The Faerie Queene · Book III · Canto 3 3 (1/2)

Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily

In living brests, ykindled first above

Emongst th’eternall spheres and lamping sky,

And thence pourd into men, which men call Love!

Not that same, which doth base affections move

In brutish mindes, and filthy lust inflame,

But that sweete fit that doth true beautie love,

And choseth vertue for his dearest Dame,

Whence spring all noble deedes and never dying fame:

Well did Antiquity a God thee deeme,

That over mortall mindes hast so great might,

To order them as best to thee doth seeme,

And all their actions to direct aright:

The fatall purpose of divine foresight

Thou doest effect in destined descents,

Through deepe impression of thy secret might,

And stirredst up th’Heroës high intents,

Which the late world admyres for wondrous moniments.

But thy dredd dartes in none doe triumph more,

Ne braver proofe in any of thy powre

Shewd’st thou, then in this royall Maid of yore,

Making her seeke an unknowne Paramoure,

From the worlds end, through many a bitter stowre:

From whose two loynes thou afterwardes did rayse

Most famous fruites of matrimoniall bowre,

Which through the earth have spredd their living prayse,

That fame in tromp of gold eternally displayes.

Begin then, O my dearest sacred Dame!

Daughter of Phœbus and of Memorye,

That doest ennoble with immortall name

The warlike Worthies, from antiquitye,

In thy great volume of Eternitye:

Begin, O Clio! and recount from hence

My glorious Soveraines goodly auncestrye,

Till that by dew degrees, and long protense,

Thou have it lastly brought unto her Excellence.

Full many wayes within her troubled mind

Old Glaucè cast to cure this Ladies griefe;

Full many waies she sought, but none could find,

Nor herbes, nor charmes, nor counsel, that is chiefe

And choicest med’cine for sick harts reliefe:

Forthy great care she tooke, and greater feare,

Least that it should her turne to fowle repriefe

And sore reproch, when so her father deare

Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune heare.

At last she her avisde, that he which made

That mirrhour, wherein the sicke Damosell

So straungely vewed her straunge lovers shade,

To weet, the learned Merlin, well could tell

Under what coast of heaven the man did dwell,

And by what means his love might best be wrought:

For, though beyond the Africk Ismael

Or th’Indian Peru he were, she thought

Him forth through infinite endevour to have sought.

Forthwith them selves disguising both in straunge

And base atyre, that none might them bewray,

To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge

Of name Cayr-Merdin cald, they tooke their way:

There the wise Merlin whylome wont (they say)

To make his wonne, low underneath the ground,

In a deepe delve, farre from the vew of day,

That of no living wight he mote be found,

When so he counseld with his sp rights encompast round.

And, if thou ever happen that same way

To travell, go to see that dreadfull place.

It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)

Under a Rock that lyes a litle space

From the swift Barry, tombling downe apace

Emongst the woody hilles of Dynevowre:

But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace

To enter into that same balefull Bowre,

For feare the cruell Feendes should thee unwares devowre:

But standing high aloft low lay thine eare,

And there such ghastly noise of yron chaines

And brasen Caudrons thou shalt rombling heare,

Which thousand sprights with long enduring paines

Doe tosse, that it will stonne thy feeble braines;

And oftentimes great grones, and grievous stownds,

When too huge toile and labour them constraines:

And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sowndes

From under that deepe Rock most horribly rebowndes.

The cause, some say, is this: A litle whyle

Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend

A brasen wall in compas to compyle

About Cairmardin, and did it commend

Unto these Sprights to bring to perfect end:

During which worke the Lady of the Lake,

Whom long he lov’d, for him in hast did send;

Who, thereby forst his workemen to forsake,

Them bownd till his retourne their labour not to slake.

In the meane time, through that false Ladies traine

He was surprisd, and buried under beare,

Ne ever to his worke returnd againe:

Nath’lesse those feends may not their work forbeare,

So greatly his commandement they feare,

But there doe toyle and traveile day and night,

Untill that brasen wall they up doe reare;

For Merlin had in Magick more insight

Then ever him before, or after, living wight:

For he by wordes could call out of the sky

Both Sunne and Moone, and make them him obav;

The Land to sea, and sea to maineland dry,

And darksom night he eke could turne to day:

Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay,

And hostes of men of meanest thinges could frame,

When so him list his enimies to fray;

That to this day, for terror of his fame,

The feends do quake when any him to them does name.

And, sooth, men say that he was not the sonne

Of mortall Syre or other living wight,

But wondrously begotten, and begonne

By false illusion of a guilefull Spright

On a faire Lady Nonne, that whilome hight

Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,

Who was the lord of Mathraval by right,

And coosen unto king Ambrosius;

Whence he indued was with skill so merveilous.

They, here arriving, staid awhile without,

Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend,

But of their first intent gan make new dout,

For dread of daunger which it might portend;

Untill the hardy Mayd (with love to frend)

First entering, the dreadfull Mage there fownd

Deepe busied bout worke of wondrous end,

And writing straunge characters in the grownd,

With which the stubborne feendes he to his service bownd.

He nought was moved at their entraunce bold,

For of their comming well he wist afore;

Yet list them bid their businesse to unfold,

As if ought in this world in secrete store

Were from him hidden, or unknowne of yore.

Then Glaucè thus: “Let not it thee offend,

That we thus rashly through thy darksom dore

Unwares have prest; for either fatall end,

Or other mightie cause, us two did hither send.”

He bad tell on; And then she thus began.

“Now have three Moones with borrowd brothers light

Thrise shined faire, and thrise seemd dim and wan,

Sith a sore evill, which this virgin bright

Tormenteth and doth plonge in dolefull plight,

First rooting tooke; but what thing it mote bee,

Or whence it sprong, I can not read aright:

But this I read, that, but if remedee

Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead shall see.”

Therewith th’Enchaunter softly gan to smyle

At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well

That she to him dissembled womanish guyle,

And to her said: “Beldame, by that ye tell

More neede of leach-crafte hath your Damozell,

Then of my skill: who helpe may have elsewhere,

In vaine seekes wonders out of Magick spell.”

Th’old woman wox half blanck those wordes to heare,

And yet was loth to let her purpose plaine appeare;

And to him said: “Yf any leaches skill,

Or other learned meanes, could have redrest

This my deare daughters deepe engraffed ill,

Certes I should be loth thee to molest;

But this sad evill, which doth her infest,

Doth course of naturall cause farre exceed,

And housed is within her hollow brest,

That either seemes some cursed witches deed,

Or evill spright, that in her doth such torment breed.”

The wisard could no lenger beare her bord,

But, brusting forth in laughter, to her sayd:

“Glaucè, what needes this colourable word

To cloke the cause that hath it selfe bewrayd?

Ne ye, fayre Britomartis, thus arayd,

More hidden are then Sunne in cloudy vele;

Whom thy good fortune, having fate obayd,

Hath hither brought for succour to appele;

The which the powres to thee are pleased to revele.”

The doubtfull Mayd, seeing her selfe descryde,

Was all abasht, and her pure yvory

Into a cleare Carnation suddeine dyde;

As fayre Aurora, rysing hastily,

Doth by her blushing tell that she did lye

All night in old Tithonus frozen bed,

Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly:

But her olde Nourse was nought dishartened,

But vauntage made of that which Merlin had ared;

And sayd; “Sith then thou knowest all our griefe,

(For what doest not thou knowe?) of grace I pray,

Pitty our playnt, and yield us meet reliefe.”

With that the Prophet still awhile did stay,

And then his spirite thus gan foorth display:

“Most noble Virgin, that by fatall lore

Hast learn’d to love, let no whit thee dismay

The hard beginne that meetes thee in the dore,

And with sharpe fits thy tender hart oppresseth sore:

“For so must all things excellent begin;

And eke enrooted deepe must be that Tree,

Whose big embodied braunches shall not lin

Till they to hevens hight forth stretched bee:

For from thy wombe a famous Progenee

Shall spring out of the auncient Trojan blood,

Which shall revive the sleeping memoree

Of those same antique Peres, the hevens brood,

Which Greeke and Asian rivers stayned with their blood.

“Renowmed kings, and sacred Emperours,

Thy fruitfull Ofspring, shall from thee descend;

Brave Captaines, and most mighty warriours,

That shall their conquests through all lands extend,

And their decayed kingdomes shall amend:

The feeble Britons, broken with long warre,

They shall upreare, and mightily defend

Against their forren foe that commes from farre,

Till universall peace compound all civill jarre.

“It was not, Britomart, thy wandring eye

Glauncing unwares in charmed looking glas,

But the streight course of hevenly destiny,

Led with eternall providence, that has

Guyded thy glaunce, to bring his will to pas:

Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill,

To love the prowest knight that ever was.

Therefore submit thy wayes unto his will,

And doe by all dew meanes thy destiny fulfill.”

“But read,” (saide Glaucè) “thou Magitian,

What meanes shall she out seeke, or what waies take?

How shall she know, how shall she finde the man?

Or what needes her to toyle, sith fates can make

Way for themselves their purpose to pertake?”

Then Merlin thus: “Indeede the fates are firme,

And may not shrinck, though all the world do shake;

Yet ought mens good endevours them confirme,

And guyde the heavenly causes to their constant terme.

“The man, whom heavens have ordaynd to bee

The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall:

He wonneth in the land of Fayeree,

Yet is no Fary borne, ne sib at all

To Elfes, but sprong of seed terrestriall,

And whylome by false Faries stolne away,

Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall;

Ne other to himselfe is knowne this day,

But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a Fay:

“But sooth he is the sonne of Gorloïs,

And brother unto Cador, Cornish king;

And for his warlike feates renowmed is,

From where the day out of the sea doth spring,

Untill the closure of the Evening:

From thence him, firmely bound with faithfull band,

To this his native soyle thou backe shalt bring,

Strongly to ayde his countrey to withstand

The powre of forreine Paynims which invade thy land.

“Great ayd thereto his mighty puissaunce

And dreaded name shall give in that sad day;

Where also proofe of thy prow valiaunce

Thou then shalt make, t’increase thy lover’s pray.

Long time ye both in armes shall beare great sway,

Till thy wombes burden thee from them do call,

And his last fate him from thee take away;

Too rathe cut off by practise criminall

Of secrete foes, that him shall make in mischiefe fall.

“With thee yet shall he leave, for memory

Of his late puissaunce, his ymage dead,

That living him in all activity

To thee shall represent. He, from the head

Of his coosen Constantius, without dread

Shall take the crowne that was his fathers right,

And therewith crowne himselfe in th’others stead:

Then shall he issew forth with dreadfull might

Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to fight.

“Like as a Lyon that in drowsie cave

Hath long time slept, himselfe so shall he shake;

And comming forth shall spred his banner brave

Over the troubled South, that it shall make

The warlike Mertians for feare to quake:

Thrise shall he fight with them, and twise shall win;

But the third time shall fayre accordaunce make:

And, if he then with victorie can lin,

He shall his dayes with peace bring to his earthly In.

“His sonne, hight Vortipore, shall him succeede

In kingdome, but not in felicity:

Yet shall he long time warre with happy speed,

And with great honour many batteills try;

But at the last to th’importunity

Of froward fortune shall be forst to yield:

But his sonne Malgo shall full mightily

Avenge his fathers losse with speare and shield,

And his proud foes discomfit in victorious field.

“Behold the man! and tell me, Britomart,

If ay more goodly creature thou didst see?

How like a Gyaunt in each manly part

Beares he himselfe with portly majestee,

That one of th’old Heroës seemes to bee!

He the six Islands, comprovinciall

In auncient times unto great Britainee,

Shall to the same reduce, and to him call

Their sondry kings to do their homage severall.

“All which his sonne Careticus awhile

Shall well defend, and Saxons powre suppresse;

Untill a straunger king, from unknowne soyle

Arriving, him with multitude oppresse;

Great Gormond, having with huge mightinesse

Ireland subdewd, and therein fixt his throne,

Like a swift Otter, fell through emptinesse,

Shall overswim the sea, with many one

Of his Norveyses, to assist the Britons fone.

“He in his furie all shall overronne,

And holy Church with faithlesse handes deface,

That thy sad people, utterly fordonne,

Shall to the utmost mountaines fly apace.

Was never so great waste in any place,

Nor so fowle outrage doen by living men;

For all thy Citties they shall sacke and race,

And the greene grasse that groweth they shall bren,

That even the wilde beast shall dy in starved den.

“Whiles thus thy Britons doe in languour pine,

Proud Etheldred shall from the North arise,

Serving th’ambitious will of Augustine,

And, passing Dee, with hardy enterprise

Shall backe repulse the valiaunt Brockwell twise,

And Bangor with massacred Martyrs fill,

But the third time shall rew his foolhardise:

For Cadwan, pittying his peoples ill,

Shall stoutly him defeat, and thousand Saxons kill.

“But after him, Cadwallin mightily

On his sonne Edwin all those wrongs shall wreake;

Ne shall availe the wicked sorcery

Of false Pellite his purposes to breake,

But him shall slay, and on a gallowes bleak

Shall give th’enchaunter his unhappy hire.

Then shall the Britons, late dismayd and weake,

From their long vassalage gin to respire,

And on their Paynim foes avenge their ranckled ire.

“Ne shall he yet his wrath so mitigate,

Till both the sonnes of Edwin he have slayne,

Offricke and Osricke, twinnes unfortunate,

Both slaine in battaile upon Layburne playne,

Together with the king of Louthiane,

Hight Adin, and the king of Orkeny,

Both joynt partakers of their fatall payne:

But Penda, fearefull of like desteny,

Shall yield him selfe his liegeman, and sweare fealty.