Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599). The Complete Poetical Works. 1908.

The Faerie Queene

Book II. The Legend of Sir Guyon. Canto III

SOONE as the morrow fayre with purple beames

Disperst the shadowes of the misty night,

And Titan, playing on the eastern streames,

Gan cleare the deawy ayre with springing light,

Sir Guyon, mindfull of his vow yplight,

Uprose from drowsie couch, and him addrest

Unto the journey which he had behight:

His puissaunt armes about his noble brest,

And many-folded shield he bound about his wrest.

Then taking congè of that virgin pure,

The bloody-handed babe unto her truth

Did earnestly committ, and her conjure,

In vertuous lore to traine his tender youth,

And all that gentle noriture ensueth:

And that, so soone as ryper yeares he raught,

He might, for memory of that dayes ruth,

Be called Ruddymane, and thereby taught

T’ avenge his parents death on them that had it wrought.

So forth he far’d, as now befell, on foot,

Sith his good steed is lately from him gone;

Patience perforce: helplesse what may it boot

To frett for anger, or for griefe to mone?

His palmer now shall foot no more alone.

So fortune wrought, as under greene woodes syde

He lately hard that dying lady grone,

He left his steed without, and speare besyde,

And rushed in on foot to ayd her, ere she dyde.

The whyles a losell wandring by the way,

One that to bountie never cast his mynd,

Ne thought of honour ever did assay

His baser brest, but in his kestrell kynd

A pleasing vaine of glory he did fynd,

To which his flowing toung and troublous spright

Gave him great ayd, and made him more inclynd:

He, that brave steed there finding ready dight,

Purloynd both steed and speare, and ran away full light.

Now gan his hart all swell in jollity,

And of him selfe great hope and help conceiv’d,

That puffed up with smoke of vanity,

And with selfe-loved personage deceiv’d,

He gan to hope of men to be receiv’d

For such as he him thought, or faine would bee:

But for in court gay portaunce he perceiv’d

And gallant shew to be in greatest gree,

Eftsoones to court he cast t’ advaunce his first degree.

And by the way he chaunced to espy

One sitting ydle on a sunny banck,

To whom avaunting in great bravery,

As peacocke, that his painted plumes doth pranck,

He smote his courser in the trembling flanck,

And to him threatned his hart-thrilling speare:

The seely man, seeing him ryde so ranck

And ayme at him, fell flatt to ground for feare,

And crying ‘Mercy!’ loud, his pitious handes gan reare.

Thereat the scarcrow wexed wondrous prowd,

Through fortune of his first adventure fayre,

And with big thundring voice revyld him lowd:

‘Vile caytive, vassall of dread and despayre,

Unworthie of the commune breathed ayre,

Why livest thou, dead dog, a lenger day,

And doest not unto death thy selfe prepayre?

Dy, or thy selfe my captive yield for ay;

Great favour I thee graunt, for aunswere thus to stay.’

‘Hold, O deare lord, hold your dead-doing hand!’

Then loud he cryde, ‘I am your humble thrall.’

‘Ah, wretch!’ quoth he, ‘thy destinies withstand

My wrathfull will, and doe for mercy call.

I give thee life: therefore prostrated fall,

And kisse my stirrup; that thy homage bee.’

The miser threw him selfe, as an offall,

Streight at his foot in base humilitee,

And cleeped him his liege, to hold of him in fee.

So happy peace they made and faire accord.

Eftsoones this liegeman gan to wexe more bold,

And when he felt the folly of his lord,

In his owne kind he gan him selfe unfold:

For he was wylie witted, and growne old

In cunning sleightes and practick knavery.

From that day forth he cast for to uphold

His ydle humour with fine flattery,

And blow the bellowes to his swelling vanity.

Trompart, fitt man for Braggadochio,

To serve at court in view of vaunting eye;

Vaineglorious man, when fluttring wind does blow

In his light winges, is lifted up to skye;

The scorne of knighthood and trew chevalrye,

To thinke, without desert of gentle deed

And noble worth, to be advaunced hye:

Such prayse is shame; but honour, vertues meed,

Doth beare the fayrest flowre in honourable seed.

So forth they pas, a well consorted payre,

Till that at length with Archimage they meet:

Who, seeing one that shone in armour fayre,

On goodly courser thondring with his feet,

Eftsoones supposed him a person meet

Of his revenge to make the instrument:

For since the Redcrosse Knight he erst did weet,

To beene with Guyon knitt in one consent,

The ill, which earst to him, he now to Guyon ment.

And comming close to Trompart gan inquere

Of him, what mightie warriour that mote bee,

That rode in golden sell with single spere,

But wanted sword to wreake his enmitee.

‘He is a great adventurer,’ said he,

‘That hath his sword through hard assay forgone,

And now hath vowd, till he avenged bee

Of that despight, never to wearen none;

That speare is him enough to doen a thousand grone.’

Th’ enchaunter greatly joyed in the vaunt,

And weened well ere long his will to win,

And both his foen with equall foyle to daunt.

Tho to him louting lowly did begin

To plaine of wronges, which had committed bin

By Guyon, and by that false Redcrosse Knight,

Which two, through treason and deceiptfull gin,

Had slayne Sir Mordant and his lady bright:

That mote him honour win, to wreak so foule despight.

Therewith all suddeinly he seemd enragd,

And threatned death with dreadfull countenaunce,

As if their lives had in his hand beene gagd;

And with stiffe force shaking his mortall launce,

To let him weet his doughtie valiaunce,

Thus said: ‘Old man, great sure shalbe thy meed,

If, where those knights for feare of dew vengeaunce

Doe lurke, thou certeinly to mee areed,

That I may wreake on them their hainous hateful deed.’

‘Certes, my lord,’ said he, ‘that shall I soone,

And give you eke good helpe to their decay.

But mote I wisely you advise to doon,

Give no ods to your foes, but doe purvay

Your selfe of sword before that bloody day:

For they be two the prowest knights on grownd,

And oft approv’d in many hard assay;

And eke of surest steele, that may be fownd,

Doe arme your self against that day, them to confownd.’

‘Dotard,’ saide he, ‘let be thy deepe advise;

Seemes that through many yeares thy wits thee faile,

And that weake eld hath left thee nothing wise,

Els never should thy judgement be so frayle,

To measure manhood by the sword or mayle.

Is not enough fowre quarters of a man,

Withouten sword or shield, an hoste to quayle?

Thou litle wotest what this right-hand can:

Speake they, which have beheld the battailes which it wan.’

The man was much abashed at his boast;

Yet well he wist, that who so would contend

With either of those knightes on even coast,

Should neede of all his armes, him to defend;

Yet feared least his boldnesse should offend:

When Braggadocchio saide: ‘Once I did sweare,

When with one sword seven knightes I brought to end,

Thence forth in battaile never sword to beare,

But it were that which noblest knight on earth doth weare.’

‘Perdy, sir knight,’ saide then th’ enchaunter blive,

‘That shall I shortly purchase to your hond:

For now the best and noblest knight alive

Prince Arthur is, that wonnes in Faerie Lond;

He hath a sword, that flames like burning brond.

The same, by my device, I undertake

Shall by to morrow by thy side be fond.’

At which bold word that boaster gan to quake,

And wondred in his minde what mote that monster make.

He stayd not for more bidding, but away

Was suddein vanished out of his sight:

The northerne winde his wings did broad display

At his commaund, and reared him up light

From of the earth to take his aerie flight.

They lookt about, but no where could espye

Tract of his foot: then dead through great affright

They both nigh were, and each bad other flye:

Both fled attonce, ne ever backe retourned eye:

Till that they come unto a forrest greene,

In which they shrowd themselves from causeles feare;

Yet feare them followes still, where so they beene.

Each trembling leafe and whistling wind they heare,

As ghastly bug, their haire on end does reare:

Yet both doe strive their fearefulnesse to faine.

At last they heard a horne, that shrilled cleare

Throughout the wood, that ecchoed againe,

And made the forrest ring, as it would rive in twaine.

Eft through the thicke they heard one rudely rush;

With noyse whereof he from his loftie steed

Downe fell to ground, and crept into a bush,

To hide his coward head from dying dreed.

But Trompart stoutly stayd to taken heed

Of what might hap. Eftsoone there stepped foorth

A goodly ladie clad in hunters weed,

That seemd to be a woman of great worth,

And, by her stately portance, borne of heavenly birth.

Her face so faire as flesh it seemed not,

But hevenly pourtraict of bright angels hew,

Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or blot,

Through goodly mixture of complexions dew;

And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew

Like roses in a bed of lillies shed,

The which ambrosiall odours from them threw,

And gazers sense with double pleasure fed,

Hable to heale the sicke, and to revive the ded.

In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,

Kindled above at th’ Hevenly Makers light,

And darted fyrie beames out of the same,

So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,

That quite bereav’d the rash beholders sight:

In them the blinded god his lustfull fyre

To kindle oft assayd, but had no might;

For with dredd majestie and awfull yre

She broke his wanton darts, and quenched bace desyre.

Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave,

Like a broad table did it selfe dispred,

For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave,

And write the battailes of his great godhed:

All good and honour might therein be red:

For there their dwelling was. And when she spake,

Sweete wordes, like dropping honny, she did shed,

And twixt the perles and rubins softly brake

A silver sound, that heavenly musicke seemd to make.

Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,

Under the shadow of her even browes,

Working belgardes and amorous retrate,

And everie one her with a grace endowes,

And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes.

So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,

And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,

How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face,

For feare, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace?

So faire, and thousand thousand times more faire,

She seemd, when she presented was to sight;

And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire,

All in a silken camus lylly whight,

Purfled upon with many a folded plight,

Which all above besprinckled was throughout

With golden aygulets, that glistred bright,

Like twinckling starres, and all the skirt about

Was hemd with golden fringe.

Below her ham her weed did somewhat trayne,

And her streight legs most bravely were embayld

In gilden buskins of costly cordwayne,

All bard with golden bendes, which were entayld

With curious antickes, and full fayre aumayld:

Before, they fastned were under her knee

In a rich jewell, and therein entrayld

The ends of all their knots, that none might see

How they within their fouldings close enwrapped bee.

Like two faire marble pillours they were seene,

Which doe the temple of the gods support,

Whom all the people decke with girlands greene,

And honour in their festivall resort;

Those same with stately grace and princely port

She taught to tread, when she her selfe would grace,

But with the woody nymphes when she did sport,

Or when the flying libbard she did chace,

She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace.

And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held,

And at her backe a bow and quiver gay,

Stuft with steele-headed dartes, wherewith she queld

The salvage beastes in her victorious play,

Knit with a golden bauldricke, which forelay

Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide

Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May,

Now little gan to swell, and being tide,

Through her thin weed their places only signifide.

Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,

About her shoulders weren loosely shed,

And when the winde emongst them did inspyre,

They waved like a penon wyde dispred,

And low behinde her backe were scattered:

And whether art it were, or heedelesse hap,

As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,

In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap,

And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap.

Such as Diana by the sandy shore

Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene,

Where all the nymphes have her unwares forlore,

Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes keene,

To seeke her game: or as that famous queene

Of Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy,

The day that first of Priame she was seene,

Did shew her selfe in great triumphant joy,

To succour the weake state of sad afflicted Troy.

Such when as hartlesse Trompart her did vew,

He was dismayed in his coward minde,

And doubted, whether he himselfe should shew,

Or fly away, or bide alone behinde:

Both feare and hope he in her face did finde,

When she at last, him spying, thus bespake:

‘Hayle, groome! didst not thou see a bleeding hynde,

Whose right haunch earst my stedfast arrow strake?

If thou didst, tell me, that I may her overtake.’

Wherewith reviv’d, this answere forth he threw:

‘O goddesse, (for such I thee take to bee;

For nether doth thy face terrestriall shew,

Nor voyce sound mortall) I avow to thee,

Such wounded beast as that I did not see,

Sith earst into this forrest wild I came.

But mote thy goodlyhed forgive it mee,

To weete which of the gods I shall thee name,

That unto thee dew worship I may rightly frame.’

To whom she thus— But ere her words ensewd,

Unto the bush her eye did suddein glaunce,

In which vaine Braggadocchio was mewd,

And saw it stirre: she lefte her percing launce,

And towards gan a deadly shafte advaunce,

In mind to marke the beast. At which sad stowre,

Trompart forth stept, to stay the mortall chaunce,

Out crying: ‘O, what ever hevenly powre,

Or earthly wight thou be, withhold this deadly howre!

‘O stay thy hand! for yonder is no game

For thy fiers arrowes, them to exercize,

But loe! my lord, my liege, whose warlike name

Is far renowmd through many bold emprize;

And now in shade he shrowded yonder lies.’

She staid: with that he crauld out of his nest,

Forth creeping on his caitive hands and thies,

And standing stoutly up, his lofty crest

Did fiercely shake, and rowze, as comming late from rest.

As fearfull fowle, that long in secret cave

For dread of soring hauke her selfe hath hid,

Not caring how, her silly life to save,

She her gay painted plumes disorderid,

Seeing at last her selfe from daunger rid,

Peepes forth, and soone renews her native pride;

She gins her feathers fowle disfigured

Prowdly to prune, and sett on every side;

So shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst she did her hide.

So when her goodly visage he beheld,

He gan himselfe to vaunt; but when he vewd

Those deadly tooles which in her hand she held,

Soone into other fitts he was transmewd,

Till she to him her gracious speach renewd:

‘All haile, sir knight, and well may thee befall,

As all the like, which honor have pursewd

Through deeds of armes and prowesse martiall!

All vertue merits praise, but such the most of all.’

To whom he thus: ‘O fairest under skie,

Trew be thy words, and worthy of thy praise,

That warlike feats doest highest glorifie.

Therein have I spent all my youthly daies,

And many battailes fought and many fraies

Throughout the world, wher so they might be found,

Endevoring my dreaded name to raise

Above the moone, that Fame may it resound

In her eternall tromp, with laurell girlond cround.

‘But what art thou, O lady, which doest raunge

In this wilde forest, where no pleasure is,

And doest not it for joyous court exchaunge,

Emongst thine equall peres, where happy blis

And all delight does raigne, much more then this?

There thou maist love, and dearly loved be,

And swim in pleasure, which thou here doest mis;

There maist thou best be seene, and best maist see:

The wood is fit for beasts, the court is fitt for thee.’

‘Who so in pompe of prowd estate,’ quoth she,

‘Does swim, and bathes him selfe in courtly blis,

Does waste his dayes in darke obscuritee,

And in oblivion ever buried is:

Where ease abownds, yt’s eath to doe amis:

But who his limbs with labours, and his mynd

Behaves with cares, cannot so easy mis.

Abroad in armes, at home in studious kynd,

Who seekes with painfull toile, shal Honor soonest fynd.

‘In woods, in waves, in warres she wonts to dwell,

And wilbe found with perill and with paine;

Ne can the man, that moulds in ydle cell,

Unto her happy mansion attaine:

Before her gate High God did sweate ordaine,

And wakefull watches ever to abide:

But easy is the way, and passage plaine

To Pleasures pallace; it may soone be spide,

And day and night her dores to all stand open wide.

‘In princes court—’ The rest she would have sayd,

But that the foolish man, fild with delight

Of her sweete words, that all his sence dismayd,

And with her wondrous beauty ravisht quight,

Gan burne in filthy lust, and, leaping light,

Thought in his bastard armes her to embrace.

With that she, swarving backe, her javelin bright

Against him bent, and fiercely did menace:

So turned her about, and fled away apace.

Which when the pesaunt saw, amazd he stood,

And grieved at her flight; yet durst he nott

Pursew her steps through wild unknowen wood;

Besides he feard her wrath, and threatned shott,

Whiles in the bush he lay, not yet forgott:

Ne car’d he greatly for her presence vayne,

But turning said to Trompart: ‘What fowle blott

Is this to knight, that lady should agayne

Depart to woods untoucht, and leave so proud disdayne!’

‘Perdy,’ said Trompart, ‘lett her pas at will,

Least by her presence daunger mote befall.

For who can tell (and sure I feare it ill)

But that shee is some powre celestiall?

For whiles she spake, her great words did apall

My feeble corage, and my heart oppresse,

That yet I quake and tremble over all.’

‘And I,’ said Braggadocchio, ‘thought no lesse,

When first I heard her horn sound with such ghastlinesse.

‘For from my mothers wombe this grace I have

Me given by eternall destiny,

That earthly thing may not my corage brave

Dismay with feare, or cause on foote to flye,

But either hellish feends, or powres on hye:

Which was the cause, when earst that horne I heard,

Weening it had beene thunder in the skye,

I hid my selfe from it, as one affeard;

But when I other knew, my selfe I boldly reard.

‘But now, for feare of worse that may betide,

Let us soone hence depart.’ They soone agree;

So to his steed he gott, and gan to ride,

As one unfitt therefore, that all might see

He had not trayned bene in chevalree.

Which well that valiaunt courser did discerne;

For he despisd to tread in dew degree,

But chaufd and fom’d, with corage fiers and sterne,

And to be easd of that base burden still did erne.