A faithless Sarazin, all arm'd to point,1
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay Sans foy; 2 full large of limb and every joint He was, and cared not for God or man a point.
He had a fair companion of his way,
A goodly lady clad in scarlet red,
Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay;
And like a Persian mitre on her hed
She wore, with crowns and owches 5 garnished,
The which her lavish lovers to her gave:
Her wanton palfrey all was overspread
With tinsel trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bells and bosses brave.
With fair disport, and courting dalliance,
She entertain'd her lover all the way:
But, when she saw the Knight his spear advance,
She soon left off her mirth and wanton play,
And bade her knight address him to the fray;
His foe was nigh at hand. He, prick'd with pride,
And hope to win his lady's heart that day,
Forth spurred fast; adown his courser's side [ride.
The red blood trickling stain'd the way, as he did
The Knight of the Redcross, when him he spied
Spurring so hot with rage dispiteous,
Gan fairly couch his spear, and towards ride:
Soon meet they both, both fell and furious,
That, daunted with their forces hideous,
Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand;
And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,
Astonied with the stroke of their own hand,
Do back rebut, and each to other yieldeth land.
3 Embroi-
dered.
4 Value.
5 Collars
of gold.
As when two rams, stirr'd with ambitious pride,
Fight for the rule of the rich-fleeced flock,
Their horned fronts so fierce on either side
Do meet, that, with the terror of the shock
Astonied, both stand senseless as a block,
Forgetful of the hanging1 victory:
So stood these twain, unmoved as a rock,
Both staring fierce, and holding idely
The broken reliques2 of their former cruelty.
The Sarazin, sore daunted with the buffe,3
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and quiteth1 cuff with cuff:
Each other's equal puissaunce5 envies,
And through their iron sides with cruel spies
Does seek to pierce; repining courage yields
No foot to foe: the flashing fiër flies,
As from a forge, out of their burning shields; And streams of purple blood now dye the verdant fields.
'Curse on that Cross,' quoth then the Sarazin,
"That keeps thy body from the bitter fitt;9
Dead long ago, I wot, thou haddest bin,
Had not that charm from thee forewarned it:
But yet I warn thee now assured sit,
And hide thy head.' Therewith upon his crest
With rigour so outrageous he smit,
That a large share it hew'd out of the rest, [blest.10
And glancing down his shield from blame him fairly
Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark
Of native virtue eftsoones11 revive;
And, at his haughty helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke, that it the steel did rive,
And cleft his head: he, tumbling down alive,
With bloody mouth his mother earth did kiss,
Greeting his grave: his grudging1 ghost did strive 1 Reluc
With the frail flesh; at last it flitted is,
Whither the souls do fly of men, that live amiss.
The lady, when she saw her champion fall,
Like the old ruins of a broken tower,
Stay'd not to wail his woeful funeral;
But from him fled away with all her
Who after her as hastily gan scour,
Bidding the Dwarf with him to bring away
The Sarazin's shield, sign of the conquerour;
Her soon he overtook, and bade to stay;
For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.
She turning back, with rueful countenance,
Cried, Mercy, mercy, Sir, vouchsafe to show
On silly dame, subject to hard mischance,
And to your mighty will.' Her humblesse 2 low
In so rich weeds, and seeming glorious show,
Did much emmove3 his stout heroic heart;
And said, 'Dear dame, your sudden overthrow4
Much rueth me; but now put fear apart, [part.' Grieves.
And tell, both who ye be, and who that took
Melting in tears, then gan she thus lament;
"The wretched woman, whom unhappy hour
Hath now made thrall to your commandement,
Before that angry heavens list to lower,
And fortune false betray'd me to your power,
Was, (O what now availeth that I was!)
Born the sole daughter of an emperour;
He that the wide west under his rule has, [pass. And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth
'He, in the first flower of my freshest age,
Betrothed me unto the only heir
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
Was never prince so faithful and so fair,
Was never prince so meek and debonair!1
But, ere my hoped day of spousal shone,
My dearest lord fell from high honour's stair
Into the hands of his accursed fone,2
And cruelly was slain; that shall I ever moan!
'His blessed body, spoil'd of lively breath,
Was afterward, I know not how, convey'd,
And from me hid; of whose most innocent death
When tidings came to me, unhappy maid,
O, how great sorrow my sad soul assaid! 3
Then forth I went his woeful corse to find,
And many years throughout the world I stray'd,
A virgin widow; whose deep-wounded mind [hind.
With love long time did languish, as the stricken
'At last it chanced this proud Sarazin
To meet me wand'ring; who perforce me led
With him away; but yet could never win
The fort, that ladies hold in sovereign dread.
There lies he now with foul dishonour dead,
Who, while he lived, was called proud Sansfoy,
The eldest of three brethren; all three bred
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy
And twixt them both was born the bloody bold
Sansloy.
In this sad plight, friendless, unfortunate,
Now miserable I Fidessal dwell,
Craving of you, in pity of my state,
To do none ill, if please ye not do well.'
He in great passion2 all this while did dwell,
More busying his quick eyes, her face to view,
Then his dull ears, to hear what she did tell;
And said, Fair lady, heart of flint would rue1
The undeserved woes and sorrows which ye shew.
'Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend you to aid,
And lost an old foe that did you molest:
Better new friend then an old foe is said.'
With change of cheare5 the seeming-simple maid
Let fall her eyen, as shamefast, to the earth,
And yielding soft, in that she nought gainsay'd.
So forth they rode, he feigning seemly mirth,
And she coy looks: so dainty, they say, maketh
Long time they thus together travelled;
Till, weary of their way, they came at last
Where grew two goodly trees, that fair did spread
Their arms abroad, with gray moss overcast;
And their green leaves, trembling with every blast,
Made a calm shadow far in compass round:
The fearful shepherd, often there aghast,
Under them never sat, ne7 wont there sound
His merry oaten pipe; but shunn'd th' unlucky
But this good Knight, soon as he them can spy, Began to. For the cool shade him thither hast❜ly got:
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