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THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE FAERIE QUEENE, CONTAINING THE LEGEND OF

SIR CALIDORE, OR OF COURTESY,

1

4

18

33

The VIIIth Canto (imperfect),

SPENSER'S POETICAL WORKS.

THE SIXTH BOOK

OF

THE FAERIE QUEENE,

CONTAINING

THE LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR OF COURTESY.

I.

THE ways, through which my weary steps I guide
In this delightful land of Faëry,

Are so exceeding spacious and wide,
And sprinkled with such sweet variety
Of all that pleasant is to ear or eye,

That I, nigh ravish'd with rare thoughts' delight,
My tedious travail do forget thereby;

And, when I gin to feel decay of might,

It strength to me supplies and cheers my dulled sprite.

II.

Such secret comfort and such heavenly pleasures,
Ye sacred Imps, that on Parnasso dwell,

And there the keeping have of Learning's treasures
Which do all worldly riches far excel,

Into the minds of mortal men do well,1

And goodly fury2 into them infuse;
Guide

VOL. IV.

ye my footing, and conduct me well

A

1 Cause to flow. 2 Inspiration.

1 Difficulty.

2 Lodge, grow.

3 Judge wrongly of.

In these strange ways where never foot did use, Ne none can find but who was taught them by the Muse:

III.

Reveal to me the sacred nursery

Of Virtue, which with you doth there remain,
Where it in silver bower does hidden lie

From view of men and wicked world's disdain ;
Since it at first was by the gods with pain1
Planted in earth, being deriv'd at furst
From heavenly seeds of bounty soveraine,
And by them long with careful labour nurst,
Till it to ripeness grew, and forth to honour burst.

IV.

Amongst them all grows not a fairer flower
Than is the bloom of comely Courtesy ;

Which though it on a lowly stalk do bower,2
Yet brancheth forth in brave nobility,

And spreads itself through all civility:

Of which though present age do plenteous seem,
Yet, being match'd with plain antiquity,

Ye will them all but feigned shows esteem,
Which carry colours fair that feeble

V.

But, in the trial of true Courtesy,

eyes misdeem:3

It's now so far from that which then it was,
That it indeed is nought but forgery,
Fashion'd to please the eyes of them that pass,
Which see not perfect things but in a glass:
Yet is that glass so gay that it can blind
The wisest sight, to think gold that is brass:
But Virtue's seat is deep within the mind,
And not in outward shows but inward thoughts
defin'd.