And knitting all his force, got one hand free, 205
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine,
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine.
XX
Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw, 210
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke
His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe:
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was,
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke,
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras: 215
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled has.
XXI
As when old father Nilus gins to swell
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale,
His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell,
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale: 220
But when his later spring gins to avale,
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherin there breed
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed;
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswher may no man reed. 225
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 perceivd to shrinke,
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke 230
Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small,
Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,
Which swarming all about his legs did crall,
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.
XXIII
As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide, 235
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west,
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide,
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest,
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges, 240
That from their noyance he no where can rest,
But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.
XXIV
Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame
Then of the certeine perill he stood in, 245
Halfe furious unto his foe he came,
Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win,
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin;
And stroke at her with more then manly force,
That from her body, full of filthie sin, 250
He raft her hatefull heade without remorse:
A streame of cole black blood forth gushed from her corse.
XXV
Her scattred brood, soone as their parent deare
They saw so rudely falling to the ground,
Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare, 255
Gathred themselves about her body round,
Weening their wonted entrance to have found
At her wide mouth: but being there withstood,
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
And sucked up their dying mothers bloud, 260
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.
XXVI
That detestable sight him much amazde,
To see th’ unkindly impes, of heaven accurst,
Devoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd,
Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst, 265
Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst,
And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end
Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst!
Now needeth him no lenger labour spend;
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should contend. 270
XXVII
His lady, seeing all that chaunst, from farre,
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie,
And saide, ‘Faire knight, borne under happie starre,
Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye,
Well worthie be you of that armory, 275
Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day,
And proov’d your strength on a strong enimie,
Your first adventure: many such I pray,
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.’
XXVIII
Then mounted he upon his steede againe, 280
And with the lady backward sought to wend;
That path he kept which beaten was most plaine,
Ne ever would to any by way bend,
But still did follow one unto the end,
The which at last out of the wood them brought. 285
So forward on his way (with God to frend)
He passed forth, and new adventure sought:
Long way he traveiled, before he heard of ought.
XXIX
At length they chaunst to meet upon the way
An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, 290
His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray,
And by his belt his booke he hanging had;
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad, 295
And all the way he prayed as he went,
And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.
XXX
He faire the knight saluted, louting low,
Who faire him quited, as that courteous was;
And after asked him, if he did know 300
Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas.
‘Ah! my dear sonne,’ quoth he, ‘how should, alas!
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell? 305
With holy father sits not with such thinges to mell.
XXXI
‘But if of daunger, which hereby doth dwell,
And homebredd evil ye desire to heare,
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,
That wasteth all this countrie farre and neare.’ 310
‘Of such,’ saide he, ‘I chiefly doe inquere,
And shall you well rewarde 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.’ 315
XXXII
‘Far hence,’ quoth he, ‘in wastfull wildernesse,
His dwelling is, by which no living wight
May ever passe, but thorough great distresse.’
‘Now,’ saide the ladie, ‘draweth toward night,
And well I wote, that of your later fight 320
Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,
But, wanting rest, will also want of might?
The Sunne, that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth baite his steedes the ocean waves emong.
XXXIII
‘Then with the Sunne take, sir, your timely rest, 325
And with new day new worke at once begin:
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell best.’
‘Right well, sir knight, ye have advised bin,’
Quoth then that aged man; ‘the way to win
Is wisely to advise: now day is spent; 330
Therefore with me ye may take up your in
For this same night.’ The knight was well content:
So with that godly father to his home they went.
XXXIV
A litle lowly hermitage it was,
Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, 335
Far from resort of people, that did pas
In traveill to and froe:
a litle wyde
There was an holy chappell edifyde,
Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say
His holy thinges each morne and even-tyde: 340
Thereby a christall streame did gently play,
Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.
XXXV
Arrived there, the litle house they fill,
Ne looke for entertainement, where none was:
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will; 345
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
With faire discourse the evening so they pas:
For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store,
And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas:
He told of saintes and popes, and evermore 350
He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before.
XXXVI
The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast,
And the sad humor loading their eye liddes,
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes: 355
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes:
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes,
He to his studie goes, and there amiddes
His magick bookes and artes of sundrie kindes,
He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy minds. 360
XXXVII
Then choosing out few words most horrible,
(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame;
With which and other spelles like terrible,
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame,
And cursed heven, and spake reprochful shame 365
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light:
A bold bad man, that dar’d to call by name
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night,
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.
XXXVIII
And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd 370
Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes
Fluttring about his ever damned hedd,
Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies:
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, 375
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;
The one of them he gave a message too,
The other by him selfe staide, other worke to doo.
XXXIX
He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and deepe, 380
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe 385
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.
XL
Whose double gates he findeth locked fast,
The one faire fram’d of burnisht yvory,
The other all with silver overcast; 390
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
By them the sprite doth passe in quietly,
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe 395
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe.
XLI
And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft,
A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
And ever drizling raine upon the loft,
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne 400
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne:
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t’ annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes,
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes. 405
XLII
The messenger approching to him spake,
But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine:
So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine,
Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe 410
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake.
XLIII
The sprite then gan more boldly him to wake, 415
And threatned unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake,
And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came.
‘Hether,’ quoth he, ‘me Archimago sent, 420
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.’
XLIV
The god obayde, and calling forth straight way
A diverse dreame out of his prison darke, 425
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke;
Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke.
He, backe returning by the yvorie dore,
Remounted up as light as chearefull larke, 430
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, 435
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:
Her all in white he clad, and over it 440
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit.
XLVI
Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought,
Where he slept soundly, void of evil thought,
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, 445
In sort as he him schooled privily:
And that new creature, borne without her dew,
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly
He taught to imitate that lady trew,
Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew. 450
XLVII
Thus well instructed, to their worke they haste,
And comming where the knight in slomber lay,
The one upon his hardie head him plaste,
And made him dreame of loves and lust-full play,
That nigh his manly hart did melt away, 455
Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy.
Then seemed him his lady by him lay,
And to him playnd, how that false winged boy
Her chaste hart had subdewd to learne Dame Pleasures toy.
XLVIII
And she her selfe, of beautie soveraigne queene, 460
Fayre Venus, seemde unto his bed to bring
Her, whom he, waking, evermore did weene
To bee the chastest flowre that aye did spring
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king,
Now a loose leman to vile service bound: 465
And eke the Graces seemed all to sing
Hymen iö Hymen, dauncing all around,
Whylst freshest Flora her with yvie girlond crownd.
XLIX
In this great passion of unwonted lust,
Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, 470
He started up, as seeming to mistrust
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his:
Lo! there before his face his ladie is,
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke,
And as halfe blushing offred him to kis, 475
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 halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise,
He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight; 480
But hastie heat tempring with sufferance wise,
He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe advise
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned truth.
Wringing her hands in wemens pitteous wise,
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth, 485
Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth.
LI
And sayd, ‘Ah sir, my liege lord and my love,
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate,
And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,
Or the blind god, that doth me thus amate, 490
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate?
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
Die is my dew: yet rew my wretched state
You, whom my hard avenging destinie
Hath made judge of my life or death in differently. 495
LII
‘Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave
My fathers kingdom’ — There she stopt with teares;
Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave;
And then againe begonne: ‘My weaker yeares,
Captiv’d to fortune and frayle worldly feares, 500
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde:
Let me not die in languor and long teares.’
‘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, 505
Lets me not sleepe, but waste 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: yet since no’ untruth he knew, 510
Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight
He would not shend, but said, ‘Deare dame, I rew,
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.
LIV
‘Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;
For all so deare as life is to my hart, 515
I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound;
Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,
Where cause is none, but to your rest depart.’
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art, 520
And fed with words, that could not chose but please;