The FAIRY QUEEN" was first performed in , and was repeated in the following year. For the revival in Purcell added all the music of Act I., and the two. Chronological Table of Events THE FAERIE QUEENE. BOOK I: Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh Sonnet to Sir Walter Raleigh Dedication to Queen Elizabeth Canto I. The Faerie Queene. Disposed into twelue bookes, ronaldweinland.info au/s/spenser/edmund/faerie/ronaldweinland.info Last updated Sunday, March 27,
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A Note on the Renascence Editions text: This HTML etext of The Faerie Queene was prepared from The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of. The Fairy Queen, Z (Purcell, Henry) Work Title, The Fairy Queen. Alt ernative. Title, Semi-opera in Five Acts. Composer, Purcell, Henry. Opus/ Catalogue. Book: The Faerie Queene. Author: Edmund Spenser. The Faerie Queene is an incomplete English epic poem by Edmund Spenser.
Summary[ edit ] Holiness defeats Error: an illustration from Book I, Part l of an — edition Book I is centred on the virtue of holiness as embodied in the Redcrosse Knight. He and his lady Una travel together as he fights the dragon Errour, then separate as the wizard Archimago tricks the Redcrosse Knight in a dream to think that Una is unchaste. After he leaves, the Redcrosse Knight meets Duessa, who feigns distress in order to entrap him. Duessa leads the Redcrosse Knight to captivity by the giant Orgoglio. Meanwhile, Una overcomes peril, meets Arthur, and finally finds the Redcrosse Knight and rescues him from his capture, from Duessa, and from Despair.
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Purcell and Shakespeare. Purcell und Shakespeare. Hans Walter Gabler. As rich fantasies that touch on deep human experience, they move and delight with a commensurate perfection of art.
Under Continental influence, it merged the Elizabethan and Jacobean traditions of English poetic drama with the allegorical mode of the Tudor and Stuart masque, which incorporated music, dance, elaborate scenery and spectacle. Whereas the Eng- lish drama was in the main a public art form, the court masque was a private ritual of mytho- logical self-representation of the royalty and nobility.
Its central meanings are articulated in the Dream presided over by spirits capable of inducing a metamorphosis of hu- man experience. Yet these spirits inhabit a kingdom torn in the strife of its rulers, which causes upheavals in the natural order of the weather and the seasons. The plot is depleted of meaning and reduced to some faintly ridiculous imbroglios of humans and fairies in a wood near Athens, which becomes the single place of action by an arbitrary application of Aristotelian, or classical French, rules of dramatic construction.
Intermittently, the Athenian lovers roam the forest in their errant pursuits. Purcell does not set a word of them to music. The opera is based on the free lyrical extensions of the adap- tation. In the opera, it is Titania alone who experiences the errors and triumphs of love; and the oppos- ing forces of disorder and harmony acknowledge her royal presence. Its belated inclusion in the overall design in no way impairs the significance of the original masque sequence of Acts II to V, and indeed enhances it by means of its contrasting lightheartedness.
Dance and song in the masque of Act II establish the moonlit world of the fairy kingdom. Talus obeys Artegall's command, and serves to represent justice without mercy hence, Artegall is the more human face of justice.
Later, Talus does not rescue Artegall from enslavement by the wicked slave-mistress Radigund, because Artegall is bound by a legal contract to serve her.
Only her death, at Britomart's hands, liberates him. Chrysaor was the golden sword of Sir Artegall. This sword was also the favorite weapon of Demeter , the Greek goddess of the harvest. Because it was "Tempred with Adamant ", it could cleave through anything. Arthur of the Round Table, but playing a different role here. He is madly in love with the Faerie Queene and spends his time in pursuit of her when not helping the other knights out of their sundry predicaments.
Prince Arthur is the Knight of Magnificence, the perfection of all virtues. Ate, a fiend from Hell disguised as a beautiful maiden. Ate opposes Book IV's virtue of friendship through spreading discord.
Ate and Duessa have fooled the false knights Blandamour and Paridell into taking them as lovers. Belphoebe , the beautiful sister of Amoret who spends her time in the woods hunting and avoiding the numerous amorous men who chase her. Timias, the squire of Arthur, eventually wins her love after she tends to the injuries he sustained in battle; however, Timias must endure much suffering to prove his love when Belphoebe sees him tending to a wounded woman and, misinterpreting his actions, flies off hastily.
She is only drawn back to him after seeing how he has wasted away without her. She is young and beautiful, and falls in love with Artegall upon first seeing his face in her father's magic mirror. Though there is no interaction between them, she travels to find him again, dressed as a knight and accompanied by her nurse, Glauce. Britomart carries an enchanted spear that allows her to defeat every knight she encounters, until she loses to a knight who turns out to be her beloved Artegall.
Parallel figure in Ariosto: Bradamante. Britomart is one of the most important knights in the story. She searches the world, including a pilgrimage to the shrine of Isis, and a visit with Merlin the magician. She rescues Artegall and several other knights, from the evil slave-mistress Radigund.
Furthermore, Britomart accepts Amoret at a tournament, refusing the false Florimell. Busirane, the evil sorcerer who captures Amoret on her wedding night. When Britomart enters his castle to defeat him, she finds him holding Amoret captive. She is bound to a pillar and Busirane is torturing her. The clever Britomart handily defeats him and returns Amoret to her husband.
Caelia , the ruler of the House of Holiness. He is on a quest from the Faerie Queene to slay the Blatant Beast. Brother of Canacee and friend of Triamond. Cambina, daughter of Agape and sister to Priamond, Diamond, and Triamond.
Cambina is depicted holding a caduceus and a cup of nepenthe, signifying her role as a figure of concord. She marries Cambell after bringing an end to his fight with Triamond. Colin Clout, a shepherd noted for his songs and bagpipe playing, briefly appearing in Book VI. He is the same Colin Clout as in Spenser's pastoral poetry , which is fitting because Calidore is taking a sojourn into a world of pastoral delight, ignoring his duty to hunt the Blatant Beast, which is why he set out to Ireland to begin with.
Colin Clout may also be said to be Spenser himself. Cymochles, a knight in Book II who is defined by indecision and fluctuations of the will. He and his fiery brother Pyrochles represent emotional maladies that threaten temperance. Chrysogonee, mother of Belphoebe and her twin Amoretta. She hides in the forest and, becoming tired, falls asleep on a bank, where she is impregnated by sunbeams and gives birth to twins. The goddesses Venus and Diana find the newborn twins and take them: Venus takes Amoretta and raises her in the Garden of Adonis, and Diana takes Belphoebe.
Despair, a distraught man in a cave, his name coming from his mood. He persuades Redcrosse Knight to nearly commit suicide through rhetoric alone, before Una steps in.
As the opposite of Una, she represents the "false" religion of the Roman Catholic Church. She is also initially an assistant, or at least a servant, to Archimago. Florimell's Flight by Washington Allston Florimell, a lady in love with the knight Marinell, who initially rejects her. Hearing that he has been wounded, she sets out to find him and faces various perils, culminating in her capture by the sea god Proteus.
He is the leader of the Knights of Maidenhead and carries the image of Gloriana on his shield. According to the Golden Legend , St. George's name shares etymology with Guyon, which specifically means "the holy wrestler". Prince Arthur, the Redcrosse Knight, and Una, illustrated by William Kent, Marinell, "the knight of the sea"; son of a water nymph, he avoided all love because his mother had learnt that a maiden was destined to do him harm; this prophecy was fulfilled when he was stricken down in battle by Britomart, though he was not mortally wounded.
Orgoglio , an evil giant. His name means "pride" in Italian. The Redcrosse Knight, hero of Book I. Introduced in the first canto of the poem, he bears the emblem of Saint George , patron saint of England; a red cross on a white background that is still the flag of England. He also learns that he is of English ancestry, having been stolen by a Fay and raised in Faerieland.
In the climactic battle of Book I, Redcrosse slays the dragon that has laid waste to Eden. Satyrane, a wild half-satyr man raised in the wild and the epitome of natural human potential. Tamed by Una, he protects her, but ends up locked in a battle against the chaotic Sansloy, which remains unconcluded.
Satyrane finds Florimell's girdle, which she drops while flying from a beast. Its movement has been compared to the smooth, steady, irresistible sweep of water in a mighty river. Like Lyly, Marlowe, and Shakespeare, Spenser felt the new delight in the pictorial and musical qualities of words, and invented new melodies and word pictures.
He aimed rather at finish, exactness, and fastidious neatness than at ease, freedom, and irregularity; and if his versification has any fault, it is that of monotony. The atmosphere is always perfectly adapted to the theme. As a romantic poet, Spenser often preferred archaic and semi-obsolete language to more modern forms. He uses four classes of words that were recognized as the proper and conventional language of pastoral and romantic poetry; viz.
He did not hesitate to adopt from Chaucer many obsolete words and grammatical forms. Examples are: His dialectic forms are taken from the vernacular of the North Lancashire folk with which he was familiar.
Examples of his use of classical constructions are: Notwithstanding Spenser's use of foreign words and constructions, his language is as thoroughly English in its idiom as that of any of our great poets.
I do not know how it is, but she said very right. There is something in Spenser that pleases one as strongly in old age as it did in youth. Each story is modified with respect to another, and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked out. Thus a beauty issues from this harmony,--the beauty in the poet's heart,--which his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a laughing beauty, made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its perfection, representing a unique and admirable epoch, the appearance of paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination of the North.
Received M. Leaves Lancashire, Elizabeth aids the Netherlands. Drake's voyage. First marriage before Execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Death of Leicester.
Death of Spenser, Revolt of Irish. Expedition of Essex to Ireland. Wardein of the Stanneries, and her majesties lieutenaunt of the countie of Cornewayll. The generall end therefore of all the booke, is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline.
Which for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, beeing coloured with an historicall fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for varietie of matter than for profit of the ensample: I chose the historie of king Arthure, as most fit for the excellencie of his person, beeing made famous by many mens former workes, and also furthest from the danger of envie, and suspicion of present time.
In which I have followed all the antique poets historicall: By ensample of which excellent Poets, I laboure to pourtraict in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath devised: To some I know this Methode will seem displeasant, which had rather have good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in Allegoricall devises.
But such, mee seeme, should be satisfied with the use of these dayes, seeing all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not delightfull and pleasing to common sense.
For this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his judgement, formed a Commune-wealth, such as it should be; but the other, in the person of Cyrus and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as might best be: So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by ensample then by rule.
So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure: And yet, in some places else, I doe otherwise shadow her. For considering shee beareth two persons, the one of a most royall Queene or Empresse, the other of a most vertuous and beautifull lady, this latter part in some places I doe expresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your owne excellent conceipt of Cynthia, Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of Diana.
So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth magnificence in particular, which vertue, for that according to Aristotle and the rest it is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure appliable to the vertue, which I write of in that booke. But of the twelve other vertues I make XII other knights the patrons, for the more varietie of the historic: Of which these three bookes containe three.
The first, of the Knight of the Red crosse, in whom I expresse Holinesse: But because the beginning of the whole worke seemeth abrupt and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs that yee know the occasion of these three knights severall adventures.
For the Methode of a Poet historicall is not such as of an Historiographer. For an Historiographer discourseth of affaires orderly as they were done, accounting as well the times as the actions; but a Poet thrusteth into the middest, even where it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the things forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleasing analysis of all. The beginning therefore of my historie, if it were to be told by an Historiographer, should be the twelfth booke, which is the last; where I devise that the Faery Queene kept her annuall feast twelve daies; uppon which twelve severall dayes, the occasions of the twelve severall adventures hapned, which being undertaken by XII severall knights, are in these twelve books severally handled and discoursed.
The first was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented him selfe a tall clownish younge man, who falling before the Queene of Faeries desired a boone as the manner then was which during that feast she might not refuse: Soone after entred a faire Ladie in mourning weedes, riding on a white Asse, with a dwarfe behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the Armes of a knight, and his speare in the dwarfes hand.
She falling before the Queene of Faeries, complayned that her father and mother, an ancient King and Queene, had bene by an huge dragon many yeers shut up in a brazen Castle, who thence suffered them not to issew: Presently that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure; whereat the Queene much wondering, and the Lady much gaine-saying, yet he earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unlesse that armour which she brought would serve him that is, the armour of a Christian man specified by Saint Paul, V.
And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that straunge Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure: A gentle knight was pricking on the playne, etc. The second day there came in a Palmer bearing an Infant with bloody hands, whose Parents he complained to have bene slaine by an enchauntresse called Acrasia: The third day there came in a Groome, who complained before the Faery Queene, that a vile Enchaunter, called Busirane, had in hand a most faire Lady, called Amoretta, whom he kept in most grevious torment.
Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that Lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But beeing unable to performe it by reason of the hard Enchauntments, after long sorrow, in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed his love.
But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled; but rather as accidents then intendments. As the love of Britomart, the overthrow of Marinell, the miserie of Florimell, the vertuousness of Belphoebe; and many the like. Thus much, Sir, I have briefly-over-run to direct your understanding to the wel-head of the History, that from thence gathering the whole intention of the conceit, ye may as in a handfull gripe all the discourse, which otherwise may happely seem tedious and confused.
So humbly craving the continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th' eternall establishment of your happines, I humbly take leave. Yours most humbly affectionate, EDM. Thou onely fit this argument to write In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bowre, And dainty Love learnd sweetly to endite.
My rimes I know unsavory and sowre, To taste the streames, that, like a golden showre, Flow from thy fruitfull head, of thy Loves praise; Fitter perhaps to thunder martiall stowre, When so thee list thy loftie Muse to raise: Yet, till that thou thy poeme wilt make knowne, Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus rudely showne. Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song. O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong. Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.
II And on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore, 10 The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead as living ever him ador'd: V So pure and innocent, as that same lambe, She was in life and every vertuous lore, And by descent from Royall lynage came Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of yore 40 Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore, And all the world in their subjection held; Till that infernall feend with foule uprore Forwasted all their land, and them expeld: Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld.
Thus as they past, The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast, 50 And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast, That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain, And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.
Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starre: Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred arre. VIII And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, 65 Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. X Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, Untill the blustring storme is overblowne; When weening to returne, whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, 85 But wander too and fro in wayes unknowne, Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne: So many pathes, so many turnings seene, That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been.
The Champion stout Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave, And to the Dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave. The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: Vertue gives her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade. XIII Yea but quoth she the perill of this place I better wot then you, though now too late To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
Fly fly quoth then The fearefull Dwarfe this is no place for living men. XIV But full of fire and greedy hardiment, The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide, But forth unto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone, Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, And turning fierce, her speckled taile advaunst, Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay: Who nought aghast his mightie hand enhaunst: The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst.
XVIII Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd, Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round, And all attonce her beastly body raizd With doubled forces high above the ground: Tho wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd, Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stirre he strove in vaine: God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine.
XX Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw A floud of poyson horrible and blacke, Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw, Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe: Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has.
But when his later spring gins to avale, Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male And partly female of his fruitful seed; Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed. XXII The same so sore annoyed has the knight, That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight. Whose corage when the feend perceiv'd to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke, With swarming all about his legs did crall, And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.
XXX He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as that courteous was: And after asked him, if he did know Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas. With holy father sits not with such things to mell. Of such said he I chiefly do inquere, And shall you well reward to shew the place, In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare: For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.
XXXII Far hence quoth he in wastfull wildernesse His dwelling is, by which no living wight May ever passe, but thorough great distresse. Now sayd the Lady draweth toward night, And well I wote, that of your later fight Ye all forwearied be: The Sunne that measures heaven all day long, At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waves emong. Right well Sir knight ye have advised bin, Quoth then that aged man; the way to win Is wisely to advise: The knight was well content: So with that godly father to his home they went.
Thereby a Christall streame did gently play, Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway. Rest is their feast, and all things at their will: The noblest mind the best contentment has. Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly, And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe In drowsie fit he findes: So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine Whereat he gan to stretch: Hither quoth he me Archimago sent, He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame, He bids thee to him send for his intent A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.
He backe returning by the Yvorie dore, Remounted up as light as chearefull Larke, And on his litle winges the dreame he bore In hast unto his Lord, where he him left afore. XLV Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes, Had made a Lady of that other Spright, And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes So lively, and so like in all mens sight, That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight: The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt, Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight: XLVII Thus well instructed, to their worke they hast, And coming where the knight in slomber lay, The one upon his hardy head him plast And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play, That nigh his manly hart did melt away, Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy: XLIX In this great passion of unwonted lust, Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, He started up, as seeming to mistrust Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his: Lo there before his face his Lady is, Under blake stole hyding her bayted hooke; And as halfe blushing offred him to kis, With gentle blandishment and lovely looke, Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took.
L All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight, And half enraged at her shamelesse guise, He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight: Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state You, whom my hard avenging destinie Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently. LII Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave My Fathers kingdome--There she stopt with teares; Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave, And then againe begun; My weaker yeares Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares, Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde: Why Dame quoth he what hath ye thus dismayd?
What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd? LIII Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint, Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night In secret anguish and unpittied plaint, Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight. Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight Suspect her truth: Not all content, yet seemd she to appease Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art, And fed with words that could not chuse but please, So slyding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.
LV Long after lay he musing at her mood, Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light, For whose defence he was to shed his blood. At last, dull wearinesse of former fight Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright, That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine, With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight: But when he saw his labour all was vaine, With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.
Who all in rage to see his skilfull might Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine 15 And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright. But when he saw his threatning was but vaine, He cast about, and searcht his baleful bookes againe. III Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire, And that false other Spright, on whom he spred 20 A seeming body of the subtile aire, Like a young Squire, in loves and lustybed His wanton dayes that ever loosely led, Without regard of armes and dreaded fight: Those two he tooke, and in a secret bed, 25 Coverd with darknesse and misdeeming night, Them both together laid, to joy in vaine delight.
IV Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast Unto his guest, who after troublous sights And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast, 30 Whom suddenly he wakes with fearfull frights, As one aghast with feends or damned sprights, And to him cals, Rise, rise, unhappy Swaine That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine, 35 Come see where your false Lady doth her honour staine.
V All in amaze he suddenly upstart With sword in hand, and with the old man went Who soone him brought into a secret part Where that false couple were full closely ment 40 In wanton lust and leud embracement: Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire, The eye of reason was with rage yblent, And would have slaine them in his furious ire, But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.
Then gan she waile and weepe, to see that woefull stowre. IX But subtill Archimago, when his guests He saw divided into double parts, And Una wandring in woods and forrests, 75 Th' end of his drift, he praisd his divelish arts, That had such might over true meaning harts: Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make, How he may worke unto her further smarts: For her he hated as the hissing snake, 80 And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.
In mighty armes he was yclad anon: And silver shield, upon his coward brest A bloudy crosse, and on his craven crest 95 A bounch of haires discolourd diversly: Full jolly knight he seemde, and well addrest, And when he sate upon his courser free, Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.
XII But he the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare, The true Saint George, was wandred far away, Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare; Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray. XIV With faire disport and courting dalliaunce She intertainde her lover all the way: But when she saw the knight his speare advaunce, She soone left off her mirth and wanton play, And bade her knight addresse him to the fray: His foe was nigh at hand.
He prickt with pride And hope to winne his Ladies heart that day, Forth spurred fast: XV The knight of the Redcrosse when him he spide, Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous, Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride: Soone meete they both, both fell and furious, That daunted with their forces hideous, Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand, And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous, Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand Doe backe rebut, and each to other yeeldeth land.
XVII The Sarazin sore daunted with the buffe Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies; Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff: The flashing fier flies As from a forge out of their burning shields, And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields. He tumbling downe alive, With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis. Greeting his grave: XX The Lady when she saw her champion fall, Like the old ruines of a broken towre, Staid not to waile his woefull funerall, But from him fled away with all her powre; Who after her as hastily gan scowre, Bidding the Dwarfe with him to bring away The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure.
Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay, For present cause was none of dread her to dismay. Her humblesse low In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show, Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart, And said, Deare dame, your suddin overthrow Much rueth me; but now put feare apart, And tell, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part.
XXII Melting in teares, then gan she thus lament; The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre Hath now made thrall to your commandement, Before that angry heavens list to lowre, And fortune false betraide me to your powre, Was, O what now availeth that I was! Then forth I went his woefull corse to find, And many yeares throughout the world I straid, A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind With love long time did languish as the striken hind.
XXV At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin To meete me wandring, who perforce me led With him away, but yet could never win The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread; There lies he now with foule dishonour dead, Who whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy, The eldest of three brethren, all three bred Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy; And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy.
He in great passion all this while did dwell, More busying his quicke eyes, her face to view, Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell; And said, Faire Lady hart of flint would rew The undeserved woes and sorrowes which ye shew. XXVII Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest, Having both found a new friend you to aid, And lost an old foe that did you molest: Better new friend then an old foe is said.
With chaunge of cheare the seeming simple maid Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth, And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said, So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth, And she coy lookes: For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie, From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot, That living creature mote it not abide; And his new Lady it endured not.
There they alight, in hope themselves to hide From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide. Astond he stood, and up his haire did hove, And with that suddein horror could no member move. For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.
The author then said he of all my smarts, Is one Duessa a false sorceresse, That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse. XXXV In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hot The fire of love and joy of chevalree First kindled in my brest, it was my lot To love this gentle Lady, whom ye see, Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree; With whom as once I rode accompanyde, Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee, That had a like faire Lady by his syde, Like a faire Lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde.
So both to battell fierce arraunged arre, In which his harder fortune was to fall Under my speare: His Lady left as a prise martiall, Did yield her comely person to be at my call. Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to bee, So hard the discord was to be agreede.
Fraelissa was as faire, as faire mote bee, And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee. XXXVIII The wicked witch now seeing all this while The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway, What not by right, she cast to win by guile, And by her hellish science raisd streightway A foggy mist, that overcast the day, And a dull blast, that breathing on her face, Dimmed her former beauties shining ray, And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace: Then was she faire alone, when none was faire in place.
Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine, Eftsoones I thought her such, as she me told, And would have kild her; but with faigned paine The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold; So left her, where she now is turnd to treen mould. A filthy foule old woman I did vew, That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew.
But they did seeme more foule and hideous, Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee. Thensforth from her most beastly companie I gan refraine, in minde to slip away, Soone as appeard safe opportunitie: For danger great, if not assur'd decay, I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray. Then brought she me into this desert waste, And by my wretched lovers side me pight, Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste, Banisht from living wights, our wearie dayes we waste.
O how, said he, mote I that well out find, That may restore you to your wonted well? But the good knight Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment, When all this speech the living tree had spent, The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground, That from the bloud he might be innocent, And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound: XLV Her seeming dead he found with feigned feare, As all unweeting of that well she knew, And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare Her out of carelesse swowne.
Her eyelids blew And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew At last she up gan lift: I Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse, That moves more deare compassion of mind, Then beautie brought t' unworthy wretchednesse Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind. I, whether lately through her brightnesse blind, 5 Or through alleageance and fast fealtie, Which I do owe unto all woman kind, Feele my hart perst with so great agonie, When such I see, that all for pittie I could die.
III Yet she most faithfull Ladie all this while Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd 20 Far from all peoples prease, as in exile, In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd, To seeke her knight; who subtilly betrayd Through that late vision, which th' Enchaunter wrought, Had her abandond.
IV One day nigh wearie of the yrkesome way, From her unhastie beast she did alight, And on the grasse her daintie limbes did lay 30 In secret shadow, farre from all mens sight: From her faire head her fillet she undight, And laid her stole aside.
But to the pray when as he drew more ny, His bloody rage asswaged with remorse, And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. O how can beautie maister the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong? VII The Lyon Lord of every beast in field, 55 Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: But he my Lyon, and my noble Lord, 60 How does he find in cruell hart to hate, Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord, As the God of my life?
VIII Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint, Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; 65 And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. At last in close hart shutting up her paine, Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, 70 And to her snowy Palfrey got againe, To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine. IX The Lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along, as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate 75 Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement, 80 And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.
By this arrived there Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere. XIV And to augment her painefull pennance more, Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit, And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore, And thrise three times did fast from any bit: But now for feare her beads she did forget.
Whose needlesse dread for to remove away, Faire Una framed words and count'nance fit: Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray, That in their cotage small that night she rest her may. XV The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night, When every creature shrowded is in sleepe; Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight, And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe: For on his backe a heavy load he bare Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall, Which he had got abroad by download criminall.
XVII He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe, Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments, And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe, Which given was to them for good intents; The holy Saints of their rich vestiments He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, And spoild the Priests of their habiliments, Whiles none the holy things in safety kept; Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept. XVIII And all that he by right or wrong could find, Unto this house he brought, and did bestow Upon the daughter of this woman blind, Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow, With whom he whoredome usd, that few did know, And fed her fat with feast of offerings, And plentie, which in all the land did grow; Ne spared he to give her gold and rings: And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.
XIX Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet, Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize, The Lyon frayed them, him in to let: His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night, Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand The heavie hap, which on them is alight, Affraid, least to themselves the like mishappen might.
And when they both had wept and wayld their fill, Then forth they ran like two amazed deare, Halfe mad through malice, and revenging will, To follow her, that was the causer of their ill. XXIII Whom overtaking, they gan loudly bray, With hollow howling, and lamenting cry, Shamefully at her rayling all the way, And her accusing of dishonesty, That was the flowre of faith and chastity; And still amidst her rayling, she did pray, That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery Might fall on her, and follow all the way, And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.
XXIV But when she saw her prayers nought prevaile, She backe returned with some labour lost; And in the way as shee did weepe and waile, A knight her met in mighty armes embost, Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost, But subtill Archimag, that Una sought By traynes into new troubles to have tost: Of that old woman tidings he besought, If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought.
XXV Therewith she gan her passion to renew, And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare, Saying, that harlot she too lately knew, That caused her shed so many a bitter teare, And so forth told the story of her feare: Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce, And after for that Ladie did inquere; Which being taught, he forward gan advaunce His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce.
Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde Unto an hill; from whence when she him spyde, By his like seeming shield, her knight by name She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde: Approaching nigh, she wist it was the same, And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came: For since mine eye your joyous sight did mis, My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night, And eke my night of death the shadow is; But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis.
XXIX And sooth to say, why I left you so long, Was for to seeke adventure in strange place, Where Archimago said a felon strong To many knights did daily worke disgrace; But knight he now shall never more deface: Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please Well to accept, and evermore embrace My faithfull service, that by land and seas Have vowd you to defend: XXX His lovely words her seemd due recompence Of all her passed paines: A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre: Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.
So forth they past, and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment: Who told her all that fell in journey as she went.
XXXIV When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare, He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare Himselfe to battell with his couched speare. Loth was that other, and did faint through feare, To taste th' untryed dint of deadly steele; But yet his Lady did so well him cheare, That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele; So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with yron heele.
Yet so great was the puissance of his push, That from his saddle quite he did him beare: He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush, And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.