"Ah wellaway!" (sayd then the yron man) "That he is not the while in state to woo; But lies in wretched thraldome, weake and wan, Not by strong hand compelled thereunto, But his owne doome, that none can now undoo." "Sayd I not then" (quoth shee), "erwhile aright, That this is thing compacte betwixt you two, Me to deceive of faith unto me plight, Since that he was not forst, nor overcome in fight?"
With that he gan at large to her dilate
The whole discourse of his captivance sad, In sort as ye have heard the same of late: All which when she with hard enduraunce had Heard to the end, she was right sore bestad, With sodaine stounds of wrath and grief attone; Ne would abide, till she had answere made, But streight her selfe did dight, and armor don, And mounting to her steede bad Talus guide her on.
So forth she rode uppon her ready way,
To seeke her Knight, as Talus her did guide.
Sadly she rode, and never word did say
Nor good nor bad, ne ever lookt aside,
But still right downe; and in her thought did hide
The felnesse of her heart, right fully bent
To fierce avengement of that womans pride,
Which had her Lord in her base prison pent,
And so great honour with so fowle reproch had blent.
So as she thus melancholicke did ride,
Chawing the cud of griefe and inward paine,
She chaunst to meete, toward the even-tide,
A Knight that softly paced on the plaine,
As if him selfe to solace he were faine:
Well shot in yeares he seem'd, and rather bent
To peace then needlesse trouble to constraine,
As well by view of that his vestiment,
As by his modest semblant that no evill ment.
IIe comming neare gan gently her salute
With curteous words, in the most comely wize;
Who though desirous rather to rest mute,
Then termes to entertaine of common guize,
Yet rather then she kindnesse would despize,
She would her selfe displease; so him requite.
Then gan the other further to devize
Of things abrode, as next to hand did light, And many things demaund, to which she answer'd light.
For little lust had she to talke of ought,
Or ought to heare that mote delightfull bee: Her minde was whole possessed of one thought, That gave none other place. Which when as hee By outward signes (as well he might) did see, He list no lenger to use lothfull speach, But her besought to take it well in gree, Sith shady dampe had dimd the heavens reach, Tolodge with him that night, unles good cause empeach.
The Championesse, now seeing night at dore,
Was glad to yeeld unto his good request,
And with him went without gaine-saying more.
Not farre away, but little wide by West,
His dwelling was, to which he him addrest:
Where soone arriving they received were
In seemely wise, as them beseemed best;
For he, their host, them goodly well did cheare,
And talk't of pleasant things the night away to weare.
Thus passing th' evening well, till time of rest,
Then Britomart unto a bowre was brought,
Where groomes awayted her to have undrest;
But she ne would undressed be for ought,
Ne doffe her armes, though he her much besought:
For she had vow'd, she sayd, not to forgo
Those warlike weedes, till she revenge had wrought
Of a late wrong uppon a mortall foe;
Which she would sure performe, betide her wele or wo
Which when their Host perceiv'd, right discontent 24
In minde he grew, for feare least by that art
He should his purpose misse, which close he ment:
Yet taking leave of her he did depart.
There all that night remained Britomart,
Restlesse, recomfortlesse, with heart deepe grieved,
Not suffering the least twinckling sleepe to start
Into her eye, which th' heart mote have relieved;
But if the least appear'd, her eyes she streight reprieved.
"Ye guilty eyes," (sayd she) "the which with guyle 25
My heart at first betrayd, will ye betray
My life now too, for which a little whyle
Ye will not watch? false watches, wellaway!
I wote when ye did watch both night and day
Unto your losse; and now needes will ye sleepe?
Now ye have made my heart to wake alway,
Now will ye sleepe? ah! wake, and rather weepe To thinke of your nights want, that should ye waking keepe."
Thus did she watch, and weare the weary night
In waylfull plaints that none was to appease ;
Now walking soft, now sitting still upright,
As sundry chaunge her seemed best to ease.
Ne lesse did Talus suffer sleepe to seaze
His eye-lids sad, but watcht continually,
Lying without her dore in great disease:
Like to a Spaniell wayting carefully
Least any should betray his Lady treacherously.
What time the native Belman of the night,
The bird that warned Peter of his fall,
First rings his silver Bell t' each sleepy wight,
That should their mindes up to devotion call,
She heard a wondrous noise below the hall:
All sodainely the bed, where she should lie,
By a false trap was let adowne to fall
Into a lower roome, and by and by
The loft was raysd againe, that no man could it spie.
With sight whereof she was dismayd right sore,
Perceiving well the treason which was ment;
Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more,
But kept her place with courage confident,
Wayting what would ensue of that event.
It was not long before she heard the sound
Of armed men comming with close intent
Towards her chamber; at which dreadfull stound She quickly caught her sword, and shield about her
With that there came unto her chamber dore
Two Knights all armed ready for to fight;
And after them full many other more,
A raskall rout, with weapons rudely dight:
Whome soone as Talus spide by glims of night,
He started up, there where on ground he lay,
And in his hand his thresher ready keight.
They seeing that let drive at him streightway,
And round about him preace in riotous aray.
But, soone as he began to lay about
With his rude yron flaile, they gan to flie,
Both armed Knights and eke unarmed rout;
Yet Talus after them apace did plie,
Where ever in the darke he could them spie,
That here and there like scattred sheepe they lay:
Then, backe returning where his Dame did lie,
He to her told the story of that fray,
And all that treason there intended did bewray.
Wherewith though wondrous wroth, and inly burning To be avenged for so fowle a deede,
Yet being forst to abide the daies returning, She there remain'd; but with right wary heede, Least any more such practise should proceede. Now mote ye know (that which to Britomart Unknowen was) whence all this did proceede; And for what cause so great mischievous smart Was ment to her that never evill ment in hart.
The goodman of this house was Dolon hight;
A man of subtill wit and wicked minde,
That whilome in his youth had bene a Knight,
And armes had borne, but little good could finde.
And much lesse honour by that warlike kinde
Of life: for he was nothing valorous,
But with slie shiftes and wiles did underminde
All noble Knights, which were adventurous,
And many brought to shame by treason treacherous.
He had three sonnes, all three like fathers sonnes, 33
Like treacherous, like full of fraud and guile,
Of all that on this earthly compasse wonnes;
The eldest of the which was slaine erewhile
By Artegall, through his owne guilty wile:
His name was Guizor; whose untimely fate
For to avenge, full many treasons vile
His father Dolon had deviz'd of late
With these his wicked sons, and shewd his cankred hate.
For sure he weend that this his present guest
Was Artegall, by many tokens plaine;
But chiefly by that yron page he ghest,
Which still was wont with Artegall remaine;
And therefore ment him surely to have slaine:
But by Gods grace, and her good heedinesse,
She was preserved from their traytrous traine.
Thus she all night wore out in watchfulnesse,
Ne suffred slothfull sleepe her eyelids to oppresse.
The morrow next, so soone as dawning houre
Discovered had the light to living eye,
She forth yssew'd out of her loathed bowre,
With full intent t' avenge that villany
On that vilde man and all his family;
And comming down to seeke them where they wond, Nor sire, nor sonnes, nor any could she spie: Each rowme she sought, but them all empty fond. They all were fled for feare; but whether, nether kond
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