There by th' uncertaine glims of starry night,
And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,
He mote perceive a litle dawning sight
Of all which there was doing in that quire :
Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire
Ile spyde lamenting her unluckie strife,
And groning sore from grieved hart entire :
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife
Readie to launch her brest, and let out loved life.
With that he thrusts into the thickest throng,
And even as his right hand adowne descends,
He him preventing layes on earth along,
And sacrifizeth to th' infernall feends:
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends;
Of whom he makes such havocke and such hew,
That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends :
The rest, that scape his sword and death eschew,
Fly like a flocke of doves before a Faulcons vew.
From them returning to that Ladie backe,
Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke Of clothes to cover what they ought by kind, He first her hands beginneth to unbind, And then to question of her present woe, And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind; But she, for nought that he could say or doe, One word durst speake, or answere him awhit thereto.
So inward shame of her uncomely case
She did conceive, through care of womanhood,
That though the night did cover her disgrace,
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood
Would not bewray the state in which she stood So all that night to him unknowen she past; But day, that doth discover bad and good, Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last: The end whereof Ile keepe untill another cast.
CANTO IX.
Calidore hostes with Melibee,
and loves fayre Pastorell:
Coridon envies him, yet he
for ill rewards him well:
OW turne againe my teme, thou jolly swayne,
Backe to the furrow which I lately left.
I lately left a furrow, one or twayne,
Unplough'd, the which my coulter kath not cleft;
Yet seem'd the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft,
As I it past that were too great a shame,
That so rich frute should be from us bereft ;
Besides the great dishonour and defame,
Which should befall to Calidores immortall name.
Great travell hath the gentle Calidore
And toyle endured, sith I left him last
Sewing the Blatant beast; which I forbore
To finish then, for other present hast.
Full many pathes and perils he hath past,
Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, and
throgh plaines,
In that same quest which fortune on him cast,
Which he atchieved to his owne great gaines,
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.
So sharply he the Monster did pursew,
That day nor night he suffred him to rest, Ne rested he himselfe, but natures dew, For dread of daunger not to be redrest, If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest. Him first from court he to the citties coursed, And from the citties to the townes him prest, And from the townes into the countrie forsed, And from the country back to private farmes he scorsed.
From thence into the open fields he fled,
Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat, And shepherds singing to their flockes that fed Layes of sweete love and youthes delightfull heat: Him thether eke, for all his fearefull threat, He followed fast, and chaced him so nie, That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat, And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flie.
There on a day, as he pursew'd the chace,
He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes, Playing on pipes and caroling apace,
The whiles their beasts there in the budded broomes Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes; For other worldly wealth they cared nought. To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes, And them to tell him courteously besought, If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought. They answer'd him that no such beast they saw, Nor any wicked feend that mote offend
Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw;
But if that such there were (as none they kend)
They prayd high God them farre from them to send.
Then one of them, him seeing so to sweat,
After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,
Offred him drinke to quench his thirstie heat,
And if he hungry were him offred eke to eat.
The knight was nothing nice where was no need, 7
And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne
They prayd him sit, and gave him for to feed
Such homely what as serves the simple clowne,
That doth despise the dainties of the towne.
Tho having fed his fill, he there besyde
Saw a faire damzell which did weare a crowne
Of sundry flowres with silken ribbands tyde, [dyde.
Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had
Upon a litle hillocke she was placed
Higher then all the rest, and round about
Environ'd with a girland, goodly graced,
Of lovely lasses; and them all without
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,
The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,
And oft rejoyce, and oft for wonder shout,
As if some miracle of heavenly hew
Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.
And soothly sure she was full fayre of face,
And perfectly well shapt in every lim,
Which she did more augment with modest grace
And comely carriage of her count'nance trim,
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim :
Who her admiring as some heavenly wight,
Did for their soveraine goddesse her esteeme,
And, caroling her name both day and night,
The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight.
Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne, But her did honour; and eke many a one
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing payne
Full many a night for her did sigh and grone:
But most of all the shepheard Coridon
For her did languish, and his deare life spend;
Yet neither she for him nor other none
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:
Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend.
Her whyles Sir Calidore there vewed well,
And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed
So farre the meane of shepheards to excell,
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed
To be a Princes Paragone esteemed,
He was unwares surprisd in subtile bands
Of the blynd boy; ne thence could be redeemed
By any skill out of his cruell hands;
Caught like the bird which gazing still on others stands.
So stood he still long gazing thereupon,
Ne any will had thence to move away,
Although his quest were farre afore him gon:
But after he had fed, yet did he stay
And sate there still, untill the flying day
Was farre forth spent, discoursing diversly
Of sundry things as fell, to worke delay;
And evermore his speach he did apply
To th' heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy.
By this the moystie night approching fast
Her deawy humour gan on th' earth to shed,
That warn'd the shepheards to their homes to hast
Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,
For feare of wetting them before their bed.
Then came to them a good old aged syre,
Whose silver lockes bedeckt his beard and hed,
With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,
That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre.
He was, to weet, by common voice esteemed
The father of the fayrest Pastorell,
An of her selfe in very deede so deemed;
Yet was not so; but, as old stories tell,
Found her by fortune, which to him befell,
In th' open fields an Infant left alone;
And taking up, brought home, and noursed well
As his owne chyld; for other he had none,
That she in tract of time accompted was his owne.
She at his bidding meekely did arise,
And streight unto her litle flocke did fare:
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,
And each his sundrie sheepe with severall care
Gathered together, and them homeward bare:
Whylest everie one with helping hands did strive
Amongst themselves, and did their labours share,
To helpe faire Pastorella home to drive
Her fleecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did give.
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