"Bu that bold knight, whom ye pursuing saw, 52 And deedes of armes above all Dames is deemd, But she, or such as she, that is so chaste a wight." "Her well beseemes that Quest," (quoth Satyrane) 53 That gentle Lady whom I love and serve, Did aske me, how I could her love deserve, And how she might be sure that I would never swerve? "I, glad by any meanes her grace to gaine, 54 Badd her commaund my life to save or spill. Eftsoones she badd me, with incessaunt paine To wander through the world abroad at will, And every where, where with my power or skill I might doe service unto gentle Dames, That I the same should faithfully fulfill; And at the twelve monethes end should bring their And pledges, as the spoiles of my victorious games. "So well I to faire Ladies service did, [names 55 And found such favour in their loving hartes, She gan for me devise a grievous punishment. "To weet, that I my traveill should resume, 56 "Ah! gentle Squyre," (quoth he) "tell at one word, How many fownd'st thou such to put in thy record ?" "In deed, Sir knight," (said he)" one word may tell 57 All that I ever fownd so wisely stayd, For onely three they were disposd so well; Or brutishly brought up, that nev'r did fashions see." "The first which then refused me," (said hee) "Certes was but a common Courtisane; Yet flat refusd to have adoe with mee, Because I could not give her many a Jane." (Thereat full hartely laughed Satyrane.) "The second was an holy Nunne to chose, Which would not let me be her Chappellane, Because she knew, she sayd, I would disclose Her counsell, if she should her trust in me repose. "The third a Damzell was of low degree, Whom I in countrey cottage fownd by chaunce: Had lodging in so meane a maintenaunce; 58 59 “Safe her, I never any woman found That chastity did for it selfe embrace, 60 But all my dayes am like to waste in vaine, Seeking to match the chaste with th' unchaste Ladies traine." "Perdy," (sayd Satyrane) "thou Squyre of Dames, 61 Great labour fondly hast thou hent in hand, To get small thankes, and therewith many blames, To tell what tydings of fayre Florimell became. CANTO VIII. The Witch creates a snowy Lady like to Florimell; Who wrong'd by Carle, by Proteus sav'd, O oft as I this history record, My heart doth melt with meere compassion To thinke how causelesse, of her owne This gentle Damzell, whom I write upon, [accord, Should plonged be in such affliction Without all hope of comfort or reliefe; But that accursed Hag, her hostesse late, 2 Of her rich spoyles whom he had earst destroyd She weend, and wondrous gladnes to her hart applyde. And, with it ronning hast❜ly to her sonne, 3 Thought with that sight him much to have reliv'd; Who, thereby deeming sure the thing as donne, His former griefe with furie fresh reviv'd Much more then earst, and would have algates riv'd The hart out of his brest: for sith her dedd He surely dempt, himselfe he thought depriv'd Quite of all hope wherewith he long had fedd His foolish malady, and long time had misledd. With thought whereof exceeding mad he grew, 4 [cayd. How she might heale her sonne whose senses were de By their device, and her owne wicked wit, She there deviz'd a wondrous worke to frame, And grudg'd to see the counterfet should shame The substance, whereof she the body made, By errant Sprights, but from all men conceald: In stead of eyes two burning lampes she set 5 6 7 |