It gladly did accept, as he did say:
So taking courteous leave they parted twain;
1 Labour. And Calidore forth passed to his former pain.1
But Tristram, then despoiling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of praise,
Long fed his greedy eyes with the fair sight
Of the bright metal shining like sun rays;
Handling and turning them a thousand ways:
And, after having them upon him dight,2
He took that lady, and her up did raise
Upon the steed of her own late dead knight:
So with her marchéd forth, as she did him behight.3
There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turn we back to good Sir Calidore;
Who, ere he thence had travell'd many a mile,
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore [sore
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded
Another knight in his despiteous pride;
There he that knight found lying on the floor1
With many wounds full perilous and wide,
That all his garments and the grass in vermeil dy'd:
And there beside him sat upon the ground
His woful lady, piteously complaining
With loud laments that most unlucky stound,5
And her sad self with careful hand constraining
To wipe his wounds, and ease their bitter paining
Which sorry sight when Calidore did view,
With heavy eyne from tears uneath refraining,
His mighty heart their mournful case gan rue,7
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.
Then, speaking to the lady, thus he said;
'Ye doleful Dame, let not your grief empeach1
To tell what cruel hand hath thus array'd
This knight unarm'd with so unknightly breach
Of arms, that, if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may avenge him of so foul despite.'
The lady, hearing his so courteous speech,
Gan rear her eyes as to the cheerful light, [sigh't:
And from her sorry heart few heavy words forth
In which she shew'd, how that discourteous knight,
Whom Tristram slew, them in that shadow found
Joying together in unblam'd delight;
And him unarm'd, as now he lay on ground,
Charg'd with his spear, and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but only her to reave2
From him, to whom she was for ever bound:
Yet, when she fled into that covert greave,3
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did
leave.
When Calidore this rueful story had
Well understood, 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 understand,
Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden arms, with azure band
Quarter'd athwart, and bearing in his targe
A lady on rough waves row'd in a summer barge.
Then gan Sir Calidore to guess straightway,
By many signs which she describéd had,
That this was he whom Tristram erst1 did slay,
And to her said; 'Dame, be no longer sad;
For he, that hath your knight so ill bestad,2
Is now himself in much more wretched plight;
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meed of his desert for that despite, [knight.
Which to yourself he wrought and to your loved
'Therefore, fair lady, lay aside this grief,
Which ye have gather'd to your gentle heart
For that displeasure; and think what relief
Were best devise for this your lover's smart;
And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Convey to be recur'd.' She thank'd him dear,
Both for that news he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did bear
Both to her love and to herself in that sad drear.3
Yet could she not devise by any wit,
How thence she might convey him to some place;
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a stranger to her wretched case;
And him to bear, she thought it thing too base.
Which whenas he perceiv'd he thus bespake;
Fair Lady, let it not you seem disgrace
To bear this burden on your dainty back;
Myself will bear a part, coportion of your pack.'5
So off he did his shield, and downward laid
Upon the ground, like to an hollow bier;
And pouring balm, which he had long purvey'd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did rear,
And twixt them both with parted pains did bear,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was done:
Thence they him carried to a castle near,
In which a worthy ancient knight did wonne:1 Where what ensu'd shall in next canto be begun.
Calidore brings Priscilla home;
Pursues the Blatant Beast:
Saves Sérena, whilst Calepine
By Turpine is opprest.
TRUE is, that whilome2 that good poet* said,
The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known:
For a man by nothing is so well bewray'd
As by his manners; in which plain is shown
Of what degree and what race he is grown:
For seldom seen a trotting stallion get
An ambling colt, that is his proper own:
So seldom seen that one in baseness3 set
Doth noble courage shew with courteous manners
But evermore contráry hath been tried,
That gentle blood will gentle manners breed;
As well may be in Calidore descried,
By late ensample of that courteous deed
Done to that wounded knight in his great need,
Whom on his back he bore, till he him brought
Unto the castle where they had decreed:
There of the knight, the which that castle ought,5 5 Owned. To make abode that night he greatly was besought.
He was to weet a man of full ripe years,
That in his youth had been of mickle might,
And borne great sway in arms amongst his peers;
But now weak age had dimm'd his candlelight:
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,
And loved all that did to arms incline;
And was the father of that wounded knight,
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine;1
And Aldus was his name; and his son's Aladine.
Who when he saw his son so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a bier
By a fair lady and a stranger knight,
Was inly touchéd with compassion dear,
And dear affection of so doleful drear,2
That he these words burst forth; Ah! sorry boy!
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aye me! is this the timely joy,
Which I expected long, now turn'd to sad annoy?
'Such is the weakness of all mortal hope;
So tickle is the state of earthly things;
That, ere they come unto their aiméd scope,
They fall too short of our frail reckonings,
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,
Instead of comfort which we should embrace:
This is the state of kaisers and of kings!
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case!'
So well and wisely did that good old knight
Temper his grief, and turnéd it to cheer,
To cheer his guests whom he had stay'd5 that night,
And make their welcome to them well appear:
That to Sir Calidore was easy gear;
But that fair lady would be cheer'd for naught,
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