The Faerie Queene · Book III · Canto 3 12 (2/2)

Before faire Britomart she fell prostrate,

Saying; “Ah noble knight! what worthy meede

Can wretched Lady, quitt from wofull state,

Yield you in lieu of this your gracious deed?

Your vertue selfe her owne reward shall breed,

Even immortal prayse and glory wyde,

Which I your vassall, by your prowesse freed,

Shall through the world make to be notifyde,

And goodly well advaunce that goodly well was tryde.”

But Britomart, uprearing her from grownd,

Said: “Gentle Dame, reward enough I weene,

For many labours more then I have found,

This, that in safetie now I have you seene,

And meane of your deliverance have beene.

Henceforth, faire Lady, comfort to you take,

And put away remembrance of late teene;

Insted thereof, know that your loving Make

Hath no lesse griefe endured for your gentle sake.”

She much was chear’d to heare him mentiond,

Whom of all living wightes she loved best.

Then laid the noble Championesse strong hond

Upon th’enchaunter which had her distrest

So sore, and with foule outrages opprest.

With that great chaine, wherewith not long ygoe

He bound that pitteous Lady prisoner, now relest,

Himselfe she bound, more worthy to be so,

And captive with her led to wretchednesse and wo.

Returning back, those goodly rowmes, which erst

She saw so rich and royally arayd,

Now vanisht utterly and cleane subverst

She found, and all their glory quite decayd;

That sight of such a chaunge her much dismayd.

Thence forth descending to that perlous porch,

Those dreadfull flames she also found delayd

And quenched quite like a consumed torch,

That erst all entrers wont so cruelly to scorch.

More easie issew now then entrance late

She found; for now that fained dreadfull flame,

Which chokt the porch of that enchaunted gate

And passage bard to all that thither came,

Was vanisht quite, as it were not the same,

And gave her leave at pleasure forth to passe.

Th’Enchaunter selfe, which all that fraud did frame

To have efforst the love of that faire lasse,

Seeing his worke now wasted, deepe engrieved was.

But when the Victoresse arrived there

Where late she left the pensife Scudamore

With her own trusty Squire, both full of feare,

Neither of them she found where she them lore:

Thereat her noble hart was stonisht sore;

But most faire Amoret, whose gentle spright

Now gan to feede on hope, which she before

Conceived had, to see her own deare knight,

Being thereof beguyld, was fild with new affright.

But he, sad man, when he had long in drede

Awayted there for Britomarts returne,

Yet saw her not, nor signe of her good speed,

His expectation to despaire did turne,

Misdeeming sure that her those flames did burne;

And therefore gan advize with her old Squire,

Who her deare nourslings losse no lesse did mourne,

Thence to depart for further aide t’enquire:

Where let them wend at will, whilest here I doe respire.