How then shall I, apprentice of the skill
That whilome in divinest wits did rayne,
Presume so high to stretch mine humble quill?
Yet now my luckelesse lott doth me constrayne
Hereto perforce: But, O dredd Soverayne,
Thus far forth pardon, sith that choicest witt
Cannot your glorious pourtraict figure playne,
That I in colourd showes may shadow itt,
And antique praises unto present persons fitt.
But if in living colours, and right hew,
Thyselfe thou covet to see pictured,
Who can it doe more lively, or more trew, Then that sweete verse, with nectar sprinckeled, In which a gracious servaunt pictured His Cynthia, his heavens fayrest light? That with his melting sweetnes ravished, And with the wonder of her beamës bright, My sences lulled are in slomber of delight.
But let that same delitious poet lend
A little leave unto a rusticke Muse
To sing his Mistresse prayse; and let him mend, If ought amis her liking may abuse:
Ne let his fayrest Cynthia refuse
In mirrours more then one herselfe to see;
But either Gloriana let her chuse,
Or in Belphœbe fashioned to bee;
In th'one her rule, in th' other her rare chastitee.
Guyon encountreth Britomart:
Fayre Florimell is chaced:
Duessaes traines and Malecas-
taes champions are defaced.
THE famous Briton Prince and Faery Knight,
After long ways and perilous paines endur'd,
Having their weary limbes to perfect plight
Restord, and sory wounds right well recur'd,
Of the faire Alma greatly were procur'd
To make there lenger soiourne and abode ;
But, when thereto they might not be allur'd
From seeking praise and deeds of armes abrode,
They courteous congé tooke, and forth together yode.
But the captiv'd Acrasia he sent,
Because of traveill long, a nigher way,
With a strong gard, all reskew to prevent,
And her to Faery Court safe to convay;
That her for witnes of his hard assay
Unto his Faery Queene he might present:
But he himselfe betooke another way,
To make more triall of his hardiment,
And seek adventures, as he with Prince Arthure went.
Long so they traveiled through wastefull wayes,
Where daungers dwelt, and perils most did wonne,
To hunt for glory and renowmed prayse:
Full many countreyes they did overronne,
From the uprising to the setting sunne,
And many hard adventures did atchieve;
Of all the which, they honour ever wonne,
Seeking the weake oppressed to relieve,
And to recover right for such as wrong did grieve.
At last, as through an open plaine they yode,
They spide a Knight that towards pricked fayre;
And him beside an aged Squire there rode,
That seemd to couch under his shield three-square,
As if that age badd him that burden spare,
And yield it those that stouter could it wield:
He, them espying, gan himselfe prepare,
And on his arme addresse his goodly shield
That bore a lion passant in a golden field.
Which seeing good Sir Guyon deare besought
The Prince, of grace, to let him ronne that turne.
He graunted: then the Faery quickly raught
His poynant speare, and sharply gan to spurne
His fomy steed, whose fiery feete did burne
The verdant gras as he thereon did tread ;
Ne did the other backe his foote returne,
But fiercely forward came withouten dread,
And bent his dreadful speare against the others head.
They beene ymett, and both theyr points arriv'd;
But Guyon drove so furious and fell,
That seemd both shield and plate it would have riv'd;
Nathelesse it bore his foe not from his sell,
But made him stagger, as he were not well:
But Guyon selfe, ere well he was aware,
Nigh a speares length behind his crouper fell;
Yet in his fall so well himselfe he bare,
That mischievous mischaunce his life and limbs did spare.
Great shame and sorrow of that fall he tooke;
For never yet, sith warlike armes he bore
And shivering speare in bloody field first shooke,
He fownd himselfe dishonored so sore.
Ah! gentlest Knight, that ever armor bore,
Let not thee grieve dismounted to have beene,
And brought to grownd, that never wast before;
For not thy fault, but secret powre unseene;
That speare enchaunted was which layd thee on the
greene!
But weenedst thou what wight thee overthrew,
Much greater griefe and shamefuller regrett
For thy hard fortune then thou wouldst renew,
That of a single Damzell thou wert mett
On equall plaine, and there so hard besett:
Even the famous Britomart it was,
Whom straunge adventure did from Britayne fett
To seeke her lover (love far sought alas!)
Whose image shee had seene in Venus looking-glas.
Full of disdainefull wrath, he fierce uprose
For to revenge that fowle reprochefull shame,
And snatching his bright sword began to close
With her on foot, and stoutly forward came;
Dye rather would he then endure that same.
Which when his Palmer saw, he gan to feare
His toward perill, and untoward blame,
Which by that new rencounter he should reare; For Death sate on the point of that enchaunted speare
And hasting towards him gan fayre perswade
Not to provoke misfortune, nor to weene
His speares default to mend with cruell blade;
For by his mightie science he had seene
The secrete vertue of that weapon keene,
That mortall puissaunce mote not withstond:
Nothing on earth mote alwaies happy beene!
Great hazard were it, and adventure fond,
To loose long-gotten honour with one evill hond.
By such good meanes he him discounselled
From prosecuting his revenging rage:
And eke the Prince like treaty handeled,
His wrathfull will with reason to aswage;
And laid the blame, not to his carriage,
But to his starting steed that swarv'd asyde,
And to the ill purveyaunce of his Page,
That had his furnitures not firmely tyde:
So is his angry corage fayrly pacifyde.
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