III. Edmund Spenser

AT last he came unto a gloomy glade,

Cover’d with boughes and shrubs from heaven’s light,

Where as he sitting found in secret shade

An uncouth salvage and uncivile wight,

Of griesley hew and fowle ill-favour’d sight:

His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard,

His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,

His cole-blacke hands did seem to have beene seard

In smythe’s fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard.

His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust,

Was underneath enveloped with gold;

Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy dust,

Well yet appeared to have beene of old

A worke of rich entayle and curious mould,

Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery:

And in his lap a masse of coyne he told,

And turned upside downe, to feede his eye

And covetous desire with his huge threasury.

And round about him lay on every side

Great heapes of gold that never could be spent;

Of which some were rude oure, not purifide

Of Mulciber’s devouring element;

Some others were new driven, and distent

Into great ingowes and to wedges square;

Some in round plates withouten moniment:

But most were stampt, and in their metal bare

The antique shapes of Kings and Kesars straung and rare.