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CANTO XII.

The maske of Cupid, and th' enchaun-
ted chamber are displayd;
Whence Britomart redeemes faire A-
moret through charmes decayd.

THO, whenas chearelesse Night ycovered had
Fayre Heaven with an universall clowd,
That every wight dismayd with darkenes sad
In silence and in sleepe themselves did shrowd,
She heard a shrilling trompet sound alowd,
Signe of nigh battaill, or got victory:
Nought therewith daunted was her courage prowd,
But rather stird to cruell enmity,

Expecting ever when some foe, she might descry.

With that, an hideous storme of winde arose,
With dreadfull thunder and lightning atwixt,
And an earthquake, as if it streight would lose
The worlds foundations from his centre fixt:
A direfull stench of smoke and sulphure mixt
Ensewd, whose noyaunce fild the fearefull sted
From the fourth howre of night untill the sixt;
Yet the bold Britonesse was nought ydred,
Though much emmov'd, but stedfast still persé-
vered.

All suddeinly a stormy whirlwind blew
Throughout the house, that clapped every dore,
With which that yron wicket open flew,
As it with mighty levers had bene tore;
And forth yssewd, as on the readie flore
Of some theatre, a grave personage
That in his hand a braunch of laurell bore,
With comely haveour and count'nance sage,
Yclad in costly garments fit for tragicke stage.

Proceeding to the midst he stil did stand,
As if in minde he somewhat had to say;
And to the vulgare beckning with his hand,
In signe of silence, as to heare a play,
By lively actions he gan bewray
Some argument of matter passioned;
Which doen, he backe retyred soft away,
And, passing by, his name discovered,
Ease, on his robe in golden letters cyphered.

The noble mayd still standing all this vewd,
And merveild at his straunge intendiment :
With that a joyous fellowship issewd
Of minstrales making goodly meriment,
With wanton bardes, and rymers impudent;
All which together song full chearefully
A lay of loves delight with sweet concent:
After whom marcht a jolly company,
In manner of a maske, enranged orderly.

The whiles a most delitious harmony

The first was Fansy, like a lovely boy

Of rare aspect and beautie without peare,
Matchable either to that ́ympe of Troy,
Whom love did love and chose his cup to beare;
Or that same daintie lad, which was so deare
To great Alcides, that, whenas he dyde,
He wailed womanlike with many a teare,
And every wood and every valley wyde [cryde.
He filld with Hylas name; the nymphes eke Hylas

His garment neither was of silke nor say,
But paynted plumes in goodly order dight,
Like as the sunburnt Indians do aray
Their tawney bodies in their proudest plight:
As those same plumes, so seemd he vaine and light,
That by his gate might easily appeare;
For still he far'd as dauncing in delight,
And in his hand a windy fan did beare,
That in the ydle ayre he mov'd still here and theare.

And him beside marcht amorous Desyre,
Who seemd of ryper yeares then th' other swayne,
Yet was that other swayne this elders syre,
And gave him being, commune to them twayne:
His garment was disguysed very vayne,
And his embrodered bonet sat awry :
Twixt both his hands few sparks he close did strayne,
Which still he blew and kindled busily,
That soone they life conceiv'd, and forth in flames
did fly.

Next after him went Doubt, who was yclad
In a discolour'd cote of straunge disguyse,
That at his backe a brode capuccio had,
And sleeves dependaunt Albanese-wyse;
He lookt askew with his mistrustfull eyes,
And nycely trode, as thornes lay in his way,
Or that the flore to shrinke he did avyse;
And on a broken reed he still did stay
[he lay.
His feeble steps, which shrunck when hard thereon

With him went Daunger, cloth'd in ragged weed
Made of beares skin, that him more dreadfull made;
Yet his owne face was dreadfull, ne did need
Straunge horrour to deforme his griesly shade:
A net in th' one hand, and a rusty blade
In th' other was; this mischiefe, that mishap;
With th' one his foes he threatned to invade,
With th' other he his friends ment to enwrap:
For whom he could not kill he practizd to entrap.

Next him was Feare, all arm'd from top to toe,
Yet thought himselfe not safe enough thereby,
But feard each shadow moving to or froe;
And, his owne armes when glittering he did spy
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,
As ashes pale of hew, and winged heeld;
And evermore on Daunger fixt his eye,
Gainst whom he alwayes bent a brasen shield,
Which his right hand unarmed fearefully did wield.

With him went Hope in rancke, a handsome mayd,

In full straunge notes was sweetly heard to sound, Of chearefull looke and lovely to behold;

That the rare sweetnesse of the melody
The feeble sences wholy did confound,

And the frayle soule in deepe delight nigh drownd:
And, when it ceast, shrill trompets lowd did bray,
That their report did far away rebound;
And, when they ceast, it gan againe to play,
The whiles'the maskers marched forth in trim aray.
VOL IIL

In silken samite she was light arayd,
And her fayre lockes were woven up in gold:
She alway smyld, and in her hand did hold
An holy-water-sprinckle, dipt in deowe,
With which she sprinckled favours manifold
On whom she list, and did great liking sheowe,
Great liking unto many, but true love to feowe

And after them Dissemblaunce and Suspect
Marcht in one rancke, yet an unequall paire;
For she was gentle and of milde aspect,
Courteous to all and seeming debonaire,
Goodly adorned and exceeding faire;
Yet was that all but paynted and purloynd,
And her bright browes were deckt with borrowed
haire;

Her deeds were forged, and her words false coynd,
And alwaies in her hand two clewes of silke she twynd:

But he was fowle, ill favoured, and grim,
Under his eiebrowes looking still askaunce;
And ever, as Dissemblaunce laught on him,
He lowrd on her with daungerous eye-glaunce,
Shewing his nature in his countenaunce;
His rolling cies did never rest in place,
But walkte each where for feare of hid mischaunce,
Holding a lattis still before his face, [pace.
Through which he stil did peep as forward he did

Next him went Griefe and Fury matcht yfere;
Griefe all in sable sorrowfully clad,
Downe hanging his dull head with heavy chere,
Yet inly being more then seeming sad:
A paire of pincers in his hand he had,
With which he pinched people to the hart,
That from thenceforth a wretched life they ladd,
In wilfull languor and consuming smart,
Dying each day with inward wounds of dolours dart.

But Fury was full ill appareiled

In rags, that naked nigh she did appeare,
With ghastly looks and dreadfull drerihed;
And from her backe her garments she did teare,
And from her head ofte rente her snarled heare:
In her right hand a firebrand shee did tosse
About her head, still roaming here and there;
As a dismayed deare in chace embost,
Forgetfull of his safety, hath his right way lost.

After them went Displeasure and Pleasaunce,
He looking lompish and full sullein sad,
And banging downe his heavy countenaunce;
She chearfull, fresh, and full of ioyaunce glad,
As if no sorrow she ne felt ne drad;
That evill matched paire they seemd to bee:
An angry waspe th' one in a viall had,
Th' other in hers an hony lady-bee.

[gree. Thus marched these six couples forth in faire de

After all these there marcht a most faire dame,
Led of two grysie villeins, th' one Despight,
The other cleped Cruelty by name:
She dolefull lady, like a dreary spright
Cald by strong charmes out of eternall night,
Had Deathes own ymage figurd in her face,
Full of sad signes, fearfull to living sight;
Yet in that horror shewd a seemely grace,

At that wide orifice her trembling hart
Was drawne forth, and in silver basin layd,
Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart,
And in her blood yet steeming fresh embayd.
And those two villeins (which her steps upstayd,
When her weake feete could scarcely her sustaine
And fading vitall powres gan to fade)
Her forward still with torture did constraine,
And evermore encreased her consuming paine.

Next after her, the winged god himselfe
Came riding on a lion ravenous,
Taught to obay the menage of that Elfe
That man and beast with powre imperious
Subdeweth to his kingdome tyrannous:
His blindfold eies he bad awhile unbinde,
That his proud spoile of that same dolorous
Faire dame he might behold in perfect kinde;
Which seene, he much reioyced in his cruell minde.

Of which ful prowd, himselfe uprearing hye
He looked round about with sterne disdayne,
And did survay his goodly company;
And, marshalling the evill-ordered trayne,
With that the darts which his right hand did straine
Full dreadfully he shooke, that all did quake,
And clapt on hye his coulourd wingës twaine,
That all his many it affraide did make:
Tho, blinding him againe, his way he forth did take.

Behinde him was Reproch, Repentaunce, Shame;
Reproch the first, Shame next, Repeut behinde:
Repentaunce feeble, sorrowfall, and lame;
Reproch despightful, carelesse, and unkinde;
Shame most ill-favourd, bestiall, and blinde:
Shame lowrd, Repentaunce sighd, Reproch did
scould;

Reproch sharpestings, Repentaunce whips entwinde, Shame burning brond-yrons in her hand did hold: All three to each unlike, yet all made in one mould.

And after them a rude confused rout

Of persons flockt, whose names is hard to read:
Emongst them was sterne Strife; and Anger stout;
Unquiet Care; and fond Unthriftyhead;
Lewd Losse of Time; and Sorrow seeming dead;
Inconstant Chaunge; and false Disloyalty;
Consuming Riotise; and guilty Dread
Of heavenly vengeaunce; faint Infirmity;
Vile Poverty; and, lastly, Death with infamy.

There were full many moe like maladies,
Whose names and natures I note readen well;,
So many moe, as there be phantasies
In wavering womens witt, that none can tell,
Or paines in love, or punishments in Hell:
All which disguized marcht in masking-wise
About the chamber by the damozell;
And then returned, having marched thrise,

And with her feeble feete did move a comely pace. Into the inner rowme from whence they first did rise,

Her brest all naked, as nett yvory
Without adorne of gold or silver bright
Wherewith the craftesman wonts it beautify,
Of her dew honour was despoyled quight;
And a wide wound therein (O ruefull sight!)
Entrenched deep with knyfe accursed keene,
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting spright,
(The worke of cruell hand) was to be seene,
That dyde in sanguine red her skin all snowy cleene:

So soone as they were in, the dore streightway
Fast locked, driven with that stormy blast
Which first it opened, and bore all away.
Then the brave maid, which al this while was plast
In secret shade, and saw both first and last,
Issewd forth and went unto the dore
To enter in, but fownd it locked fast:
It vaine she thought with rigorous uprore
For to efforce, when charmes had closed it afore.

Where force might not availe, there sleights and art
Ste cast to use, both fitt for hard emprize:
Forthy from that same rowme not to depart
Till morrow next shee did herselfe avize,
When that same maske againe should forth arize.
The morrowe next appeard with ioyous cheare,
Calling men to their daily exercize:

Then she, as morrow fresh, herselfe did reare
Out of her secret stand that day for to outweare.

All that day she outwore in wandering
And gazing on that chambers ornament,
Till that again the second evening
Her covered with her sable vestiment,
Wherewith the worlds faire beautie she hath blent:
Then, when the second watch was almost past,
That brasen dore flew open, and in went
Bold Britomart, as she had late forecast,
Nether of ydle showes nor of false charmes aghast.

So soone as she was entred, rownd about
Shee cast her eies to see what was become
Of all those persons which she saw without:
But lo! they streight were vanisht all and some;
Ne living wight she saw in all that roome,
Save that same woefull lady; both whose hands
Were bounden fast, that did her ill become,
And her small waste girt rownd with yron bands
Unto a brasen pillour, by the which she stands.

And, her before, the vile enchaunter sate,
Figuring straunge characters of his art;
With living blood he those characters wrate,
Dreadfully dropping from her dying hart,
Seeming transfixed with a cruell dart;
And all perforce to make her him to love.
Ah! who can love the worker of her smart!
A thousand charmes he formerly did prove;
Yet thousand charmes could not her stedfast hart

remove.

Soon as that virgin knight he saw in place,
His wicked bookes in hast he overthrew,
Not caring his long labours to deface;
And, fiercely running to that lady trew,
A murdrous knife out of his pocket drew,
The which he thought, for villeinous despight,
In her tormented bodie to embrew:
But the stout damzell to him leaping light

His cursed hand withheld, and maistered his might,

From her, to whom his fury first he ment,
The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest,
And, turning to herselfe his fell intent,
Unwares it strooke into her snowie chest,
That litle drops empurpled her faire brest.
Exceeding wroth therewith the virgin grew,
Albe the wound were nothing deepe imprest,
And fiercely forth her mortall blade she drew,
To give him the reward for such vile outrage dew.

So mightily she smote him, that to ground [slaine,
He fell halfe dead; next stroke him should have
Had not the lady, which by him stood bound,
Dernly unto her called to abstaine
From doing him to dy; for else her paine
Should be remédilesse; sith none but hee
Which wrought it could the same recure againe.
Therewith she stayd her hand, loth stayd to bee;
For life she him envyde, and long'd revenge to see:

And to him said; "Thou wicked man, whose meed
For so huge mischiefe and vile villany

Is death, or if that ought doe death exceed;
Be sure that nought may save thee from to dy
But if that thou this dame do presently
Restore unto her health and former state;
This doe, and liye; els dye undoubtedly."
He, glad of life, that lookt for death but late,
Did yield himselfe right willing to prolong his date:

And rising up gan streight to over-looke
Those cursed leaves, his charmes back to reverse:
Full dreadfull thinges out of that balefull booke
He red, and measur'd many a sad verse,
That horrour gan the virgins hart to perse,
And her faire locks up stared stiffe on end,
Hearing him those same bloody lynes reherse;
And, all the while he red, she did extend
Her sword high over him, if ought he did offend.

Anon she gan perceive the house to quake,
And all the dores to rattle round about;
Yet all that did not her dismaied make,
Nor slack her threatfull hand for daungers dout,
But still with stedfast eye and courage stout
Abode, to weet what end would come of all:
At last that mightie chaine, which round about
Her tender waste was wound, adowne gan fall,
And that great brasen pillour broke in peeces small.

The cruell steele, which thrild her dying hart,
Fell softly forth, as of his owne accord;
And the wyde wound, which lately did dispart
Her bleeding brest and riven bowels gor'd,
Was closed up, as it had not beene sor'd;
And every part to safety full sownd,
As she were never hurt, was soone restord:
Tho, when she felt herselfe to be unbownd
And perfect hole, prostrate she fell unto the grownd;

Before faire Britomart she fell prostráte,
Saying; "Ah! noble knight, what worthy meede
Can wretched lady, quitt from wofull state,
Yield you in lieu of this your gracious deed?
Your vertue selfe her owne reward shall breed,
Even immortall prayse and glory wyde,
Which I your vassall, by your prowesse freed,
Shall through the world make to be notifyde,
And goodly well advaunce that goodly well was
tryde."

But Britomart, uprearing her from grownd,
Said; "Gentle dame, reward enough I weene,
For many labours more than I have found,
This, that in safetie now I have you seene,
And meane of your deliverance have beene:
Henceforth, faire lady, comfort to you take,
And put away remembrance of late teene';
Insted thereof, know that your loving make
Hath no lesse griefe endured for your gentle sake."

She much was cheard to heare him mentiond,
Whom of all living wightes she loved best.
Then laid the noble championesse strong hond
Upon th' enchaunter which had her distrest
So sore, and with foule outrages opprest:
With that great chaine, wherewith not long ygoe
He bound that pitteous lady prisoner now relest,
Himselfe she bound, more worthy to be so,
And captive with her led to wretchednesse and wo.

Returning back, those goodly rowmes, which erst
She saw so rich and royally arayd,
Now vanisht utterly and cleane subverst
She found, and all their glory quite decayd;
That sight of such a chaunge her much dismayd.
Thence forth descending to that perlous porch,
Those dreadfull flames she also found delayd
And quenched quite like a consumed torch,
That erst all entrers wont so cruelly to scorch.

More easie issew now then entrance late
She found; for now that fained-dreadfull flame,
Which chokt the porch of that enchaunted gate
And passage bard to all that thither came,
Was vanisht quite, as it were not the same,
And gave her leave at pleasure forth to passe.
Th'enchaunter selfe, which all that fraud did frame
To have efforst the love of that faire lasse,
Seeing his worke now wasted, deepe engrieved was.

But when the victoresse arrived there
Where late she left the pensife Scudamore
With her own trusty squire, both full of feare,
Neither of them she found where she them lore:
Thereat her noble hart was stonisht sore;
But most faire Amoret, whose gentle spright
Now gan to feede on hope, which she before
Conceived had, to see her own deare knight,
Being thereof beguyld, was fild with new affright.

But he, sad man, when he had long in drede
Awayted there for Britomarts returne,
Yet saw her not, nor signe of her good speed,
His expectation to despaire did turne,
Misdeeming sure that her those flames did burne;
And therefore gan advize with her old squire,
Who her deare nourslings losse no lesse did mourne,
Thence to depart for further aide t' enquire :
Where let them wend at will, whilest here I doe
respire.

When Spenser printed his first three books of the Faerie Queene, the two lovers, sir Scudamore and Amoret, have a happy meeting: but afterwards, when he printed the fourth, fifth, and sixth books, he reprinted likewise the three first books; and, among other alterations of the lesser kind, he left out the five last stanzas, and made three new stanzas, viz. More easie issew now, &c. By these alterations this third book not only connects better with the fourth, but the reader is kept in that suspense which is necessary in a well-told story. The

stanzas which are mentioned above, as omitted in the second edition, and printed in the first, are the following:

At last she came unto the place, where late
She left sir Scudamour in great distresse,
Twixt dolour and despight half desperate,
Of his loues succour, of his owne redresse,
And of the hardie Britomarts successe:
There on the cold earth him now thrown she found,
In wilful anguish, and dead heavinesse,
And to him cald; whose voices knowen sound
Soone as he heard, himself he reared light from
ground.

There did he see, that most on Earth him ioyd,
His dearest loue, the comfort of his dayes,
Whose too long absence him had sore annoyd,
And wearied his life with dull delayes:
Straight he upstarted from the loathed layes,
And to her ran with hasty eagernesse,
Like as a deare, that greedily embayes
In the cool soile, after long thirstinesse,
Which he in chace endured hath, now nigh breath-

[lesse.

Lightly he clipt her twixt his armës twaine,
And streightly did embrace her body bright,
Her body, late the prison of sad paine,
Now the sweet lodge of loue and dear delight:
But the faire lady, overcommon quight
Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,
And in sweet ravishment pourd out her spright.
No word they spake, nor earthly thing they felt,
But like two senceless stocks in long embracements
dwelt.

Had ye them seene, ye would have surely thought
That they had been that faire hermaphrodite,
Which that rich Roman of white marble wrought,
And in his costly bath causd to be site.

So seemd those two, as growne together quite;
That Britomart, halfe enuying their blesse,
Was much empassiond in her gentle sprite,
And to her selfe oft wisht like happinesse: [sesse.
In vaine she wisht, that fate n'ould let her yet pos-

Thus doe those louers with sweet counteruayle,
Each other of loues bitter fruit despoile.
But now my teme begins to faint and fayle,
All woxen weary of their journal toyle;
Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle
At this same furrowes end, till a new day:
And ye, fair swayns, after your long turmoyle,
Now cease your worke, and at your pleasure play;
Now cease your work; to morrow is an holy day.

THE

FOURTH BOOK

OF

THE FAERIE QUEENE,

CONTAYNING THE

LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TRIAMOND, OR OF FRIENDSHIP.

197

THE rugged forhead, that with grave foresight
Welds kingdomes causes and affaires of state,
My looser rimes, I wote, doth sharply wite
For praysing love as I have done of late,
And magnifying lovers deare debate;
By which fraile youth is oft to follie led,
Through false allurement of that pleasing baite,
That better were in vertues discipled,

[fed. Then with vaine poemes weeds to have their fancies

Such ones ill judge of love, that cannot love,
Ne in their frosen hearts feele kindly flame;
Forthy they ought not thing unknowne reprove,
Ne naturall affection faultlesse blame

For fault of few that have abusd the same:
For it of honor and all vertue is

The roote, and brings forth glorious flowres of fame,
That crowne true lovers with immortall blis,
The meed of them that love, and do not live amisse.

Which whoso list looke backe to former ages,
And call to count the things that then were donne,
Shall find that all the workes of those wise sages,
And brave exploits which great heroes wonne,
In love were either ended or begunne:
Witnesse the Father of Philosophie,

Which to his Critias, shaded oft from Sunne,

Of love full manie lessons did apply,

Which that she may the better deigne to heare,
Do thou, dread infant, Venus dearling dove,
From her high spirit chase imperious feare,
And use of awfull maiestie remove:
Insted thereof with drops of melting love,
Deawd with ambrosiall kisses, by thee gotten
From thy sweete-smyling mother from above,
Sprinckle her heart, and haughtie courage soften,
That she may hearke to love, and reade this lesson

often.

CANTO I.

Fayre Britomart saves Amoret:
Duessa discord breedes
Twixt Scudamour and Blandamour:
Their fight and warlike deedes.

Or lovers sad calamities of old
Full many piteous stories doe remaine,
But none more piteous ever was ytold
Then that of Amorets hart-binding chaine,
And this of Florimels unworthie paine:
The deare compassion of whose bitter fit
My softned heart so sorely doth constraine,

The which these stoicke censours cannot well deny. That I with teares full oft doe pittie it,

To such therefore I do not sing at all;

But to that sacred saint my soveraigne queene,
In whose chast brest all bountie naturall
And treasures of true love enlocked beene,

Bove all her sexe that ever yet was seene;

To her I sing of love, that loveth best,

And best is lov'd of all alive I weene;

To her this song most fitly is addrest,

And oftentimes doe wish it never had bene writ.

For, from the time that Scudamour her bought
In perilous fight, she never ioyed day;

A perilous fight! when he with force her brought
From twentie knights that did him all assay;
Yet fairely well he did them all dismay,
And with great glorie both the shield of Love
And eke the ladie selfe he brought away;

The Queene of Love, and Prince of Peace from Whom having wedded, as did him behove,

Heaven blest.

A new unknowen mischiefe did from him remove.

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