The Faerie Queene · Book III · Canto 3 11 (1/2)

O hatefull hellish Snake! what furie furst

Brought thee from balefull house of Proserpine,

Where in her bosome she thee long had nurst,

And fostred up with bitter milke of tine,

Fowle Gealosy! that turnest love divine

To joylesse dread, and mak’st the loving hart

With hatefull thoughts to languish and to pine,

And feed it selfe with selfe-consuming smart?

Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art!

O! let him far be banished away,

And in his stead let Love for ever dwell;

Sweete Love, that doth his golden wings embay

In blessed Nectar and pure Pleasures well,

Untroubled of vile feare or bitter fell.

And ye, faire Ladies, that your kingdomes make

In th’harts of men, them governe wisely well,

And of faire Britomart ensample take,

That was as trew in love as Turtle to her make.

Who with Sir Satyrane, as earst ye red,

Forth ryding from Malbeccoes hostlesse hous,

Far off aspyde a young man, the which fled

From an huge Geaunt, that with hideous

And hatefull outrage long him chaced thus;

It was that Ollyphant, the brother deare

Of that Argantè vile and vitious,

From whom the Squyre of Dames was reft whylere;

This all as bad as she, and worse, if worse ought were.

For as the sister did in feminine

And filthy lust exceede all womankinde,

So he surpassed his sex masculine,

In beastly use, all that I ever finde:

Whom when as Britomart beheld behinde

The fearefull boy so greedily poursew,

She was emmoved in her noble minde,

T’employ her puissaunce to his reskew,

And pricked fiercely forward where she did him vew.

Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behinde,

But with like fiercenesse did ensew the chace.

Whom when the Gyaunt saw, he soone resinde

His former suit, and from them fled apace:

They after both, and boldly bad him bace,

And each did strive the other to outgoe;

But he them both outran a wondrous space,

For he was long, and swift as any Roe,

And now made better speed t’escape his feared foe.

It was not Satyrane, whom he did feare,

But Britomart the flowre of chastity;

For he the powre of chaste hands might not beare,

But alwayes did their dread encounter fly:

And now so fast his feet he did apply,

That he has gotten to a forrest neare,

Where he is shrowded in security.

The wood they enter, and search everie where;

They searched diversely, so both divided were.

Fayre Britomart so long him followed,

That she at last came to a fountaine sheare,

By which there lay a knight all wallowed

Upon the grassy ground, and by him neare

His haberjeon, his helmet, and his speare:

A little off his shield was rudely throwne,

On which the winged boy in colours cleare

Depeincted was, full easie to be knowne,

And he thereby, where ever it in field was showne.

His face upon the grownd did groveling ly,

As if he had beene slombring in the shade;

That the brave Mayd would not for courtesy

Out of his quiet slomber him abrade,

Nor seeme too suddeinly him to invade.

Still as she stood, she heard with grievous throb

Him grone, as if his hart were peeces made,

And with most painefull pangs to sigh and sob,

That pitty did the Virgins hart of patience rob.

At last forth breaking into bitter plaintes

He sayd; “O soverayne Lord! that sit’st on hye

And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed Saintes,

How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty

So long unwreaked of thine enimy?

Or hast thou, Lord, of good mens cause no heed?

Or doth thy justice sleepe and silent ly?

What booteth then the good and righteous deed,

If goodnesse find no grace, nor righteousnes no meed?

“If good find grace, and righteousnes reward,

Why then is Amoret in caytive band,

Sith that more bounteous creature never far’d

On foot upon the face of living land?

Or if that hevenly justice may withstand

The wrongfull outrage of unrighteous men,

Why then is Busirane with wicked hand

Suffred, these seven monethes day, in secret den

My Lady and my love so cruelly to pen!

“My Lady and my love is cruelly pend

In dolefull darkenes from the vew of day,

Whilest deadly torments doe her chast brest rend,

And the sharpe steele doth rive her hart in tway,

All for she Scudamore will not denay.

Yet thou, vile man, vile Scudamore, art sound,

Ne canst her ayde, ne canst her foe dismay;

Unworthy wretch to tread upon the ground,

For whom so faire a Lady feeles so sore a wound!”

There an huge heape of singults did oppresse

His strugling soule, and swelling throbs empeach

His foltring toung with pangs of drerinesse,

Choking the remnant of his plaintife speach,

As if his dayes were come to their last reach:

Which when she heard, and saw the ghastly fit

Threatning into his life to make a breach,

Both with great ruth and terrour she was smit,

Fearing least from her cage the wearie soule would flit.

Tho stouping downe she him amoved light;

Who, therewith somewhat starting, up gan looke,

And seeing him behind a stranger knight,

Whereas no living creature he mistooke,

With great indignaunce he that sight forsooke,

And, downe againe himselfe disdainfully

Abjecting, th’earth with his faire forhead strooke:

Which the bold Virgin seeing gan apply

Fit medcine to his griefe, and spake thus courtesly:⁠—

“Ah gentle knight! whose deepe conceived griefe

Well seemes t’exceede the powre of patience,

Yet, if that hevenly grace some goode reliefe

You send, submit you to high providence;

And ever in your noble hart prepense,

That all the sorrow in the world is lesse

Then vertues might and values confidence:

For who nill bide the burden of distresse,

Must not here thinke to live; for life is wretchednesse.

“Therefore, faire Sir, doe comfort to you take,

And freely read what wicked felon so

Hath outrag’d you, and thrald your gentle make.

Perhaps this hand may helpe to ease your woe,

And wreake your sorrow on your cruell foe;

At least it faire endevour will apply.”

Those feeling words so neare the quicke did goe,

That up his head he reared easily,

And, leaning on his elbowe, these few words lett fly.

“What boots it plaine that cannot be redrest,

And sow vaine sorrow in a fruitlesse eare,

Sith powre of hand, nor skill of learned brest,

Ne worldly price, cannot redeeme my deare

Out of her thraldome and continuall feare:

For he, the tyrant, which her hath in ward

By strong enchauntments and blacke Magicke leare,

Hath in a dungeon deepe her close embard,

And many dreadfull feends hath pointed to her gard.

“There he tormenteth her most terribly

And day and night afflicts with mortall paine,

Because to yield him love she doth deny,

Once to me yold, not to be yolde againe:

But yet by torture he would her constraine

Love to conceive in her disdainfull brest;

Till so she doe, she must in doole remaine,

Ne may by living meanes be thence relest:

What boots it then to plaine that cannot be redrest?”

With this sad hersall of his heavy stresse

The warlike Damzell was empassiond sore,

And sayd; “Sir knight, your cause is nothing lesse

Then is your sorrow certes, if not more;

For nothing so much pitty doth implore

As gentle Ladyes helplesse misery:

But yet, if please ye listen to my lore,

I will, with proofe of last extremity,

Deliver her fro thence, or with her for you dy.”

“Ah! gentlest knight alive,” (sayd Scudamore)

“What huge heroicke magnanimity

Dwells in thy bounteous brest! what couldst thou more,

If shee were thine, and thou as now am I?

O! spare thy happy daies, and them apply

To better boot; but let me die that ought:

More is more losse; one is enough to dy.”

“Life is not lost,” (said she) “for which is bought

Endlesse renowm, that, more then death, is to be sought.”

Thus shee at length persuaded him to rise,

And with her wend to see what new successe

Mote him befall upon new enterprise.

His armes, which he had vowed to disprofesse,

She gathered up and did about him dresse,

And his forwandred steed unto him gott:

So forth they forth yfere make their progresse,

And march not past the mountenaunce of a shott,

Till they arriv’d whereas their purpose they did plott.

There they dismounting drew their weapons bold,

And stoutly came unto the Castle gate,

Whereas no gate they found them to withhold,

Nor ward to waite at morne and evening late;

But in the Porch, that did them sore amate,

A flaming fire, ymixt with smouldry smoke

And stinking sulphure, that with griesly hate

And dreadfull horror did all entraunce choke,

Enforced them their forward footing to revoke.

Greatly thereat was Britomart dismayd,

Ne in that stownd wist how her selfe to beare;

For daunger vaine it were to have assayd

That cruell element, which all things feare,

Ne none can suffer to approchen neare:

And, turning backe to Scudamour, thus sayd:

“What monstrous enmity provoke we heare?

Foolhardy as th’Earthes children, the which made

Batteill against the Gods, so we a God invade.

“Daunger without discretion to attempt

Inglorious, beastlike is: therefore, Sir knight,

A read what course of you is safest dempt,

And how we with our foe may come to fight.”

“This is” (quoth he) “the dolorous despight,

Which earst to you I playnd: for neither may

This fire be quencht by any witt or might,

Ne yet by any meanes remov’d away;

So mighty be th’enchauntments which the same do stay.

“What is there ells but cease these fruitlesse paines,

And leave me to my former languishing?

Faire Amorett must dwell in wicked chaines,

And Scudamore here die with sorrowing.”

“Perdy not so,” (saide shee) “for shameful thing

Yt were t’abandon noble chevisaunce

For shewe of perill, without venturing:

Rather let try extremities of chaunce,

Then enterprised praise for dread to disavaunce.”

Therewith, resolv’d to prove her utmost might,

Her ample shield she threw before her face,

And her swords point directing forward right

Assayld the flame; the which eftesoones gave place,

And did it selfe divide with equall space,

That through she passed, as a thonder bolt

Perceth the yielding ayre, and doth displace

The soring clouds into sad showres ymolt;

So to her yold the flames, and did their force revolt.

Whom whenas Scudamour saw past the fire

Safe and untoucht, he likewise gan assay

With greedy will and envious desire,

And bad the stubborne flames to yield him way:

But cruell Mulciber would not obay

His threatfull pride, but did the more augment

His mighty rage, and with imperious sway

Him forst, (maulgre) his fercenes to relent,

And backe retire, all scorcht and pittifully brent.

With huge impatience he inly swelt,

More for great sorrow that he could not pas

Then for the burning torment which he felt;

That with fell woodnes he effierced was,

And wilfully him throwing on the gras

Did beat and bounse his head and brest ful sore:

The whiles the Championesse now entred has

The utmost rowme, and past the foremost dore;

The utmost rowme abounding with all precious store:

For round about the walls yclothed were

With goodly arras of great majesty,

Woven with gold and silke, so close and nere

That the rich metall lurked privily,

As faining to be hidd from envious eye;

Yet here, and there, and every where, unwares

It shewd it selfe and shone unwillingly;

Like a discolourd Snake, whose hidden snares

Through the greene gras his long bright burnisht back declares.

And in those Tapets weren fashioned

Many faire pourtraicts, and many a faire feate;

And all of love, and al of lustyhed,

As seemed by their semblaunt, did entreat:

And eke all Cupids warres they did repeate,

And cruell battailes, which he whilome fought

Gainst all the Gods to make his empire great;

Besides the huge massacres, which he wrought

On mighty kings and kesars into thraldome brought.

Therein was writt how often thondring Jove

Had felt the point of his hart-percing dart,

And, leaving heavens kingdome, here did rove

In straunge disguize, to slake his scalding smart;

Now, like a Ram, faire Helle to pervart,

Now, like a Bull, Europa to withdraw:

Ah! how the fearefull Ladies tender hart

Did lively seeme to tremble, when she saw

The huge seas under her t’obay her servaunts law.

Soone after that, into a golden showre

Him selfe he chaung’d, faire Danaë to vew;

And through the roofe of her strong brasen towre

Did raine into her lap an hony dew;

The whiles her foolish garde, that litle knew

Of such deceipt, kept th’yron dore fast bard,

And watcht that none should enter nor issew:

Vaine was the watch, and bootlesse all the ward,

Whenas the God to golden hew him selfe transfard.

Then was he turnd into a snowy Swan,

To win faire Leda to his lovely trade:

O wondrous skill! and sweet wit of the man,

That her in daffadillies sleeping made

From scorching heat her daintie limbes to shade;

Whiles the proud Bird, ruffing his fethers wyde

And brushing his faire brest, did her invade:

She slept; yet twixt her eielids closely spyde

How towards her he rusht, and smiled at his pryde.

Then shewd it how the Thebane Semelee,

Deceivd of gealous Juno, did require

To see him in his soverayne majestee

Armd with his thunderbolts and lightning fire,

Whens dearely she with death bought her desire.

But faire Alcmena better match did make,

Joying his love in likenes more entire:

Three nights in one, they say, that for her sake

He then did put, her pleasures lenger to partake.

Twise was he seene in soaring Eagles shape,

And with wide winges to beat the buxome ayre:

Once, when he with Asterie did scape;

Againe, when as the Trojane boy so fayre

He snatcht from Ida hill, and with him bare:

Wondrous delight it was there to behould

How the rude Shepheards after him did stare,

Trembling through feare least down he fallen should,

And often to him calling to take surer hould.

In Satyres shape Antiopa he snatcht;

And like a fire, when he Aegin’ assayd:

A shepeheard, when Mnemosyne he catcht;

And like a Serpent to the Thracian mayd.

Whyles thus on earth great Jove these pageaunts playd,

The winged boy did thrust into his throne,

And scoffing thus unto his mother sayd:

“Lo! now the hevens obey to me alone,

And take me for their Jove, whiles Jove to earth is gone.”

And thou, faire Phœbus, in thy colours bright

Wast there enwoven, and the sad distresse

In which that boy thee plonged, for despight

That thou bewray’dst his mothers wantonnesse,

When she with Mars was meynt in joyfulnesse:

Forthy he thrild thee with a leaden dart

To love faire Daphne, which thee loved lesse;

Lesse she thee lov’d then was thy just desart,

Yet was thy love her death, and her death was thy smart.

So lovedst thou the lusty Hyacinct;

So lovedst thou the faire Coronis deare;

Yet both are of thy haplesse hand extinct,

Yet both in flowres doe live, and love thee beare,

The one a Paunce, the other a sweet-breare:

For griefe whereof, ye mote have lively seene

The God himselfe rending his golden heare,

And breaking quite his garlond ever greene,

With other signes of sorrow and impatient teene.

Both for those two, and for his owne deare sonne,

The sonne of Climene, he did repent;

Who, bold to guide the charet of the Sunne,

Himselfe in thousand peeces fondly rent,

And all the world with flashing fire brent;

So like, that all the walles did seeme to flame:

Yet cruell Cupid, not herewith content,

Forst him eftsoones to follow other game,

And love a Shephards daughter for his dearest Dame.