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

Nathlesse he forth did march, well as he might,

And made good semblance to his companie,

Dissembling his disease and evill plight;

Till that ere long they chaunced to espie

Two other knights, that towards them did ply

With speedie course, as bent to charge them new:

Whom when as Blandamour approching nie

Perceiv’d to be such as they seemd in vew,

He was full wo, and gan his former griefe renew.

For th’one of them he perfectly descride

To be Sir Scudamour, by that he bore

The God of love with wings displayed wide,

Whom mortally he hated evermore,

Both for his worth, that all men did adore,

And eke because his love he wonne by right:

Which when he thought, it grieved him full sore,

That, through the bruses of his former fight,

He now unable was to wreake his old despight.

Forthy he thus to Paridel bespake:

“Faire Sir, of friendship let me now you pray,

That as I late adventured for your sake,

The hurts whereof me now from battell stay,

Ye will me now with like good turne repay,

And justifie my cause on yonder knight.”

“Ah! Sir,” (said Paridell) “do not dismay

Your selfe for this; my selfe will for you fight,

As ye have done for me: the left hand rubs the right.”

With that he put his spurres unto his steed,

With speare in rest, and toward him did fare,

Like shaft out of a bow preventing speed:

But Scudamour was shortly well aware

Of his approch, and gan him selfe prepare

Him to receive with entertainment meete.

So furiously they met, that either bare

The other downe under their horses feete,

That what of them became themselves did scarsly weete.

As when two billowes in the Irish sowndes,

Forcibly driven with contrarie tydes,

Do meete together, each abacke rebowndes

With roaring rage; and dashing on all sides,

That filleth all the sea with fome, divydes

The doubtfull current into divers wayes.

So fell those two in spight of both their prydes;

But Scudamour himselfe did soone uprayse,

And, mounting light, his foe for lying long upbrayes:

Who, rolled on an heape, lay still in swound

All carelesse of his taunt and bitter rayle;

Till that the rest him seeing lie on ground

Ran hastily, to weete what did him ayle.

Where finding that the breath gan him to fayle,

With busie care they strove him to awake,

And doft his helmet, and undid his mayle:

So much they did, that at the last they brake

His slomber, yet so mazed that he nothing spake.

Which when as Blandamour beheld, he sayd;

“False faitour Scudamour, that hast by slight

And foule advantage this good Knight dismayd,

A Knight much better then thy selfe behight,

Well falles it thee that I am not in plight

This day to wreake the dammage by thee donne.

Such is thy wont, that still when any Knight

Is weakned, then thou doest him overronne:

So hast thou to thy selfe false honour often wonne.”

He little answer’d, but in manly heart

His mightie indignation did forbeare;

Which was not yet so secret, but some part

Thereof did in his frouning face appeare:

Like as a gloomie cloud, the which doth beare

An hideous storme, is by the Northerne blast

Quite overblowne, yet doth not passe so cleare,

But that it all the skie doth overcast

With darknes dred, and threatens all the world to wast.

“Ah gentle knight!” then false Duessa sayd,

“Why do ye strive for Ladies love so sore,

Whose chiefe desire is love and friendly aid

Mongst gentle Knights to nourish evermore?

Ne be ye wroth, Sir Scudamour, therefore

That she, your love, list love another knight,

Ne do your selfe dislike a whit the more;

For Love is free, and led with selfe delight,

Ne will enforced be with maisterdome or might.”

So false Duessa; but vile Atè thus:

“Both foolish knights! I can but laugh at both,

That strive and storme with stirre outrageous

For her, that each of you alike doth loth,

And loves another, with whom now she goth

In lovely wise, and sleepes, and sports, and playes;

Whilest both you here with many a cursed oth

Sweare she is yours, and stirre up bloudie frayes,

To win a willow bough, whilest other weares the bayes.

“Vile hag!” (sayd Scudamour) “why dost thou lye,

And falsly seekst a vertuous wight to shame?”

“Fond knight,” (sayd she) “the thing that with this eye

I saw, why should I doubt to tell the same?”

“Then tell,” (quoth Blandamour) “and feare no blame:

Tell what thou saw’st, maulgre who so it heares.”

“I saw” (quoth she) “a stranger knight, whose name

I wote not well, but in his shield he beares

(That well I wote) the heads of many broken speares;

“I saw him have your Amoret at will;

I saw him kisse; I saw him her embrace;

I saw him sleepe with her all night his fill;

All manie nights; and manie by in place

That present were to testifie the case.”

Which when as Scudamour did heare, his heart

Was thrild with inward griefe: as when in chace

The Parthian strikes a stag with shivering dart,

The beast astonisht stands in middest of his smart.

So stood Sir Scudamour when this he heard,

Ne word had he to speake for great dismay,

But lookt on Glaucè grim; who woxe afeard

Of outrage for the words which she heard say,

Albee untrue she wist them by assay.

But Blandamour, whenas he did espie

His chaunge of cheere that anguish did bewray,

He woxe full blithe, as he had got thereby,

And gan thereat to triumph without victorie.

“Lo! recreant,” (sayd he) “the fruitlesse end

Of thy vaine boast, and spoile of love misgotten,

Whereby the name of knighthood thou dost shend,

And all true lovers with dishonor blotten:

All things not rooted well will soone be rotten.”

“Fy, fy! false knight,” (then false Duessa cryde)

“Unworthy life, that love with guile hast gotten;

Be thou, where ever thou do go or ryde,

Loathed of ladies all, and of all knights defyde!”

But Scudamour, for passing great despight,

Staid not to answer; scarcely did refraine

But that in all those knights and ladies sight

He for revenge had guiltlesse Glaucè slaine:

But, being past, he thus began amaine:

“False traitour squire! false squire of falsest knight!

Why doth mine hand from thine avenge abstaine,

Whose Lord hath done my love this foule despight?

Why do I not it wreake on thee, now in my might?

“Discourteous, disloyall Britomart,

Untrue to God, and unto man unjust!

What vengeance due can equall thy desart,

That hast with shamefull spot of sinfull lust

Defil’d the pledge committed to thy trust?

Let ugly shame and endlesse infamy

Colour thy name with foule reproaches rust!

Yet thou, false Squire, his fault shalt deare aby,

And with thy punishment his penance shalt supply.”

The aged Dame, him seeing so enraged,

Was dead with feare; nathlesse, as neede required,

His flaming furie sought to have assuaged

With sober words, that sufferance desired,

Till time the tryall of her truth expyred;

And evermore sought Britomart to cleare:

But he the more with furious rage was fyred,

And thrise his hand to kill her did upreare,

And thrise he drew it backe; so did at last forbeare.