"Till on a day, as through a desert wyld
We travelled, both wearie of the way
We did alight, and sate in shadow myld,
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay;
But when as I did out of sleepe abray,
I found her not where I her left whyleare,
But thought she wandred was, or gone astray:
I cal'd her loud, I sought her farre and neare,
But no where could her find, nor tydings of her heare.”
When Scudamour those heavie tydings heard,
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare, Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard; But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare, Till Glauce thus: "Faire Sir, be nought dismayd With needlesse dread, till certaintie heare; For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd: Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd."
Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight
Shew'd change of better cheare; so sore a breach
That sudden newes had made into his spright,
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight:
"Great cause of sorrow certes, Sir, ye have;
But comfort take; for, by this heavens light,
I vow you dead or living not to leave,
Til I her find, and wreake on him that did her reave."
Therewith he rested, and well pleased was:
So, peace being confirm'd amongst them all, They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas Unto some resting place, which mote befall, All being guided by Sir Artegall. Where goodly solace was unto them made, And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall, Untill that they their wounds well healed had, And wearie limmes recur'd after late usage bad.
In all which time Sir Artegall made way
Unto the love of noble Britomart,
And with meeke service and much suit did lay Continuall siege unto her gentle hart; Which, being whylome launcht with lovely dart, More eath was new impression to receive; How ever she her paynd with womanish art To hide her wound, that none might it perceive. Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceive.
So well he woo'd her, and so well he wrought her, 41
With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,
So as she to his speeches was content
To lend an eare, and softly to relent.
At last, through many vowes which forth he pour'd, And many othes, she yeelded her consent
To be his love, and take him for her Lord,
Till they with mariage meet might finish that accord.
Tho, when they had long time there taken rest,
Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,
Fit time for him thence to depart it found,
To follow that which he did long propound,
And unto her his congee came to take;
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,
And loth to leave her late betrothed make,
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to forsake.
Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged,
And wonne her will to suffer him depart;
For which his faith with her he fast engaged,
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart,
That, all so soone as he by wit or art
Could that atchieve whereto he did aspire,
He unto her would speedily revert:
No longer space thereto he did desire,
But till the horned moone three courses did expire.
With which she for the present was appeased,
And yeelded leave, how ever malcontent
She inly were and in her mind displeased.
So, early in the morrow next, he went
Forth on his way to which he was ybent;
Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
As whylome was the custome ancient
Mongst Knights when on adventures they did ride, Save that she algates him a while accompanide.
And by the way she sundry purpose found
Of this or that, the time for to delay,
And of the perils whereto he was bound,
The feare whereof seem'd much her to affray;
But all she did was but to weare out day.
Full oftentimes she leave of him did take;
And eft againe deviz'd some what to say,
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make;
So loth she was his companie for to forsake.
At last, when all her speeches she had spent,
And new occasion fayld her more to find,
She left him to his fortunes government,
And backe returned with right heavie mind
To Scudamour, whom she had left behind:
With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret,
Her second care, though in another kind:
For vertues onely sake, which doth beget
True love and faithfull friendship, she by her did set.
Backe to that desert forrest they retyred,
Where sorie Britomart had lost her late.
There they her sought, and every where inquired
Where they might tydings get of her estate;
Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate
Or hard misfortune she was thence convayd,
And stolne away from her beloved mate,
Were long to tell therefore, I here will stay,
Untill another tyde that I it finish may
CANTO VII.
Amoret rapt by greedie lust
Belphe be saves from dread:
The Squire her loves; and, being blam'd,
his dayes in dole doth lead.
'REAT God of love, that with thy cruell darts Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground, And setst thy kingdome in the captive harts Of Kings and Keasars to thy service bound; What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou found In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore,
And adding anguish to the bitter wound
With which their lives thou lanchedst long afore, By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more?
So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell;
And so and so to noble Britomart;
So doest thou now to her of whom I tell,
The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart
Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
In salvage forrests and in deserts wide
With Beares and Tygers taking heavie part,
Withouten comfort and withouten guide,
That pittie is to heare the perils which she tride.
So soone as she with that brave Britonesse
Had left that Turneyment for beauties prise,
They travel'd long; that now for wearinesse,
Both of the way and warlike exercise,
Both through a forest ryding did devise
T' alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile.
There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise
Of Britomart, after long tedious toyle,
That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.
The whiles faire Amoret, of nought affeard,
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or for need;
When suddenly behind her backe she heard
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,
That, ere she backe could turne to taken heed,
Had unawares her snatched up from ground:
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed
That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound, There where through weary travel she lay sleeping sound.
It was to weet a wilde and salvage man;
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,
And eke in stature higher by a span;
All overgrowne with haire, that could awhape
An hardy hart; and his wide mouth did gape
With huge great teeth, like to a tusked Bore:
For he liv'd all on ravin and on rape
Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,
The signe whereof yet stain'd his bloudy lips afore.
His neather lip was not like man nor beast,
But like a wide deep poke, downe hanging low,
In which he wont the relickes of his feast
And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow :
And over it his huge great nose did grow,
Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;
And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow,
And raught downe to his waste when up he stood,
More great then th' eares of Elephants by Indus flood.
His wast was with a wreath of yvie greene
Engirt about, ne other garment wore,
For all his haire was like a garment seene;
And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,
Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,
And beath'd in fire for steele to be in sted.
But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red,
But certes was with milke of Wolves and Tygres fed.
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