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There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare | Then, speaking to the ladie, thus he said;
Faith to his knight, and truth to ladies all, “ Ye dolefull dame, let not your griefe empeach
And never to be recreant for feare

To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
Of perill, or of ought that might befall:

This knight unarm'd with so unknightly breach
So be him dubbed, and his squire did call. Of armes, that, if I yet him nigh may réach,
Full glad and joyous then young Tristram grew; I may avenge him of so foule despight.”
Like as a flowre, whose silken leavës small

The ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Long shut up in the bud from Heavens vew, Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
At length breaks forth, and brode displayes bis And from her sory hart few heavie words forth sigh't:
smyling hew.

In which she shew'd, how that discourteous knight,
Thus when they long had treated to and fro, Whom Tristram slew, them in that shadow found
And Calidore betooke him to depart,

loying together in unblam'd delight;
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with bim might goe And him unarm'd, as now he lay ou ground,
On his adventure, vowing not to start,

Charg'd with his speare, and mortally did wound,
But wayt on him in every place and part:

Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
Whereat sir Calidore did much delight,

From him, to whom she was for ever bound :
And greatly joy'd at his so noble hart,

Yet, when she fed into that covert greave, [leave.
In hope he sure would prove a doughtie knight: He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight;

When Calidore this ruefull storie had
“ Glad would I surely be, thou courteous squire, Well understood, he gan of her demand,
To have thy presence in my present quest,

What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,

Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest : She then, like as she best could understand,
But I am bound by vow, which I profest

Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large,
To my dread soveraine, when I it assayd,

Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
That in atchievement of ber high behest

Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
I should no creature joyne unto mine ayde; A ladie on rough waves row'd in a sommer barge.
Forthy I may not graunt that ye so greatly prayde.

Then gan sir Calidore to ghesse streightway,
“ But since this ladie is all desolate,

By many signes which she described had,
And needeth safegard now upon her way,

That this was he whom Tristram earst did slay,
Ye may doe well in this her needfull state

And to her said; “ Dame, be no longer sad;
To succour her from daunger of dismay,

For he, that hath your knight so ill bestad,
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.”

Is now himselfe in much more wretched plight;
The noble yınpe, of such new service fayne, These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
It gladly did accept, as he did say:

The meede of his desert for that despight, [knight.
So taking courteous leave they parted twayne ; Which to yourselfe he wrought and to your loved
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.

Therefore, faire lady, lay aside this griefe,
But Tristram, then despoyling that dead knight Which ye have gathered to your gentle bart
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,

For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight Were best devise for this your lovers smart;
Of the bright mettall shyning like Sunne rayes; And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes : Convay to be recur’d.” She thankt him deare,
And, after having them upon him dight,

Both for that newes he did to her impart,
He tooke that ladie, and her up did rayse

And for the courteous care which he did beare
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight: Both to her love and to herselfe in that sad dreare.
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.

Yet could she not devise by any wit,
There to their fortune leave we them awhile, How thence she might convay him to some place;
And turne we backe to good sir Calidore;

For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile, That was a straunger to her wretched case;
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore

And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore Which whenas he perceiv'd he thus bespake;
Another knight in his despiteous pryde;

“ Faire lady, let it not you seeme disgrace
There he that knight found lying on the flore To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
With many wounds full perilous and wyde, [dyde: Myselfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe."
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill

So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
And there beside him sate upon the ground Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
His wofull ladie, piteously complayning

And powring balme, which he had long purvayd,
With loud laments that most unluckie stound, Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning: Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne :
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew,

Thence they him carried to a castle neare,
Wtih heavie eyne from teares uneath refrayning, In which a worthy auncient knight did wonne:
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew, Where what ensu'd shall in next canto be be.
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

gonne.

For she was daughter to a noble lord

Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy
CANTO III.

To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to bis love apply,

But lov'd tbis fresh young knight who dwelt her ny,
Calidore brings Priscilla home;

The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne
Pursues the Blatant Beast:

And of lesse livelood and hability,
Saves Sérena, whilest Calepine

Yet full of valour the which did adorne (scorne.
By Turpine is opprest.

His meanesse much, and make her th' others riches

True is, that whilome that good poet sayd,

So, having both found fit occasion,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne: They met together in that luckelesse glade;
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd

Where that proud knight in his presumption
As by his manners; in which plaine is showne The gentle Aladine did earst invade,
Of what degree and what race he is growne:

Being unarm'd and set in secret shade.
For seldome seene a trotting stalion get

Whereof she now bethinking, gan tadvize An ambling colt, that is his proper owne:

How great a hazard she at earst had made So seldome seene that one in basenesse set [met. Of her good fame; and further gan devize [guize. Doth noble conrage shew with curteous manners How she the blame might salve with coloured disBut evermore contráry hath bene tryde,

But Calidore with all good courtesie That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;

Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away As well may be in Calidore descryde,

The pensive fit of her melancholie; By late ensample of that courteous deed

And that old knight by all meanes did assay Done to that wounded knight in his great need,

To make them both as meriy as he may. Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought So they the evening past till time of rest; Unto the castle where they had decreed :

When Calidore in seemly good array There of the knight, the which that castle ought, Unto his bowre was brought, and there undrest To make abode that night he greatly was besought. Did sleepe all night through weary travell of his

quest. He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,

But faire Priscilla (so that lady hight)
That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares;

Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
But now weake age had dimd his candle-light:

But by her wounded love did watch all night, Yet was he courteous still to every wight,

And all the night for bitter anguish weepe, And loved all that did to armes incline;

And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe. And was the father of that wounded knight,

So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him, Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine;

That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe And Aldus was his name; and his sonnes, Aladine. He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,

And drove away the stound which mortally attacht

him.
Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beare The morrow next, when day gan to uplooke,
By a faire lady and a straunger knight,

He also gan uplooke with drery eye,
Was ioly touched with compassion deare,

Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke: And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,

Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by, That he these words burst forth; “ Ah! sory boy! He deepely sigh’d, and groaned inwardly, Is this the hope that to my hoary heare

To thinke of this ill state in which she stood; Thou brings ? aie me! is this the timely joy, To which she for his sake had weetingly Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?

Now brought herselfe, and blam'd her noble blood :

For first, next after life, he tendered her good. « Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope; So tickle is the state of earthly things;

Which she perceiving did with plenteous teares That, ere they come unto their aymed scope, His care more then her owne compassionate, They fall too short of our fraile reckonings, Forgetfull of her owne to minde his feares: And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,

So both cuuspiring gan to intimate
Instead of comfort which we should embrace: Each others griefe with zeale attectionate,
This is the state of Keasars and of kings !

And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place, How to save whole her hazarded estate;
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case !" For which the onely helpe now left them last

Seem'd to be Calidore: all other helpes were past. So well and wisely did that good old knight Temper bis griefe, and turned it to cheare, Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed, To cheare bis guests whom he had stayd that night, A courteous knight and full of faithfull trust; And make their welcome to them well appeare:

Therefore to hin their cause they best esteemed That to sir Calidore was easie geare;

Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust. But that faire lady would be cheard for nonght, Farely, so soone as Titans beaines forth brust But sigh'd and sorrow'd for her lover deare, Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay And inly did affict her pensive thought

All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust, With thinking to what case her name should now Calidore rising up as fresh as day be brought :

Gao frushly him addresse unto his format waya

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But first him seemed fit that wounded knight To whom sir Calidore approaching nye,
To visite, after this nights perillous passe ; Ere they were well aware of living wight,
And to salute him if he were in plight,

Them much abasht, but more himselfe thereby,
And eke that lady his faire lovely lasse.

That he so rudely did uppon them light,
There he bim found much better then he was; And troubled had their quiet loves delight:
And moved speach to him of things of course, Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,
The anguish of his paine to over-passe :

Himselfe thereof he labour'd to acquite,
Mougst which be namely did to him discourse And pardon crav'd for his so rash default,
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse. That he gainst courtesje so fowly did default.
Of which occasion Aldine taking hold

With which his gentle words and goodly wit
Gan breake to him the fortunes of his love, He soone allayd that knights conceiv'd displeasure,
And all his disadventures to unfold;

That he besought him downe by him to sit,
That Calidore it dearly deepe did move:

That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure,
In th' end, his kyndly courtesie to prove,

And of adventures, which had in his measure
He him by all the bands of love besougbt, Of so long waies to bim befallen late.
And as it mote a faithfull friend behove,

So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure
To safe-conduct his love, and not for ought His long adventures gan to him relate,
To leave, till to her fathers bouse he had her brought. Which he endured had through daungerous debate:
Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight

Of which wbilest they discoursed both together,
It to perforịne: so after little stay,

The faire Serena (so his lady hight)
That she herselfe had to the journey dight, Allured with myldnesse of the gentle wether
He passed forth with her in faire array,

And plesaunce of the place, the which was dight
Fearlesse who ought did thinke or ought did say, With divers flowres distinct with rare delight,
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite: Wandred about the fields, as liking led
So, as they past together on their way,

Her wavering lust after her wandring sight,
He can devize this counter-cast of slight,

To make a garland to adorne her hed,
To give faire colour to that ladies cause in sight. Without suspect of ill or dagogers hidden dred.
Streight to the carkasse of that knight he went, All sodainely out of the forrest gere
(The cause of all this evill, who was slaine The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware
The day before by iust avengëment

Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there,
Of noble Tristram) where it did remaine ;

And in his wide great mouth away her bare There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,

Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.

Unto the knights, and calling oft for ayde; So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,

Who with the horrour of ber haplesse care
Till to that ladies fathers house he came;

Hastily starting up, like men dismayde,
Most pensive man, through feare what of his childe Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

became.
There he arriving boldly did present

The beast, with their pursuit incited more,

Into the wood was bearing her apace
The fearefull lady to her father deare,
Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent

For to have spoyled her; when Calidore,

Who was more light of foote and swift in chace,
Of blame, as he did on his knighthood sweare,

Him overtooke in middest of his race;
Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
Of a discourteous knight, who her had reft

And, fiercely charging him with all his might,
And by outragious force away did beare:

Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,

And to betake himselfe to fearefull fight;
Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left,
And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft. For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight.
Most ioyfull man her sire was, her to see,

Who pathëlesse, when he the lady saw
And heare th' adventure of her late mischaunce;

There left on ground, though in full evill plight, And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee

Yet knowing that her knight now neare did draw, Of his large paines in her deliveraunce

Staide not to succour her in that affright, Did yeeld ; ne lesse the lady did advannce. But follow'd fast the monster in his flight: Thus having her restored trustily,

Through woods and hils he follow'd him so fast, As he had vow'd, some small continuance

That he nould let him breath nor gather spright, He there did make, and then most carefully

But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast, Unto his first exploite he did himselfe apply.

As if his lungs and lites were nigh asunder brast.
So, as he was pursuing of his quest,

And now by this sir Calepine, so hight,
He chaunst to come whereas a jolly knight Came to the place where he his lady found
In covert shade bimselfe did safely rest,

In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
To solace with his lady in delight:

All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
His warlike armes he had from him undight; Having both sides through grypt with griesly wound:
For that himselfe he thought from daunger free, His weapons soone from bim be threw away,
And far from envious eyes that mote him spight: And stouping downe to her in drery swound
And eke the lady was full faire to see,

Upreard her from the ground whereon she lay,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree. And in his tender armes her forced up to stay.

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So well he did his busie paines apply,

“ Unknightly knight, the blemish of that name, That the faint spright he did revoke againe And blot of all that armes uppon them také, To her fraile mansion of mortality :

Which is the badge of honour and of fame, Then up he tooke her twixt his armës twaine, Loe! I defie thee; and here challenge make, And setting on his steede her did sustaine

That thou for ever doe those armes forsake, With carefull hands, soft footing her beside; And be for ever held a recreant knight, Till to some place of rest they mote attaine, Unlesse thou dare, for thy deare ladies šake Where sbe in safe assurance mote abide, And for thine owne defence, on foote alight Till she recured were of those her woundës wide. To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight." Now whenas Phoebus with his fiery waine The dastard, that did heare himselfe defyde, Unto his inne began to draw apace;

Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all, Tho, wexing weary of that toylesome paine, But laught them out, as if his greater prvile In travelling on foote so long a space,

Did score the challenge of so base a thrall; Not wont on foote with heavy armes to trace; Or had no courage, or else had no gall. Downe in a dale forby å rivers syde

So much the more was Calepine offender,
He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place, That him to no revenge he forth could call,
To which he meant his weary steps to guyde, But both bis challenge and himselfe contemned,
In hope there for his love some succour to provyde. Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.
But, comming to the rivers side, he found But he, nought weighing what he sayd or did,
That hardly passable on foote it was;

Turned his steede about another way;
Therefore there still he stood as in a stound, And with his lady to the castle rid,
Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas: Where was his won; ne did the other stay,
Thus whilest he was in this distressed case, But after went directly as he may,
Devising what to doe, be nigh espyde

For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke;
An armed knight approaching to the place Where he arriving with the fall of day
With a faire lady lincked by his syde, [to ride. Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke
The which themselves prepard thorough the foord And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke.
Whom Calepine saluting, as became,

But the rade porter that no manners had Besought of courtesie, in that his neede,

Did shut the gate against him ju his face, For safe conducting of his sickely dame

And entraunce boldly unto him forbad: Through that same perillous foord with better heede, Nath'lesse the knight, now in so needy case, To take him up bebinde upon his steed :

Gar him entreat even with submission base; To whom that other did this taunt returne; And humbly praid to let them in that night : "Perdy, thou peasant knight mightst rightly reed Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no place Me then to be full base and evill borne,

Of lodging fit for any errant knight, If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne. Unlesse that with his lord he formerly did figħt. “ But, as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame,“ Pull loth am I," quoth he, “ as now at earst So fare on foote till thou, another gayne, And let thy lady likewise doe the same,

And that this lady, both whose sides are pearst Or beare ber on thy backe with pleasing payne, With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost; And prove thy manhood on the hillowes vayne.” Ne would I gladly combate with mine host, With which rude speach his lady much displeased that should to me such curtesie afford; Did him reproře, yet could him not restrayne, Unlesse that were thereunto enforst: And would on her owne palfrey him have eased But yet aread to me, how hight thy ford, For pitty of his dame whom she saw su diseasúd. That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the

Ford.” Sir Calepine her thanckt; yet, inly wroth Against her knight, her gentlenesse refused, “ His name,” quoth be; " if that tħou tist to learne, And carelesly into the river go'th,

Is hight sir Turpine, one of mickle might
As in despight to be so fowle abused

And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne
Of a rude churle, whom often he accused In all assaies to'every errant knight,
Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for knight;

Because of one that wrought him fowle despight." And, strongly wading through tħe wavez unused, “ Ill seemes," sayd he, “ if he so valiaunt be, With speare in th' one hand stayd himselfe upright, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight: With th' other staide bis lady up with steddy might For seldome yet did living creature see

That curtesie and manhood ever disagree,
And all the while that same discourteous knight
Stood on the Mirther bancke beholding him; “But go thy' wales to him, and fro me say
At whose calamity, for more despight,

That here is at his gate an errant knight,
He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim. That house-rome craves; yet would be loth t' assay
But whenas Calepine came to the brim,

The proofe of battell now in doubtfull night, And saw his carriage past that perill well, Or curtésie with rudenesse to requite: Looking at' that same carle with count'nance grim, Yet, if lië needes will fight, crave leave till morne, His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell, And tell withall the lamentable plight And forth at last did Breake in spearbes' sHarpe' In vliich this lady languisheth forlorne, and fell :

That pitty craves, as he of woman was yborne."

The groome went streightway in, and to his lord Yet he hin still pursew'd from place to place,
Declar'd the message which that knight did move; With full intent him cruelly to kill,
Who, sitting with his lady then at bord,

And like a wilde goate round about did chace
Not onely did not his demaund approve,

Flying the fury of his bloudy will:
But both himselfe revil'd and eke his love; But his best succour and refúge was still
Albe his lady, that Blandina bight,

Behind bis ladies back; who to bim cryde,
Him of ungentle usage did reprove,

And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,
And earnestly entreated that they might

As ever he to lady was affyde,
Finde favour to be lodged there for that same night. To spare her knight, and rest with reason pacifyde :
Yet would he not perswaded be for ought, But he the more thereby enraged was,
Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.

And with more eager felnesse bim parsew'd ;
Which answer when the groome returning brought so that at length, after long weary chace,
To Calepine, his heart did inly flame

Having by channce a close advantage vew'd, With wrathfull fury for so foule a sbame,

He over-raught him, having long eschew'd That he could not thereof avenged bee :

His violence in vaine; and with bis spere
But most for pitty of his dearest daine,

Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood 'ensewid
Whom now in deadly daunger he did see; In great aboundance, as a well it were,
Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure herglee. That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere.
But all in vaine ; for why? no remedy

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound,
He saw the present mischiefe to redresse,

But chaste him still for all his ladies cry; But th' utmost end perforce for to aby,

Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground
Which that nights fortune would for bim addresse. He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously;
So downe he tooke his lady in distresse,

The wbich was certes in great ieopardy,
And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe, Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,
Cover'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse; And saved from his cruell villany:
Whiles he himselfe all night did nought but weepe, Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought !
And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe. That in another canto shall to end be brought
The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day
Did shew itselfe in sunny beames bedight,
Serena full of dolorous dismay,
Twixt darkenesse dread and hope of living light,

CANTO IV.
Uprear d her head to see that chearefull sight.
Then Calepine, however inly wroth,
And greedy to avenge that vile despight,

Calepine by a salvage man
Yet for the feeble ladies sake, full loth

From Turpine reskewed is; To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney

And, whylest an infant from a beare

He saves, his love doth misse. · go'th.

He go'th on foote all armed by her side,
Upstaying still herselfe uppon her steede,
Being unbable else alone to ride;
So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:
Till that at length, in hiş 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 advantage of his misery.

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 plainly bim descryde
To be the man that with such scornfull pryde
Had him abusde and shamed yesterday ;
Therefore, misdoubting least lie should misguyde
His former malice to some new assay,
He cast to keepe himselfe so safely as he may.

Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,
Having spent all her mastes and ber groundhold,
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
At last some fisher-barke doth neare behold,
That giveth 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;
Till that, by fortune passing all foresigbt,
A salvage man, which in those woods did wonne,
Drawne with that ladies loud and piteous sbright,
Toward the same incessautly did ronne
To understand what there was to be donne:
There he this most discourteous craven found
As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,
Chasing the gentle Calepine around,
Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound.
The salvage man, that never till this houre
Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure
Was much emmoved at his perils vew,
That even his ruder bart began to rew,
And feele compassion of his evill plight,
Against his foe that did him so pursew;
From whom he meant to free bim, if he might,
Ind him avenge of that so villenous despight.

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 avoure
Of the lewd words and deedes which he bad done:
With that ran at him, as he would devoure
His life attonce; who nought could do but shun
The perill of his pride, or else be over-run.

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