
  By certaine signes he plainely him descryde,
  To be the man, that with such scornefull pryde
  Had him abusde, and shamed yesterday;
  Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde
  His former malice to some new assay,
He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.

By this the other came in place likewise,
  And couching close his speare and all his powre,
  As bent to some malicious enterprise,
  He bad him stand, t'abide the bitter stoure
  Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make auoure
  Of the lewd words and deedes, which he had done:
  With that ran at him, as he would deuoure
  His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun
The perill of his pride, or else be ouerrun.

Yet he him still pursew'd from place to place,
  Will full intent him cruelly to kill;
  And like a wilde goate round about did chace,
  Flying the fury of his bloudy will.
  But his best succour and refuge was still
  Behinde his Ladies backe, who to him cryde,
  And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,
  As euer he to Lady was affyde,
To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacifyde.

But he the more thereby enraged was,
  And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd:
  So that at length, after long weary chace,
  Hauing by chaunce a close aduantage vew'd,
  He ouer raught him, hauing long eschew'd
  His violence in vaine, and with his spere
  Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew'd
  In great aboundance, as a well it were,
That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound,
  But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry;
  Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground
  He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously:
  The which was certes in great ieopardy,
  Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,
  And saued from his cruell villany.
  Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought:
That in another Canto shall to end be brought.

Calepine by a saluage man
  from Turpine reskewed is;
And whylest an Infant from a Beare
  he saues, his loue doth misse.

L Ike as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,
  Hauing spent all her mastes and her ground-hold,
  Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
  At last some fisher barke doth neare behold,
  That giueth comfort to her courage cold.
  Such was the state of this most courteous knight
  Being oppressed by that faytour bold,
  That he remayned in most perilous plight,
And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright.

Till that by fortune, passing all foresight,
  A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne,
  Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright,
  Toward the same incessantly did ronne,
  To vnderstand what there was to be donne.
  There he this most discourteous crauen found,
  As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,
  Chasing the gentle Calepine around,
Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound.

The saluage man, that neuer till this houre
  Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
  Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure
  Was much emmoued at his perils vew,
  That euen his ruder hart began to rew,
  And feele compassion of his euill plight
  Against his foe that did him so pursew:
  From whom he meant to free him, if he might,
And him auenge of that so villenous despight.

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight,
  Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments,
  Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite,
  But naked without needfull vestiments,
  To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,
  He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,
  No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents:
  For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare
He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare.

He stayed not t'aduize, which way were best
  His foe t'assayle, or how himselfe to gard,
  But with fierce fury and with force infest
  Vpon him ran; who being well prepard,
  His first assault full warily did ward,
  And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare
  Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard,
  That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare;
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

With that the wyld man more enraged grew,
  Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray,
  And with mad mood againe vpon him flew,
  Regarding neither speare, that mote him flay,
  Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay,
  The saluage nation doth all dread despize:
  Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,
  And held the same so hard, that by no wize
He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize.

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,
  And euery way did try, but all in vaine:
  For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,
  But hayld and puld with all his might and maine,
  That from his steed him nigh he drew againe.
  Who hauing now no vse of his long speare,
  So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,
  Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

But after him the wyld man ran apace
  And him pursewed with importune speed,
  (For he was swift as any Bucke in chace)
  And had he not in his extreamest need,
  Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,
  He had him ouertaken in his flight.
  Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed,
  Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,
And shrieked out, a thing vncomely for a knight.

But when the Saluage saw his labour vaine,
  In following of him, that fled so fast,
  He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe
  With speede vnto the place, whereas he last
  Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast.
  There he that knight full sorely bleeding found
  And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast,
  Both for the perill of the present stound,
And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound.

For though she were right glad, so rid to bee
  From that vile lozell, which her late offended,
  Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,
  And perill by this saluage man pretended;
  Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended,
  By reason that her knight was wounded sore.
  Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended
  To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore,
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare,
  Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
  And by rude tokens made to her appeare
  His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,
  Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;
  For other language had he none nor speach,
  But a soft murmure, and confused sound
  Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach,
T'expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach.

And comming likewise to the wounded knight,
  When he beheld the streames of purple blood
  Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight,
  He made great mone after his saluage mood:
  And running streight into the thickest wood,
  A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought,
  Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood:
  The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.

Then taking vp that Recreants shield and speare,
  Which earst he left, he signes vnto them made,
  With him to wend vnto his wonning neare:
  To which he easily did them perswade.
  Farre in the forrest by a hollow glade,
  Couered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode
  Did vnderneath them make a gloomy shade;
  Where foot of liuing creature neuer troade,
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.

Thether he brought these vnacquainted guests;
  To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed
  By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests.
  But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrowed,
  Must be their bed, their pillow was vnsowed,
  And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:
  For their bad Stuard neither plough'd nor sowed,
  Ne fed on flesh, ne euer of wyld beast
Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first beheast.

Yet howsoeuer base and meane it were,
  They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,
  Which had them freed from that deadly feare,
  And sau'd from being to that caitiue thrall.
  Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)
  Compelled were themselues a while to rest,
  Glad of that easement, though it were but small;
  That hauing there their wounds awhile redrest,
They mote the abler be to passe vnto the rest.

During which time, that wyld man did apply
  His best endeuour, and his daily paine,
  In seeking all the woods both farre and nye
  For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine,
  When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine.
  So as ere long he had that knightes wound
  Recured well, and made him whole againe:
  But that same Ladies hurts no herbe he found,
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly vnsound.

Now when as Calepine was woxen strong,
  Vpon a day he cast abrode to wend,
  To take the ayre, and heare the thrushes song,
  Vnarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend,
  And without sword his person to defend.
  There him befell, vnlooked for before,
  An hard aduenture with vnhappie end;
  A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore
Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.

The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,
  And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,
  As if his cry did meane for helpe to call
  To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill
  Percing his hart with pities point did thrill;
  That after him he ran with zealous haste,
  To rescue th'infant, ere he did him kill:
  Whom though he saw now somewhat ouerpast,
Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.

Well then him chaunst his heauy armes to want,
  Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,
  And hinder him from libertie to pant:
  For hauing long time, as his daily weed,
  Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,
  Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,
  That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed
  From bels and iesses, which did let her flight,
Him seem'd his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.

So well he sped him, that the wearie Beare
  Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay,
  And without weapon him assayling neare,
  Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.
  Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his pray,
  Vpon him turned, and with greedie force
  And furie, to be crossed in his way,
  Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse
To be aueng'd on him, and to deuoure his corse.

But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd,
  But catching vp in hand a ragged stone,
  Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)
  Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone
  Into his gaping throte, that made him grone
  And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,
  Being vnable to digest that bone;
  Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe,
Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

Whom when as he thus combred did behold,
  Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast,
  He with him closd, and laying mightie hold
  Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,
  That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast;
  And then oppressing him with vrgent paine,
  Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast,
  Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,
And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine.

Then tooke he vp betwixt his armes twaine
  The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;
  Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,
  From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,
  And from his face the filth that did it ray,
  And euery litle limbe he searcht around,
  And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay,
  Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound
Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.

So hauing all his bands againe vptyde,
  He with him thought backe to returne againe:
  But when he lookt about on euery syde,
  To weet which way were best to entertaine,
  To bring him to the place, where he would faine,
  He could no path nor tract of foot descry,
  Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme.
  For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,
That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

Much was he then encombred, ne could tell
  Which way to take: now West he went a while,
  Then North; then neither, but as fortune fell.
  So vp and downe he wandred many a mile,
  With wearie trauell and vncertaine toile,
  Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end;
  And euermore his louely litle spoile
  Crying for food, did greatly him offend.
So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend.

At last about the setting of the Sunne,
  Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,
  And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne:
  Where looking all about, where he mote fynd
  Some place of succour to content his mynd,
  At length he heard vnder the forrests syde
  A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd,
  Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,
And oft complayn'd of fate, and Fortune oft defyde.

To whom approching, when as she perceiued
  A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,
  As if she doubted to haue bene deceiued,
  Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd.
  Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd,
  He to her drew, and with faire blandishment
  Her chearing vp, thus gently to her sayd;
  What be you wofull Dame, which thus lament,
And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent?

To whom she thus, What need me Sir to tell,
  That which your selfe haue earst ared so right?
  A wofull dame ye haue me termed well;
  So much more wofull, as my wofull plight
  Cannot redressed be by liuing wight.
  Nathlesse (quoth he) if need doe not you bynd,
  Doe it disclose, to ease your grieued spright:
  Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd
Find remedie vnsought, which seeking cannot fynd.

Then thus began the lamentable Dame;
  Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord,
  I am th'vnfortunate Matilde by name,
  The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord
  Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword
  From a great Gyant, called Cormoraunt;
  Whom he did ouerthrow by yonder foord,
  And in three battailes did so deadly daunt,
That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt.

So is my Lord now seiz'd of all the land,
  As in his fee, with peaceable estate,
  And quietly doth hold it in his hand,
  Ne any dares with him for it debate.
  But to these happie fortunes, cruell Fate
  Hath ioyn'd one euill, which doth ouerthrow
  All these our ioyes, and all our blisse abate;
  And like in time to further ill to grow,
And all this land with endlesse losse to ouerflow.

For th'heauens enuying our prosperitie,
  Haue not vouchsaft to graunt vnto vs twaine
  The gladfull blessing of posteritie,
  Which we might see after our selues remaine
  In th'heritage of our vnhappie paine:
  So that for want of heires it to defend,
  All is in time like to returne againe
  To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend
To leape into the same after our liues end.

But most my Lord is grieued herewithall,
  And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke
  That all this land vnto his foe shall fall,
  For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke,
  That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.
  Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne
  Be gotten, not begotten, which should drinke
  And dry vp all the water, which doth ronne
In the next brooke, by who[m] that feend shold be fordonne.

Well hop't he then, when this was propheside,
  That from his sides some noble chyld should rize,
  The which through fame should farre be magnifide,
  And this proud gyant should with braue emprize
  Quite ouerthrow, who now ginnes to despize
  The good Sir Bruin, growing farre in yeares;
  Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize.
  Lo this my cause of griefe to you appeares;
For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth ceaselesse teares.

Which when he heard, he inly touched was
  With tender ruth for her vnworthy griefe:
  And when he had deuized of her case,
  He gan in mind conceiue a fit reliefe
  For all her paine, if please her make the priefe.
  And hauing cheared her, thus said; faire Dame,
  In euils counsell is the comfort chiefe,
  Which though I be not wise enough to frame,
Yet as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame.

If that the cause of this your languishment
  Be lacke of children, to supply your place,
  Lo how good fortune doth to you present
  This litle babe, of sweete and louely face,
  And spotlesse spirit, in which ye may enchace
  What euer formes ye list thereto apply,
  Being now soft and fit them to embrace;
  Whether ye list him traine in cheualry,
Or noursle vp in lore of learn'd Philosophy.

And certes it hath oftentimes bene seene,
  That of the like, whose linage was vnknowne,
  More braue and noble knights haue raysed beene,
  As their victorious deedes haue often showen,
  Being with fame through many Nations blowen,
  Then those, which haue bene dandled in the lap.
  Therefore some thought, that those braue imps were sowen
  Here by the Gods, and fed with heauenly sap,
That made them grow so high t'all honorable hap.

The Ladie hearkning to his sensefull speach,
  Found nothing that he said, vnmeet nor geason,
  Hauing oft seene it tryde, as he did teach.
  Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,
  Agreeing well both with the place and season,
  She gladly did of that same babe accept,
  As of her owne by liuerey and seisin,
  And hauing ouer it a litle wept,
She bore it thence, and euer as her owne it kept.

Right glad was Calepine to be so rid
  Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought:
  Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did,
  And with her husband vnder hand so wrought,
  That when that infant vnto him she brought,
  She made him thinke it surely was his owne,
  And it in goodly thewes so well vpbrought,
  That it became a famous knight well knowne,
And did right noble deedes, the which elswhere are showne.

But Calepine, now being left alone
  Vnder the greenewoods side in sorie plight,
  Withouten armes or steede to ride vpon,
  Or house to hide his head from heauens spight,
  Albe that Dame by all the meanes she might,
  Him oft desired home with her to wend,
  And offred him, his courtesie to requite,
  Both horse and armes, and what so else to lend,
Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend.

And for exceeding griefe which inly grew,
  That he his loue so lucklesse now had lost,
  On the cold ground, maugre himselfe he threw,
  For fell despight, to be so sorely crost;
  And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,
  Vowing, that neuer he in bed againe
  His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,
  Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaine,
Or vnderstand, that she in safetie did remaine.

The saluage serues Matilda well
  till she Prince Arthure fynd,
Who her together with his Squyre
  with th'Hermit leaues behynd.

O What an easie thing is to descry
  The gentle bloud, how euer it be wrapt
  In sad misfortunes foule deformity,
  And wretched sorrowes, which haue often hapt?
  For howsoeuer it may grow mis-shapt,
  Like this wyld man, being vndisciplynd,
  That to all vertue it may seeme vnapt,
  Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd,
And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd.

That plainely may in this wyld man be red,
  Who though he were still in this desert wood,
  Mongst saluage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,
  Ne euer saw faire guize, ne learned good,
  Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood,
  By gentle vsage of that wretched Dame.
  For certes he was borne of noble blood,
  How euer by hard hap he hether came;
As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.

Who when as now long time he lacked had
  The good Sir Calepine, that farre was strayd,
  Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,
  As he of some misfortune were afrayd:
  And leauing there this Ladie all dismayd,
  Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde,
  To seeke, if he perchance a sleepe were layd,
  Or what so else were vnto him betyde:
He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde.

Tho backe returning to that sorie Dame,
  He shewed semblant of exceeding mone,
  By speaking signes, as he them best could frame;
  Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,
  Now beating his hard head vpon a stone,
  That ruth it was to see him so lament.
  By which she well perceiuing, what was done,
  Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,
And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment.

Vpon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw,
  Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,
  That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,
  As if her breast new launcht with murdrous knife,
  Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life.
  There she long groueling, and deepe groning lay,
  As if her vitall powers were at strife
  With stronger death, and feared their decay,
Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous assay.

Whom when the Saluage saw so sore distrest,
  He reared her vp from the bloudie ground,
  And sought by all the meanes, that he could best,
  Her to recure out of that stony swound,
  And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound.
  Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,
  Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound,
  But day and night did vexe her carefull thought,
And euer more and more her owne affliction wrought.

At length, when as no hope of his retourne
  She saw now left, she cast to leaue the place,
  And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,
  To seeke some comfort in that sorie case.
  His steede now strong through rest so long a space,
  Well as she could, she got, and did bedight,
  And being thereon mounted, forth did pace,
  Withouten guide, her to conduct aright,
Or gard her to defend from bold oppressors might.

Whom when her Host saw readie to depart,
  He would not suffer her alone to fare,
  But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.
  Those warlike armes, which Calepine whyleare
  Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare,
  And put them all about himselfe vnfit,
  His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare.
  But without sword vpon his thigh to sit:
Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it.

So forth they traueld an vneuen payre,
  That mote to all men seeme an vncouth sight;
  A saluage man matcht with a Ladie fayre,
  That rather seem'd the conquest of his might,
  Gotten by spoyle, then purchaced aright.
  But he did her attend most carefully,
  And faithfully did serue both day and night,
  Withouten thought of shame or villeny,
Ne euer shewed signe of foule disloyalty.

Vpon a day as on their way they went,
  It chaunst some furniture about her steed
  To be disordred by some accident:
  Which to redresse, she did th'assistance need
  Of this her groome, which he by signes did reede;
  And streight his combrous armes aside did lay
  Vpon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed,
  And in his homely wize began to assay
T'amend what was amisse, and put in right aray.

Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard,
  Lo where a knight together with his squire,
  All arm'd to point came ryding thetherward,
  Which seemed by their portance and attire,
  To be two errant knights, that did inquire
  After aduentures, where they mote them get.
  Those were to weet (if that ye it require)
  Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met
By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set.

After that Timias had againe recured
  The fauour of Belphebe, (as ye heard)
  And of her grace did stand againe assured,
  To happie blisse he was full high vprear'd,
  Nether of enuy, nor of chaunge afeard,
  Though many foes did him maligne therefore,
  And with vniust detraction him did beard;
  Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,
That in her soueraine lyking he dwelt euermore.

But of them all, which did his ruine seeke
  Three mightie en'mies did him most despight,
  Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,
  That him not onely sought by open might
  To ouerthrow, but to supplant by slight.
  The first of them by name was cald Despetto,
  Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight;
  The second not so strong but wise, Decetto;
The third nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest Defetto.

Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ,
  And seuerall deceipts, but all in vaine:
  For neither they by force could him destroy,
  Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine.
  Therefore conspiring all together plaine,
  They did their counsels now in one compound;
  Where singled forces faile, conioynd may gaine.
  The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they found,
To worke his vtter shame, and throughly him confound.

Vpon a day as they the time did waite,
  When he did raunge the wood for saluage game,
  They sent that Blatant Beast to be a baite,
  To draw him from his deare beloued dame,
  Vnwares into the daunger of defame.
  For well they wist, that Squire to be so bold,
  That no one beast in forrest wylde or tame,
  Met him in chase, but he it challenge would,
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy hould.

The hardy boy, as they deuised had,
  Seeing the vgly Monster passing by,
  Vpon him set, of perill nought adrad,
  Ne skilfull of the vncouth ieopardy;
  And charged him so fierce and furiously,
  That his great force vnable to endure,
  He forced was to turne from him and fly:
  Yet ere he fled, he with his tooth impure
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.

Securely he did after him pursew,
  Thinking by speed to ouertake his flight;
  Who through thicke woods and brakes & briers him drew,
  To weary him the more, and waste his spight,
  So that he now has almost spent his spright.
  Till that at length vnto a woody glade
  He came, whose couert stopt his further sight,
  There his three foes shrowded in guilefull shade,
Out of their ambush broke, and gan him to inuade.

Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile,
  Burning with inward rancour and despight,
  And heaped strokes did round about him haile
  With so huge force, that seemed nothing might
  Beare off their blowes, from percing thorough quite.
  Yet he them all so warily did ward,
  That none of them in his soft flesh did bite,
  And all the while his backe for best safegard,
He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard.

Like a wylde Bull, that being at a bay,
  Is bayted of a mastiffe, and a hound,
  And a curre-dog; that doe him sharpe assay
  On euery side, and beat about him round;
  But most that curre barking with bitter sownd,
  And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber,
  That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground,
  And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder,
So did that Squire his foes disperse, and driue asonder.

Him well behoued so; for his three foes
  Sought to encompasse him on euery side,
  And dangerously did round about enclose.
  But most of all Defetto him annoyde,
  Creeping behinde him still to haue destroyde:
  So did Decetto eke him circumuent,
  But stout Despetto in his greater pryde,
  Did front him face to face against him bent,
Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.

Till that at length nigh tyrd with former chace,
  And weary now with carefull keeping ward,
  He gan to shrinke, and somewhat to giue place,
  Full like ere long to haue escaped hard;
  When as vnwares he in the forrest heard
  A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast
  Did warne his rider be vppon his gard;
  With noise whereof the Squire now nigh aghast,
Reuiued was, and sad dispaire away did cast.

Eftsoones he spide a Knight approching nye,
  Who seeing one in so great daunger set
  Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye;
  To reskue him, and his weake part abet,
  For pitty so to see him ouerset.
  Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,
  They fled, and fast into the wood did get:
  Him booted not to thinke them to pursew,
The couert was so thicke, that did no passage shew.

Then turning to that swaine, him well he knew
  To be his Timias, his owne true Squire,
  Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,
  And him embracing twixt his armes entire,
  Him thus bespake; My liefe, my lifes desire,
  Why haue ye me alone thus long yleft?
  Tell me what worlds despight, or heauens yre
  Hath you thus long away from me bereft?
Where haue ye all this while bin wandring, where bene weft?

With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne:
  To whom the Squire nought aunswered againe,
  But shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,
  His deare affect with silence did restraine,
  And shut vp all his plaint in priuy paine.
  There they awhile some gracious speaches spent,
  As to them seemed fit time to entertaine.
  After all which vp to their steedes they went,
And forth together rode a comely couplement.

So now they be arriued both in sight
  Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found
  About the sad Serena things to dight,
  With those braue armours lying on the ground,
  That seem'd the spoile of some right well renownd.
  Which when that Squire beheld, he to them stept,
  Thinking to take them from that hylding hound:
  But he it seeing, lightly to him lept,
And sternely with strong hand it from his handling kept.

Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly looke,
  And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne,
  Him with his fist vnwares on th'head he strooke,
  That made him downe vnto the earth encline;
  Whence soone vpstarting much he gan repine,
  And laying hand vpon his wrathfull blade,
  Thought therewithall forthwith him to haue slaine,
  Who it perceiuing, hand vpon him layd,
And greedily him griping, his auengement stayd.

With that aloude the faire Serena cryde
  Vnto the Knight, them to dispart in twaine:
  Who to them stepping did them soone diuide,
  And did from further violence restraine,
  Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine.
  Then gan the Prince, of her for to demand,
  What and from whence she was, and by what traine
  She fell into that saluage villaines hand,
And whether free with him she now were, or in band.

To whom she thus; I am, as now ye see,
  The wretchedst Dame, that liue this day on ground;
  Who both in minde, the which most grieueth me,
  And body haue receiu'd a mortall wound,
  That hath me driuen to this drery stound.
  I was erewhile, the loue of Calepine:
  Who whether he aliue be to be found,
  Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine,
Since I him lately lost, vneath is to define.

In saluage forrest I him lost of late,
  Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
  Or else remained in most wretched state,
  Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
  Kept, and deliuered me from deadly dread.
  In such a saluage wight, of brutish kynd,
  Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
  It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd
So milde humanity, and perfect gentle mynd.

Let me therefore this fauour for him finde,
  That ye will not your wrath vpon him wreake,
  Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
  Ne yours conceiue, ne but by tokens speake:
  Small praise to proue your powre on wight so weake.
  With such faire words she did their heate asswage,
  And the strong course of their displeasure breake,
  That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page.

So hauing all things well about her dight,
  She on her way cast forward to proceede,
  And they her forth conducted, where they might
  Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede.
  For now her wounds corruption gan to breed;
  And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was
  Of that same Monster late, for lacke of heed,
  Now gan to faint, and further could not pas
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has.

So forth they rode together all in troupe,
  To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease
  To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe,
  And all the way the Prince sought to appease
  The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease,
  By all the courteous meanes he could inuent;
  Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,
  And otherwhile with good encouragement,
To make them to endure the pains, did them torment.

Mongst which, Serena did to him relate
  The foule discourt'sies and vnknightly parts,
  Which Turpine had vnto her shewed late,
  Without compassion of her cruell smarts:
  Although Blandina did with all her arts
  Him otherwise perswade, all that she might;
  Yet he of malice, without her desarts,
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary Knight.

Wherewith the Prince sore moued, there auoud,
  That soone as he returned backe againe,
  He would auenge th'abuses of that proud
  And shamefull Knight, of whom she did complaine.
  This wize did they each other entertaine,
  To passe the tedious trauell of the way;
  Till towards night they came vnto a plaine,
  By which a little Hermitage there lay,
Far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may.

And nigh thereto a little Chappell stoode,
  Which being all with Yuy ouerspred,
  Deckt all the roofe, and shadowing the roode,
  Seem'd like a groue faire braunched ouer hed:
  Therein the Hermite, which his life here led
  In streight obseruaunce of religious vow,
  Was wont his howres and holy things to bed;
  And therein he likewise was praying now,
Whenas these Knights arriu'd, they wist not where nor how.

They stayd not there, but streight way in did pas.
  Whom when the Hermite present saw in place,
  From his deuotion streight he troubled was;
  Which breaking of he toward them did pace,
  With stayed steps, and graue beseeming grace:
  For well it seem'd, that whilome he had beene
  Some goodly person, and of gentle race,
  That could his good to all, and well did weene,
How each to entertaine with curt'sie well beseene,

And soothly it was sayd by common fame,
  So long as age enabled him thereto,
  That he had bene a man of mickle name,
  Renowmed much in armes and derring doe:
  But being aged now and weary to
  Of warres delight, and worlds contentious toyle,
  The name of knighthood he did disauow,
  And hanging vp his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.

He thence them led into his Hermitage,
  Letting their steedes to graze vpon the Green:
  Small was his house, and like a little cage,
  For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
  Deckt with greene boughes, and flowers gay beseene.
  Therein he them full faire did entertaine
  Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
  For courting fooles, that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.

Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
  Did vse, his feeble body to sustaine;
  The which full gladly they did take in glee,
  Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
  But being well suffiz'd, them rested faine.
  But faire Serene all night could take no rest,
  Ne yet that gentle Squire, for grieuous paine
  Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast
Had giuen them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.

So all that night they past in great disease,
  Till that the morning, bringing earely light
  To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
  And some asswagement of their painefull plight.
  Then vp they rose, and gan them selues to dight
  Vnto their iourney; but that Squire and Dame
  So faint and feeble were, that they ne might
  Endure to trauell, nor one foote to frame:
Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame.