The Faerie Queene (86 page)

Till she recured were of those her woundes wide.

29
Now when as
Phœbus
with his fiery waine

Vnto his Inne began to draw apace;

Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine,

In trauelling on foote so long a space,

Not wont on foote with heauy armes to trace,

Downe in a dale forby a riuers syde,

He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,

To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,

In hope there for his loue some succour to prouyde.

30
But comming to the riuers side, he found

That hardly passable on foote it was:

Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,

Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas.

Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,

Deuising what to doe, he nigh espyde

An armed Knight approaching to the place,

With a faire Lady lincked by his syde,

The which themselues prepard through the foord to ride.

31
Whom
Calepine
saluting (as became)

Besought of courtesie in that his neede,

For safe conducting of his sickely Dame,

Through that same perillous foord with better heede,

To take him vp behinde vpon his steed,

To whom that other did this taunt returne.

Perdy thou peasant Knight, mightst rightly reed

Me then to be full base and euill borne,

If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

32
But as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame,

So fire on foote till thou another gayne,

And let thy Lady likewise doe the same,

Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,

And proue thy manhood on the billowes vayne.

With which rude speach his Lady much displeased,

Did him reproue, yet could him not restrayne,

And would on her owne Palfrey him haue eased,

For pitty of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased.

33
Sir
Cakpine
her thanckt, yet inly wroth

Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused,

And carelesly into the riuer goth,

As in despight to be so fowle abused

Of a rude churle, whom often he accused

Of fowle discourtesie, vnfit for Knight

And strongly wading through the waues vnused,

With speare in th'one hand, stayd him selfe vpright,

With th'other staide his Lady vp with steddy might.

34
And all the while, that same discourteous Knight,

Stood on the further bancke beholding him,

At whose calamity, for more despight

He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.

But when as
Calepine
came to the brim,

And saw his carriage past that perill well,

Looking at that same Carle with count'nance grim,

His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,

And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell.

35
Vnknightly Knight, the blemish of that name,

And blot of all that armes vppon them take,

Which is the badge of honour and of fame,

Loe I defie thee, and here challenge make,

That thou for euer doe those armes forsake;

And be for euer held a recreant Knight,

Vnlesse thou dare for thy deare Ladies sake,

And for thine owne defence on foote alight,

To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight

36
The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde,

Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all,

But laught them out, as if his greater pryde,

Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall:

Or had no courage, or else had no gall.

So much the more was
Calepine
offended,

That him to no reuenge he forth could call,

But both his challenge and him selfe contemned,

Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

37
But he nought weighing what he sayd or did,

Turned his steede about another way,

And with his Lady to the Castle rid,

Where was his won; ne did the other stay,

But after went directly as he may,

For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke;

Where he arriuing widi the fall of day,

Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke,

And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke.

38
But the rude Porter that no manners had,

Did shut the gate against him in his face,

And entraunce boldly vnto him forbad.

Nathelesse the Knight now in so needy case,

Gan him entreat euen with submission base,

And humbly praid to let them in that night:

Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no place

Of lodging fit for any errant Knight,

Vnlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight.

39
Full loth am I (quoth he) as now at earst,

When day is spent, and rest vs needeth most,

And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst

With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost:

Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,

That should to me such curtesie afford,

Vnlesse that I were thereunto enforst.

But yet aread to me, how bight thy Lord,

That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford.

40
His name (quoth he) if that thou list to learne,

Is hight Sir
Turpine,
one of mickle might,

And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne

In all assaies to euery errant Knight,

Because of one, that wrought him fowle despight.

Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiaunt be,

That he should be so sterne to stranger wight:

For seldome yet did liuing creature see,

That curtesie and manhood euer disagree.

41
But go thy waies to him, and fro me say,

That here is at his gate an errant Knight,

That house-rome craues, yet would be loth t'assay

The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night,

Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:

Yet if he needes will fight, craue leaue till morne,

And tell withall, the lamentable plight,

In which this Lady languisheth forlorne,

That pitty craues, as he of woman was yborne.

42
The groome went streight way in, and to his Lord

Declar'd the message, which that Knight did moue;

Who sitting with his Lady then at bord,

Not onely did not his demaund approue,

But both himselfe reuil'd, and eke his loue;

Albe his Lady, that
Blandina
hight,

Him of vngentle vsage did reproue

And earnestly entreated that they might

Finde fauour to be lodged there for that same night.

43
Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,

Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.

Which answer when the groome returning, brought

To
Calepine,
his heart did inly flame

With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,

That he could not thereof auenged bee:

But most for pitty of his dearest Dame,

Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;

Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee.

44
But all in vaine; for why, no remedy

He saw, the present mischiefe to redresse,

But th'vtmost end perforce for to aby,

Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.

So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse,

And layd her vnderneath a bush to sleepe,

Couer'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse,

Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe,

And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

45
The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day

Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,

Serena
full of dolorous dismay,

Twixt darkenesse dread, and hope of liuing light,

Vprear'd her head to see that chearefull sight.

Then
Calepine,
how euer inly wroth,

And greedy to auenge that vile despight,

Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth

To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney goth.

46
He goth on foote all armed by her side,

Vpstaying still her selfe vppon her steede,

Being vnhable else alone to ride;

So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:

Till that at length, in his extreamest neede,

He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy,

Pursuing him apace with greedy speede,

Whom well he wist to be some enemy,

That meant to make aduantage of his misery.

47
Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew,

To weet what issue would thereof betyde,

Tho whenas he approched nigh in vew,

By certaine signes he plainely him descryde,

To be the man, that with such scornefull pryde

Had him abusde, and shamed yesterday;

Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde

His former malice to some new assay,

He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.

48
By this the other came in place likewise,

And couching close his speare and all his powre,

As bent to some malicious enterprise,

He bad him stand, t'abide the bitter stoure

Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make auoure

Of the lewd words and deedes, which he had done:

With that ran at him, as he would deuoure

His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun

The perill of his pride, or else be ouerrun.

49
Yet he him still pursew'd from place to place,

Widi full intent him cruelly to kill,

And like a wilde goate round about did chace,

Flying the fury of his bloudy will.

But his best succour and refuge was still

Behinde his Ladies backe, who to him cryde,

And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,

As euer he to Lady was affyde,

To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacifyde.

50
But he the more thereby enraged was,

And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd,

So that at length, after long weary chace,

Hauing by chaunce a close aduantage vew'd,

He ouer raught him, hauing long eschew'd

His violence in vaine, and with his spere

Stxooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew'd

In great aboundance, as a well it were,

That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.

51
Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound,

But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry,

Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground

He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously:

The which was certes in great ieopardy,

Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,

And saued from his cruell villany.

Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought:

That in another Canto shall to end be brought.

Calepine by a saluage man
   from Turpine reskewed is,
And wkylest an Infant from a Bean
   he saues, his hue doth misse.

1
Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,

Hauing spent all her mastes and her ground-hold,

Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,

At last some fisher barke doth neare behold,

That giueth comfort to her courage cold.

Such was the state of this most courteous knight

Being oppressed by that faytour bold,

That he remayned in most perilous plight,

And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright.

2
Till that by fortune, passing all foresight,

A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne,

Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright,

Toward the same incessantly did ronne,

To vnderstand what there was to be donne.

There he this most discourteous crauen found,

As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,

Chasing the gentle
Calepine
around,

Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound.

3
The saluage man, that neuer till this houre

Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,

Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure

Was much emmoued at his perils vew,

That euen his ruder hart began to rew,

And feele compassion of his euill plight,

Against his foe that did him so pursew:

From whom he meant to free him, if he might,

And him auenge of that so villenous despight.

4
Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight,

Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments,

Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite,

But naked without needfull vestiments,

To dad his corpse with meete habiliments,

He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,

No more then for the strokes of strawes or bents:

For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare

He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare.

5
He stayed not to aduize, which way were best

His foe t'assayle, or how himselfe to gard,

But with fierce fury and with force infest

Vpon him ran; who being well prepard,

His first assault full warily did ward,

And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare

Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard,

That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare;

Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

6
With that the wyld man more enraged grew,

Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray,

And with mad mood againe vpon him flew,

Regarding neither speare, that mote him slay,

Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay.

The saluage nation doth all dread despize:

Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,

And held the same so hard, that by no wize

He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize.

7
Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,

And euery way did try, but all in vaine:

For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,

But hayld and puld with all his might and maine,

That from his steed him nigh he drew againe.

Who hauing now no vse of his long speare,

So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,

Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,

He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

8
But after him the wyld man ran apace,

And him pursewed with importune speed,

(For he was swift as any Bucke in chace)

And had he not in his extreamest need,

Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,

He had him ouertaken in his flight.

“Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed,

Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,

And shrieked out, a thing vncomely for a knight.

9
But when the Saluage saw his labour vaine,

In following of him, that fled so fast,

He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe

With speede vnto the place, whereas he last

Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast.

There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,

And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast,

Both for the perill of the present stound,

And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound.

10
For though she were right glad, so rid to bee

From that vile lozell, which her late offended,

Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,

And perill by this saluage man pretended;

Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended,

By reason that her knight was wounded sore.

Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended

To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore,

To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

11
But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare,

Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,

And by rude tokens made to her appeare

His deepe compassion of her dolerull stound,

Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;

For other language had he none nor speach,

But a soft murmure, and confused sound

Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach,

T'expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach.

12
And comming likewise to the wounded knight,

When he beheld the streames of purple blood

Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight,

He made great mone after his saluage mood,

And running streight into the thickest wood,

A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought,

Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood:

The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,

And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.

13
Then taking vp that Recreants shield and speare,

Which earst he left, he signes vnto them made,

With him to wend vnto his worming neare:

To which he easily did them perswade.

Farre in the forrest by a hollow glade,

Couered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode

Did vnderneath them make a gloomy shade;

There foot of liuing creature neuer trode,

Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.

14
Thether he brought these vnacquainted guests;

To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed

By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests.

But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrowed,

Must be their bed, their pillow was vnsowed,

And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:

For their bad Stuard neither plough'd nor sowed,

Ne fed on flesh, ne euer of wyld beast

Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first beheast.

15
Yet howsoeuer base and meane it were,

They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,

Which had them freed from that deadly feare,

And sau'd from being to that caytiue thrall.

Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)

Compelled were themselues a while to rest,

Glad of that easement, though it were hut small;

That hauing there their wounds awhile redrest,

They mote the abler be to passe vnto the rest.

16
During which time, that wyld man did apply

His best endeuour, and his daily paine,

In seeking all the woods both farre and nye

For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine,

When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine.

So as ere long he had that knightes wound

Recured well, and made him whole againe:

But that same Ladies hurts no herbe he found,

Which could redresse, for it was inwardly vnsound.

17
Now when as
Calepine
was woxen strong,

Vpon a day he cast abrode to wend,

To take the ayre, and heare the thrushes song,

Vnarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend,

And without sword his person to defend,

There him befell, vnlooked for before,

An hard aduenture with vnhappie end,

A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore

Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.

18
The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,

And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,

As if his cry did meane for helpe to call

To
Calepine,
whose eares those shrieches shrill

Percing his hart with pities point did thrill;

That after him, he ran with zealous haste,

To rescue th'infant, ere he did him kill:

Whom though he saw now somewhat ouerpast,

Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.

19
Well then him chaunst his heauy armes to want,

Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed,

And hinder him from libertie to pant:

For hauing long time, as his daily weed,

Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need,

Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,

That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed

From bels and iesses, which did let her flight,

Him seem'd his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.

20
So well he sped him, that the wearie Beare

Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay,

And without weapon him assayling neare,

Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.

Wherewith the beast enrag'd to lose his pray,

Vpon him turned, and with greedie force

And furie, to be crossed in his way,

Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse

To be aueng'd on him, and to deuoure his corse.

21
But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd,

But catching vp in hand a ragged stone,

Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)

Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone

Into his gaping throte, that made him grone

And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,

Being vnable to digest that bone;

Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe,

Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse.

22
Whom when as he thus combred did behold,

Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast,

He with him closd, and laying mightie hold

Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,

That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast;

And then oppressing him with vrgent paine,

Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast,

Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,

And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to

[straine.

23
Then tooke he vp betwixt his armes twaine

The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray;

Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine,

From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,

And from his face the filth that did it ray,

And euery litle limbe he searcht around,

And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay,

Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound

Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.

24
So hauing all his bands againe vptyde,

He with him thought backe to returne againe:

But when he lookt about on euery syde,

To weet which way were best to entertaine,

To bring him to the place, where he would faine,

He could no path nor tract of foot descry,

Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme.

For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye,

That all about did close the compasse of his eye.

25
Much was he then encombred, ne could tell

Which way to take: now West he went a while,

Then Norm; then neither, but as fortune fell.

So vp and downe he wandred many a mile,

With wearie trauell and vncertaine toile,

Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end;

And euermore his louely litle spoile

Crying for food, did greatly him offend.

So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend.

26
At last about the setting of the Sunne,

Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,

And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne:

Where looking all about, where he mote fynd

Some place of succour to content his mynd,

At length he heard vnder the forrests syde

A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd,

Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,

And oft complayn'd of fate, and fortune oft defyde.

27
To whom approching, when as she perceiued

A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd,

As if she doubted to haue bene deceiued,

Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd.

Whom when as
Calepine
saw so dismayd,

He to her drew, and with faire blandishment

Her chearing vp, thus gently to her sayd;

What be you wofull Dame, which thus lament,

And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent.

28
To whom she thus, what need me Sir to tell,

That which your selfe haue earst ared so right?

A wofull dame ye haue me termed well;

So much more wofull, as my wofull plight

Cannot redressed be by liuing wight.

Nathlesse (quoth he) if need doe not you bynd,

Doe it disclose, to ease your grieued spright:

Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd

Find remedie vnsought, which seeking cannot fynd.

29
Then thus began the lamentable Dame;

Sith then ye needs will know-the griefe I hoord,

I am th'vnfortunate
Matilde
by name,