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All which accepting, and with faithfull oth
Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,
He up arofe, however liefe or loth,
And swore to him true fealtie for
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay
The fad Briana which all this beheld ;
Who comming forth yet full of late affray,
Sir Calidore up-cheard, and to her teld
All this accord to which he Crudor had compeld.
Whereof the now more glad then sory earst,
All overcome with infinite affect
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
Before his feet herselfe she did proiect;
And him adoring as her lives deare lord,
With all due thankes and dutifull respect,
Herselfe acknowledg’d bound for that accord,
By which he had to her both life and love restord.
So all returning to the castle glad,
Most ioyfully she them did entertaine ;
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,
By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:
And after all, unto fir- Calidore
She freely gave that castle for his paine,
And herselfe bound to him for evermore ;
So wondrously now chaung’d from that she was afore.
But Calidore himselfe would not retaine
Nor land nor fee for hyre of his good deede,
gave them streight unto that squire againe,
Whom from her seneschall he lately freed,
And to his damzell, as their rightfull meed,
For recompence of all their former wrong:
There he remaind with them right well agreed,
Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong,
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.
HAT vertue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a ladie whom a knight should love,
As curtesie, to beare themselves aright
To all of each degree as doth behove?
For whether they be placed high above
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know
Their good, that none them rightly may reprove
Of rudenesse, for not yeelding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.
Thereto great helpe dame Nature felfe doth lend :
For some fo goodly gratious are by kind,
That every action doth them much commend,
And in the eyes of men great liking find;
Which others that have greater skill in mind,
Though they enforce themselves, cannot attaine:
For everie thing to which one is inclin'd
Doth best become and greatest grace doth gaine:
Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes enforft with paine.
That well in courteous Calidore appeares ;
deed and word that he did fay,
Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes
And both the eares did steale the hart away.
He now againe is on his former way
To follow his first quest, whenas he spyde
A tall young man, from thence not farre away,
Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,
Againit an armed knight that did on horsebacke ryde.
And them befide a ladie faire he saw
Standing alone on foot in foule array ;
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may :
But ere he came in place, that youth had kild
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
Which when he saw, his hart was inly child
With great amazement, and his thought with wonder fild.
Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender flip, that scarfe did see
Yet seventeene yeares, but tall and faire of face,
That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race:
All in a woodmans iacket he was clad
Of lincolne greene, belayd with silver lace
And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had.
Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part,
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne ;
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
And in his left he held a sharpe bore-speare,
With which he wont to launch the salvage hart
Of many a lyon and of many a beare,
That first unto his hand in chase did happen neare.
Whom Calidore awhile well having vewed,
At length bespake; What meanes this, gentle fwaine ?
Why bath thy hand too bold itselfe embrewed
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,
By thee no knight ; which armes impugneth plaine ?
Certes, said he, loth were I to have broken
The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,
Rather then let myselfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.
For not I bim, as this his ladie here
May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,
Ne surely thus unarm’d I likely were ;
But be me first through pride and puisance sirong
Afayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.
Perdie great blame, then said fir Calidore,
For armed knight a wight unarm’d to wrong :
But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and
That Mall I footh, said he, to you
I, wbose unryper yeares are yet unfit
For thing of weight or worke of greater care,
Doe spend my dayes and bend my carelese wit
10 salvage chace, where I thereon
In all this forrest and wyld woodie raine : .
Where, as this day I was enraunging it,
I chaunst to meete this knight who there lyes slaine,
Together with this ladie, passing on the plaine.
The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,
And this kis ladie, that him ill became,
On her faire feet by his horse-fide did pas
Through thicke and thin, unfit for any dame :
Yet not content, more to increase bis shame,
Wherufo fue lagged, as she needs more fo,
He with his speare (that was to him great blame)
Would thumpe her forward and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine and making pitecus woe.
Which when I saw, as they me passed by,
Much was I moved in indignant mind,
And gan to blame him for such cruelty
Towards a ladie, whom with usage kind
He rather should have taken ир
Werewith he wroth and full of proud disdaine
Tooke in foule scorne that I such fault did find,
And me in lieu thereof revild againe,
Threatning to chalize me, as doth ta chyld pertaine,
Which I no lesse difdayning, backe returned
His scornefull taunts unto his teeth againe,
That be streightway with baughtie choler burned,
And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine ;
Which I, enforst to beare though to my paine,
Caft to requite ; and with a fender dart,
Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,
Strooke bim, as seemeth, underneath the hart,
That through the wound bis spirit shortly did depart.
Much did fir Calidore admyre his speach
Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the stroke
That through the mayles had made so strong a breach
Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke
His wrath on him that first occasion broke:
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
Of that same ladie, whether what he spoke
Were soothly so, and that th’unrighteous ire
Of her owne knight had given him his owne due hire.
Of all which whenas she could nought deny,
But cleard that stripling of th'imputed blame,
Sayd then sir Calidore, Neither will I
Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame :
For what he spake, for you be spake it, dame ;
And what he did, he did himselfe to save :
Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame :
For knights and all men this by nature have,
Towards all women-kind them kindly to behave.
But fith that he is gone irrevocable,
Please it you, ladie, to us to aread,
What cause could make him so dishonourable
To drive you so on foot, unfit to tread,
And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead ?
Certes, fir knight, says she, full loth I were
To rayse a lyving blame against the dead:
But fince it me concernes myselfe to clere,
I will the truth discover as it chaunft whylere.