The Faerie Queene · Book II · Canto 2 8 (2/2)

With that he strooke, and thother strooke withall,

That nothing seemd mote beare so monstrous might:

The one upon his covered shield did fall,

And glauncing downe would not his owner byte;

But thother did upon his troncheon smyte,

Which hewing quite asunder, further way

It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte,

The which dividing with importune sway,

It seizd in his right side, and there the dint did stay.

Wyde was the wound, and a large lukewarme flood,

Red as the Rose, thence gushed grievously;

That when the Paynym spyde the streaming blood,

Gave him great hart and hope of victory.

On th’other side, in huge perplexity

The Prince now stood, having his weapon broke;

Nought could he hurt, but still at warde did ly:

Yet with his troncheon he so rudely stroke

Cymochles twise, that twise him forst his foot revoke.

Whom when the Palmer saw in such distresse,

Sir Guyon’s sword he lightly to him raught,

And said; “Fayre Sonne, great God thy right hand blesse,

To use that sword so well as he it ought!”

Glad was the knight, and with fresh courage fraught,

When as againe he armed felt his hond:

Then like a Lyon, which hath long time saught

His robbed whelpes, and at the last them fond

Emongst the shepeheard swaynes, then wexeth wood and yond:

So fierce he laid about him, and dealt blowes

On either side, that neither mayle could hold,

Ne shield defend the thunder of his throwes:

Now to Pyrochles many strokes he told;

Eft to Cymochles twise so many fold;

Then, backe againe turning his busie hond,

Them both atonce compeld with courage bold

To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling brond;

And though they both stood stiffe, yet could not both withstond.

As salvage Bull, whom two fierce mastives bayt,

When rancour doth with rage him once engore,

Forgets with wary warde them to awayt,

But with his dreadfull hornes them drives afore,

Or flings aloft, or treades downe in the flore,

Breathing out wrath, and bellowing disdaine,

That all the forest quakes to heare him rore:

So rag’d Prince Arthur twixt his foemen twaine,

That neither could his mightie puissaunce sustaine.

But ever at Pyrochles when he smitt,

(Who Guyons shield cast ever him before,

Whereon the Faery Queenes pourtract was writt,)

His hand relented and the stroke forbore,

And his deare hart the picture gan adore;

Which oft the Paynim sav’d from deadly stowre:

But him henceforth the same can save no more;

For now arrived is his fatall howre,

That no’te avoyded be by earthly skill or powre.

For when Cymochles saw the fowle reproch,

Which them appeached, prickt with guiltie shame

And inward griefe, he fiercely gan approch,

Resolv’d to put away that loathly blame,

Or dye with honour and desert of fame;

And on the haubergh stroke the Prince so sore,

That quite disparted all the linked frame,

And pierced to the skin, but bit no more;

Yet made him twise to reele, that never moov’d afore.

Whereat renfierst with wrath and sharp regret,

He stroke so hugely with his borrowd blade,

That it empierst the Pagans burganet;

And, cleaving the hard steele, did deepe invade

Into his head, and cruell passage made

Quite through his brayne. He, tombling downe on ground,

Breathd out his ghost, which, to th’infernall shade

Fast flying, there eternall torment found

For all the sinnes wherewith his lewd life did abound.

Which, when his german saw, the stony feare

Ran to his hart, and all his sence dismayd,

Ne thenceforth life ne corage did appeare;

But as a man whom hellish feendes have frayd,

Long trembling still he stoode: at last thus sayd;

“Traytour, what hast thou doen? How ever may

Thy cursed hand so cruelly have swayd

Against that knight! Harrow and well away!

After so wicked deede why liv’st thou lenger day?”

With that all desperate, as loathing light,

And with revenge desyring soone to dye,

Assembling all his force and utmost might,

With his owne swerd he fierce at him did flye,

And strooke, and foynd, and lasht outrageously,

Withouten reason or regard. Well knew

The Prince, with pacience and sufferaunce sly

So hasty heat soone cooled to subdew:

Tho, when this breathlesse woxe, that batteil gan renew.

As when a windy tempest bloweth hye,

That nothing may withstand his stormy stowre,

The clowdes, as thinges affrayd, before him flye;

But all so soone as his outrageous powre

Is layd, they fiercely then begin to showre;

And, as in scorne of his spent stormy spight,

Now all attonce their malice forth do poure:

So did Prince Arthur beare himselfe in fight,

And suffred rash Pyrochles waste his ydle might.

At last, when as the Sarazin perceiv’d

How that straunge sword refusd to serve his neede,

But when he stroke most strong the dint deceiv’d,

He flong it from him; and, devoyd of dreed,

Upon him lightly leaping without heed

Twixt his two mighty armes engrasped fast,

Thinking to overthrowe and downe him tred:

But him in strength and skill the Prince surpast,

And through his nimble sleight did under him down cast.

Nought booted it the Paynim then to strive;

For as a Bittur in the Eagles clawe,

That may not hope by flight to scape alive,

Still waytes for death with dread and trembling aw;

So he, now subject to the victours law,

Did not once move, nor upward cast his eye,

For vile disdaine and rancour, which did gnaw

His hart in twaine with sad melancholy;

As one that loathed life, and yet despysd to dye.

But full of princely bounty and great mind,

The Conquerour nought cared him to slay;

But casting wronges and all revenge behind,

More glory thought to give life then decay,

And sayd; “Paynim, this is thy dismall day;

Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce,

And my trew liegeman yield thy selfe for ay,

Life will I graunt thee for thy valiaunce,

And all thy wronges will wipe out of my sovenaunce.”

“Foole!” (sayd the Pagan) “I thy gift defye,

But use thy fortune as it doth befall;

And say, that I not overcome doe dye,

But in despight of life for death doe call.”

Wroth was the Prince, and sory yet withall,

That he so wilfully refused grace;

Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall,

His shining Helmet he gan soone unlace,

And left his headlesse body bleeding all the place.

By this Sir Guyon from his traunce awakt,

Life having maystered her sencelesse foe,

And looking up, whenas his shield he lakt

And sword saw not, he wexed wondrous woe;

But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe

Had lost, he by him spyde, right glad he grew,

And saide; “Deare sir, whom wandring to and fro

I long have lackt, I joy thy face to vew:

Firme is thy faith, whom daunger never fro me drew.

“But read, what wicked hand hath robbed mee

Of my good sword and shield?” The Palmer glad

With so fresh hew uprysing him to see,

Him answered: “Fayre sonne, be no whit sad

For want of weapons; they shall soone be had.”

So gan he to discourse the whole debate,

Which that straunge knight for him sustained had,

And those two Sarazins confounded late,

Whose carcases on ground were horribly prostrate.

Which when he heard, and saw the tokens trew,

His hart with great affection was embayd,

And to the Prince, bowing with reverence dew

As to the patrone of his life, thus sayd;

“My Lord, my liege, by whose most gratious ayd

I live this day, and see my foes subdewd,

What may suffice to be for meede repayd

Of so great graces as ye have me shewd,

But to be ever bound”⁠—

To whom the Infant thus; “Fayre Sir, what need

Good turnes be counted as a servile bond

To bind their dooers to receive their meed?

Are not all knightes by oath bound to withstond

Oppressours powre by armes and puissant hond?

Suffise that I have done my dew in place.”

So goodly purpose they together fond

Of kindnesse and of courteous aggrace;

The whiles false Archimage and Atin fled apace.