The Faerie Queene · Book III · Canto 3 4 (1/2)

Where is the Antique glory now become,

That whylome wont in wemen to appeare?

Where be the brave atchievements doen by some?

Where be the battels, where the shield and speare,

And all the conquests which them high did reare,

That matter made for famous Poets verse,

And boastfull men so oft abasht to heare?

Beene they all dead, and laide in dolefull herse,

Or doen they onely sleepe, and shall againe reverse?

If they be dead, then woe is me therefore;

But if they sleepe, O let them soone awake:

For all too long I burne with envy sore

To heare the warlike feates, which Homere spake

Of bold Penthesilee, which made a lake

Of Greekish blood so oft in Trojan plaine;

But when I reade, how stout Debora strake

Proud Sisera, and how Camill’ hath slaine

The huge Orsilochus, I swell with great disdaine.

Yet these, and all that els had puissaunce,

Cannot with noble Britomart compare,

As well for glorie of great valiaunce,

As for pure chastitee and vertue rare,

That all her goodly deedes doe well declare.

Well worthie stock, from which the branches sprong

That in late yeares so faire a blossome bare,

As thee, O Queene! the matter of my song,

Whose lignage from this Lady I derive along.

Who when, through speaches with the Redcrosse Knight,

She learned had th’estate of Arthegall,

And in each point her selfe informd aright,

A friendly league of love perpetuall

She with him bound, and Congé tooke withall:

Then he forth on his journey did proceede,

To seeke adventures which mote him befall,

And win him worship through his warlike deed,

Which alwaies of his paines he made the chiefest meed.

But Britomart kept on her former course,

Ne ever dofte her armes, but all the way

Grew pensive through that amarous discourse,

By which the Redcrosse knight did earst display

Her lovers shape, and chevalrous aray:

A thousand thoughts she fashiond in her mind,

And in her feigning fancie did pourtray

Him such as fittest she for love could find,

Wise, warlike, personable, courteous, and kind.

With such selfe-pleasing thoughts her wound she fed,

And thought so to beguile her grievous smart;

But so her smart was much more grievous bred,

And the deepe wound more deep engord her hart,

That nought but death her dolour mote depart,

So forth she rode, without repose or rest,

Searching all lands and each remotest part,

Following the guydance of her blinded guest,

Till that to the sea-coast at length she her addrest.

There she alighted from her light-foot beast,

And sitting downe upon the rocky shore,

Badd her old Squyre unlace her lofty creast:

Tho having vewd awhile the surges hore

That gainst the craggy clifts did loudly rore,

And in their raging surquedry disdaynd

That the fast earth affronted them so sore,

And their devouring covetize restraynd;

Thereat she sighed deepe, and after thus complaynd.

“Huge sea of sorrow and tempestuous griefe,

Wherein my feeble barke is tossed long

Far from the hoped haven of reliefe,

Why doe thy cruel billowes beat so strong,

And thy moyst mountaines each on others throng,

Threatning to swallow up my fearefull lyfe?

O! doe thy cruell wrath and spightfull wrong

At length allay, and stint thy stormy strife,

Which in thy troubled bowels raignes and rageth ryfe.

“For els my feeble vessell, crazd and crackt

Through thy strong buffets and outrageous blowes,

Cannot endure, but needes it must be wrackt

On the rough rocks, or on the sandy shallowes,

The whiles that love it steres, and fortune rowes:

Love, my lewd Pilott, hath a restlesse minde;

And fortune, Boteswaine, no assurance knowes;

But saile withouten starres gainst tyde and winde:

How can they other doe, sith both are bold and blinde?

“Thou God of windes, that raignest in the seas,

That raignest also in the Continent,

At last blow up some gentle gale of ease,

The which may bring my ship, ere it be rent,

Unto the gladsome port of her intent.

Then, when I shall my selfe in safety see,

A table, for eternall moniment

Of thy great grace and my great jeopardee,

Great Neptune, I avow to hallow unto thee!”

Then sighing softly sore, and inly deepe,

She shut up all her plaint in privy griefe

For her great courage would not let her weepe,

Till that old Glaucè gan with sharpe repriefe

Her to restraine, and give her good reliefe

Through hope of those, which Merlin had her told

Should of her name and nation be chiefe,

And fetch their being from the sacred mould

Of her immortall womb, to be in heaven enrold.

Thus as she her recomforted, she spyde

Where far away one, all in armour bright,

With hasty gallop towards her did ryde.

Her dolour soone she ceast, and on her dight

Her Helmet, to her Courser mounting light:

Her former sorrow into suddein wrath,

Both coosen passions of distroubled spright,

Converting, forth she beates the dusty path:

Love and despight attonce her courage kindled hath.

As, when a foggy mist hath overcast

The face of heven, and the cleare ayre engroste,

The world in darkenes dwels; till that at last

The watry Southwinde, from the seabord coste

Upblowing, doth disperse the vapour lo’ste,

And poures it selfe forth in a stormy showre:

So the fayre Britomart, having disclo’ste

Her clowdy care into a wrathfull stowre,

The mist of griefe dissolv’d did into vengeance powre.

Eftsoones, her goodly shield addressing fayre,

That mortall speare she in her hand did take,

And unto battaill did her selfe prepayre.

The knight, approching, sternely her bespake:

“Sir knight, that doest thy voyage rashly make

By this forbidden way in my despight,

Ne doest by others death ensample take,

I read thee soone retyre, whiles thou hast might,

Least afterwards it be too late to take thy flight.”

Ythrild with deepe disdaine of his proud threat,

She shortly thus: “Fly they, that need to fly;

Wordes fearen babes. I meane not thee entreat

To passe, but maugre thee will passe or dy.”

Ne lenger stayd for th’other to reply,

But with sharpe speare the rest made dearly knowne.

Strongly the straunge knight ran, and sturdily

Strooke her full on the brest, that made her downe

Decline her head, and touch her crouper with her crown.

But she againe him in the shield did smite

With so fierce furie and great puissaunce,

That, through his three-square scuchin percing quite

And through his mayled hauberque, by mischaunce

The wicked steele through his left side did glaunce.

Him so transfixed she before her bore

Beyond his croupe, the length of all her launce;

Till, sadly soucing on the sandy shore,

He tombled on an heape, and wallowd in his gore.

Like as the sacred Oxe that carelesse stands,

With gilden hornes and flowry girlonds crownd,

Proud of his dying honor and deare bandes,

Whiles th’altars fume with frankincense arownd,

All suddeinly, with mortall stroke astownd,

Doth groveling fall, and with his streaming gore

Distaines the pillours and the holy grownd,

And the faire flowres that decked him afore:

So fell proud Marinell upon the pretious shore.

The martiall Mayd stayd not him to lament,

But forward rode, and kept her ready way

Along the strond; which, as she overwent,

She saw bestrowed all with rich aray

Of pearles and pretious stones of great assay,

And all the gravell mixt with golden owre:

Whereat she wondred much, but would not stay

For gold, or perles, or pretious stones, an howre,

But them despised all; for all was in her powre.

Whiles thus he lay in deadly stonishment,

Tydings hereof came to his mothers eare:

His mother was the blacke-browd Cymoënt,

The daughter of great Nereus, which did beare

This warlike sonne unto an earthly peare,

The famous Dumarin; who, on a day

Finding the Nymph asleepe in secret wheare,

As he by chaunce did wander that same way,

Was taken with her love, and by her closely lay.

There he this knight of her begot, whom borne

She, of his father, Marinell did name;

And in a rocky cave, as wight forlorne,

Long time she fostred up, till he became

A mighty man at armes, and mickle fame

Did get through great adventures by him donne:

For never man he suffred by that same

Rich strond to travell, whereas he did wonne,

But that he must do battail with the Sea-nymphes sonne.

An hundred knights of honorable name

He had subdew’d, and them his vassals made;

That through all Faerie lond his noble fame

Now blazed was, and feare did all invade,

That none durst passen through that perilous glade:

And to advaunce his name and glory more,

Her Sea-god syre she dearely did perswade

T’endow her sonne with threasure and rich store

Bove all the sonnes that were of earthly wombes ybore.

The God did graunt his daughters deare demaund,

To doen his Nephew in all riches flow;

Eftsoones his heaped waves he did commaund

Out of their hollow bosome forth to throw

All the huge threasure, which the sea below

Had in his greedy gulfe devoured deepe,

And him enriched through the overthrow

And wreckes of many wretches, which did weepe

And often wayle their wealth, which he from them did keepe.

Shortly upon that shore there heaped was

Exceeding riches and all pretious things,

The spoyle of all the world; that it did pas

The wealth of th’East, and pompe of Persian kings:

Gold, amber, yvorie, perles, owches, rings,

And all that els was pretious and deare,

The sea unto him voluntary brings;

That shortly he a great Lord did appeare,

As was in all the lond of Faery, or else wheare.

Thereto he was a doughty dreaded knight,

Tryde often to the scath of many Deare,

That none in equall armes him matchen might:

The which his mother seeing gan to feare

Least his too haughtie hardines might reare

Some hard mishap in hazard of his life.

Forthy she oft him counseld to forbeare

The bloody batteill and to stirre up strife,

But after all his warre to rest his wearie knife.

And, for his more assuraunce, she inquir’d

One day of Proteus by his mighty spell

(For Proteus was with prophecy inspir’d)

Her deare sonnes destiny to her to tell,

And the sad end of her sweet Marinell:

Who, through foresight of his eternall skill,

Bad her from womankind to keepe him well,

For of a woman he should have much ill;

A virgin straunge and stout him should dismay or kill.

Forthy she gave him warning every day

The love of women not to entertaine;

A lesson too too hard for living clay

From love in course of nature to refraine.

Yet he his mothers lore did well retaine,

And ever from fayre Ladies love did fly;

Yet many Ladies fayre did oft complaine,

That they for love of him would algates dy:

Dy, who so list for him, he was loves enimy.

But ah! who can deceive his destiny,

Or weene by warning to avoyd his fate?

That, when he sleepes in most security

And safest seemes, him soonest doth amate,

And findeth dew effect or soone or late;

So feeble is the powre of fleshly arme.

His mother bad him wemens love to hate,

For she of womans force did feare no harme;

So, weening to have arm’d him, she did quite disarme.

This was that woman, this that deadly wownd,

That Proteus prophecide should him dismay;

The which his mother vainely did expownd

To be hart-wownding love, which should assay

To bring her sonne unto his last decay.

So tide be the termes of mortall state,

And full of subtile sophismes, which do play

With double senses, and with false debate,

T’approve the unknowen purpose of eternall fate.

Too trew the famous Marinell it fownd,

Who, through late triall, on that wealthy Strond

Inglorious now lies in sencelesse swownd,

Through heavy stroke of Britomartis hond.

Which when his mother deare did understond,

And heavy tydings heard, whereas she playd

Amongst her watry sisters by a pond,

Gathering sweete daffadillyes, to have made

Gay girlonds from the Sun their forheads faire to shade;

Eftesoones both flowres and girlonds far away

Shee flong, and her faire deawy lockes yrent;

To sorrow huge she turnd her former play,

And gamesom merth to grievous dreriment:

Shee threw her selfe downe on the Continent,

Ne word did speake, but lay as in a swowne,

Whiles all her sisters did for her lament

With yelling outcries, and with shrieking sowne;

And every one did teare her girlond from her crowne.

Soone as shee up out of her deadly fitt

Arose, shee bad her charett to be brought;

And all her sisters that with her did sitt

Bad eke attonce their charetts to be sought:

Tho, full of bitter griefe and pensife thought,

She to her wagon clombe; clombe all the rest,

And forth together went with sorow fraught.

The waves, obedient to theyr beheast,

Them yielded ready passage, and their rage surceast.

Great Neptune stoode amazed at their sight,

Whiles on his broad rownd backe they softly slid,

And eke him selfe mournd at their mournful plight,

Yet wist not what their wailing ment; yet did,

For great compassion of their sorow, bid

His mighty waters to them buxome bee:

Eftesoones the roaring billowes still abid,

And all the griesly Monsters of the See

Stood gaping at their gate, and wondred them to see.

A teme of Dolphins raunged in aray

Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoent:

They were all taught by Triton to obay

To the long raynes at her commaundement:

As swifte as swallowes on the waves they went,

That their brode flaggy finnes no fome did reare,

Ne bubling rowndell they behinde them sent.

The rest, of other fishes drawen weare,

Which with their finny oars the swelling sea did sheare.

Soone as they bene arriv’d upon the brim

Of the Rich Strond, their charets they forlore,

And let their temed fishes softly swim

Along the margent of the fomy shore,

Least they their finnes should bruze, and surbate sore

Their tender feete upon the stony grownd:

And comming to the place, where all in gore

And cruddy blood enwallowed they fownd

The lucklesse Marinell lying in deadly swownd,

His mother swowned thrise, and the third time

Could scarce recovered bee out of her paine:

Had she not beene devoide of mortall slime,

Shee should not then have bene relyv’d againe;

But, soone as life recovered had the raine,

Shee made so piteous mone and deare wayment,

That the hard rocks could scarse from tears refraine;

And all her sister Nymphes with one consent

Supplide her sobbing breaches with sad complement.

“Deare image of my selfe,” (she sayd) “that is

The wretched sonne of wretched mother borne,

Is this thine high advauncement? O! is this

Th’immortall name, with which thee, yet unborne,

Thy Grandsire Nereus promist to adorne?

Now lyest thou of life and honor refte;

Now lyest thou a lumpe of earth forlorne;

Ne of thy late life memory is lefte,

Ne can thy irrevocable desteny bee wefte.

“Fond Proteus, father of false prophecis!

And they more fond that credit to thee give!

Not this the worke of womans hand ywis,

That so deepe wound through these deare members drive.

I feared love; but they that love doe live,

But they that dye doe nether love nor hate:

Nath’lesse to thee thy folly I forgive;

And to my selfe, and to accursed fate,

The guilt I doe ascribe: deare wisedom bought too late!