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In these wylde deserts, where she now abode,
There dwelt a salvage nation, which did live
Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode
Into their neighbours borders; ne did give
Themselves to any trade, (as for to drive
The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,
Or by adventrous merchandize to thrive,)
But on the labours of poor men to feed,
And serve their owne necessities with others need.

Thereto they usde one most accursed order,
To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde,
And straungers to devoure, which on their border
Were brought by errour or by wreckfull wynde:
A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde!
They, towards evening wandering every way
To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde
Whereas this lady, like a sheepe astray,

Her yvorie neck; her alablaster brest;
Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were
For Love in soft delight thereon to rest;
Her tender sides; her bellie white and clere,
Which like an altar did itselfe uprere

To offer sacrifice divine thereon;

Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare
Like a triumphall arch, and thereupon [won.
The spoiles of princes hang'd which were in battel

Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight,
Which mote not be prophan'd of common eyes,
Those villeins vew'd with loose lascivious sight,
And closely tempted with their craftie spyes;
And some of them gan mongst themselves devize
Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure:
But them the priest rebuking did advize
To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure [measure.

Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearlesse lay. Vow'd to the gods: Religion held even theeves in

Soone as they spide her, Lord! what gladfull glee
They made amongst themselves! but when her face
Like the faire yvory shining they did see,
Each gan his fellow solace and embrace
For ioy of such good hap by heavenly grace.
Then gan they to devize what course to take;
Whether to slay her there upon the place,
Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,

So, being stayd, they her from thence directed
Unto a litle grove not farre asyde,

In which an altar shortly they erected
To slay her on. And now the Eventyde

His brode black wings had through the Heavens wyde
By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned
For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:
Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned,

And then her eate attonce, or many meales to make. And deckt it all with flowres which they nigh hand

The best advizement was, of bad, to let her
Sleepe out her fill without encomberment;
For sleepe, they sayd, would make her battill better:
Then, when she wakt, they all gave one consent
That, since by grace of god she there was sent,
Unto their god they would her sacrifize,
Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud they would present:
But of her dainty flesh they did devize

To make a common feast, and feed with gurmandize.

So round about her they themselves did place
Upon the grasse, and diversely dispose,
As each thought best to spend the lingring space:
Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose;
Some praise her paps; some praise her lips and nose;
Some whet their knives, and strip their elboes bare:
The priest himselfe a garland doth compose
Of finest flowers, and with full busie care
His bloudy vessels wash and holy fire prepare.

The damzell wakes; then all attonce upstart,
And round about her flocke, like many flies,
Whooping and hallowing on every part,
As if they would have rent the brasen skies.
Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies,
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew
Benumbes her cheekes: then out aloud she cries,
Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew,
And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests em-
brew.

But all bootes not; they hands upon her lay:
And first they spoile her of her jewels deare,
And afterwards of all her rich array;
The which amongst them they in pecces teare,
And of the pray each one a part doth beare.
Now being naked, to their sordid eyes
The goodly threasures of natúre appeare:
Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes,
Each wisheth to himselfe, and to the rest envyes.

obtayned.

Tho, whenas all things readie were aright,
The damzell was before the altar set,
Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright:
To whom the priest with naked armes full net
Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet,
Gan mutter close a certain secret charme,
With other divelish ceremonies met :
Which doen, he gan aloft t' advance his arme,
Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud alarme.

Then gan the bagpypes and the hornes to shrill
And skrieke aloud, that, with the peoples voyce
Confused, did the ayre with terror fill,

And made the wood to tremble at the noyce:
The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce.
Now mote ye understand that to this grove
Sir Calepine, by chaunce more then by choyce,
The selfe same evening fortune bether drove,
As he to secke Serena through the woods did rove.

Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle
Had traveld still on foot in heavie armes,
Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyle,
Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes:
And now, all weetlesse of the wretched stormes
In which his love was lost, he slept full fast;
Till, being waked with these loud alarmes,
He lightly started up like one aghast,
And catching up his arms streight to the noise forth

[past.

There by th' uncertaine glims of starry night,
And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,
He mote perceive a litle dawning sight
Of all which there was doing in that quire:
Mongst whom a woman spoyled of all attine
He spyde lamenting her unluckie strife,
And groning sore from grieved hart entire:
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife
Readie to launch her brest, and let out loved life.

With that he thrusts into the thickest throng;
And, even as his right hand adowne descends,
He him preventing lays on earth along,
And sacrifizeth to th' infernall feends:
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends;
Of whom he makes such havocke and such hew,
That swar.nes of damned soules to Hell he sends :
The rest, that scape his sword and death eschew,
Fly like a flocke of doves before a faulcons vew.

From them returning to that ladie backe,
Whom by the altar he doth sitting find
Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke
Of clothes to cover what she ought by kind;
He first her hands beginneth to unbind,
And then to question of her present woe;
And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind:
But she, for nought that he could say or doe,
One word durst speake, or answere him a whit
thereto.

So inward shame of her uncomely case
She did conceive, through care of womanhood,
That though the night did cover her disgrace,
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood

Would not bewray the state in which she stood:
So all that night to him unknown she past:
But day, that doth discover bad and good,
Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:
The end whereof ile keepe untill another cast.

CANTO IX.

Calidore hostes with Melibee,
And loves fayre Pastorell:
Coridon envies him, yet he,

For ill, rewards him well.

Now turne againe my teme, thou jolly swayne,
Backe to the furrow which I lately left;
I lately left a furrow one or twayne
Unplough'd, the which my coulter had not cleft;
Yet seem'd the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft,
As I it past; that were too great a shame,
That so rich frute should be from us bereft;
Besides the great dishonour and defame,

Which should befall to Calidores immortall name.

Great travell hath the gentle Calidore
And toyle endured, sith I left him last
Sewing the Blatant Beast; which I forbore
To finish then, for other present hast.
Full many pathes and perils he hath past,
Through hils, through dales, through forests, and
through plaines,

In that same quest which fortune on him cast,
Which he atchieved to his owne great gaines,
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.

From thence into the open fields he fled,
Whereas the heardes were keeping of their neat,
And shepheards singing, to their flockes that fed,
Layes of sweet love and youthes delightfull heat:
Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat
He followed fast, and chaced him so nie,
That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat,
And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie
In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flie.

There on a day, as he pursew'd the chace,
He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes
Playing on pypes and caroling apace,
The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes
Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes;
For other worldly wealth they cared nought:
To whom sir Calidore yet sweating comes,
And them to tell him courteously besought,
If such a beast they saw, which he had thether
brought.

They answer'd him that no such beast they saw,
Nor any wicked feend that mote offend

Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw;
But if that such there were (as none they kend)
They prayd high God them farre from them to send:
Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,
After his rusticke wise, that well he weend,
Offred him drinke to quench his thirstie heat,
And, if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat.

The knight was nothing nice, where was no need,
And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne
They prayd him sit, and gave him for to feed
Such homely what as serves the simple clowne,
That doth despise the dainties of the towne :
Tho, having fed his fill, he there besyde
Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne
Of sundry flowres with silken ribbands tyde,
Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands
had dyde.

Upon a litle hillocke she was placed
Higher then all the rest, and round about
Environ'd with a girland, goodly graced,
Of lovely lasses; and them all without
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,
The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,
And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout,
As if some miracle of heavenly hew
Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew.

And soothly sure she was full fayre of face,
And perfectly well shapt in every lim,
Which she did more augment with modest grace
And comely carriage of her count'nance trim,
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:
Who, her adiniring as some heavenly wight,
Did for their soveraine goddesse her esteeme,
And, caroling her name both day and night,
The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight.
Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne,
But her did honour; and eke many a one
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing payne
Full many a night for her did sigh and grone:
But most of all the shepheard Coridon
For her did languish, and his deare life spend ;
Yet neither she for him nor other none

So sharply he the monster did pursew,
That day nor night he suffred him to rest,
Ne rested he himselfe (but natures dew)
For dread of daunger not to be redrest,
If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest.
Him first from court he to the citties coursed,
And from the citties to the townes him prest,
And from the townes into the countrie forsed,
And from the country back to private farmes he Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:

scorsed.

[ascend.

Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind

[blocks in formation]

She at his bidding meekely did arise,
And streight unto her litle flocke did fare:
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,
And each his sundrie sheepe with severall care
Gathered together, and them homeward bare:
Whylest everie one with helping hands did strive
Amongst themselves, and did their labours share,
To helpe faire Pastorella home to drive

Her fleecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did give.

But Melibee (so hight that good old man)
Now seeing Calidore left all alone,
And night arrived hard at hand, began
Him to invite unto his simple home;

Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,
And all things therein meane, yet better so
To lodge then in the salvage fields to rome.
The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,

Tho when they had their hunger slaked well,
And the fayre mayd the table ta'ne away;
The gentle knight, as he that did excell
In courtesie and well could doe and say,
For so great kindnesse as he found that day
Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife:
And, drawing thence his speach another way,
Gan highly to commend the happie life [strife.
Which shepheards lead, without debate or bitter

"How much," sayd he, "more happie is the state
In which ye, father, here doe dwell at ease,
Leading a life so free and fortunate
From all the tempests of these worldly seas,
Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease;
Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie
Doe them afflict, which no man can appease!
That certes I your happinesse envie,
And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie!"

"Surely, my sonne," then answer'd he againe,
"If happie; then it is in this intent,
That having small yet doe I not complaine
Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,
But doe myselfe, with that I have, content;
So taught of nature, which doth litle need
Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment:
The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed;
No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed.

"Therefore I doe not any one envy,
Nor am envyde of any one therefore;

They, that have much, feare much to loose thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.
The litle that I have growes dayly more
Without my care, but onely to attend it;
My lambes doe every yeare increase their score,
And my flockes father daily doth amend it.
What have I, but to praise th' Almighty that doth
send it!

"To them, that list, the worlds gay showes I leave,
And to great ones such follies doe forgive;
Which oft through pride do their owne perill weave,
And through ambition downe themselves doe drive
To sad decay, that might contented live.
Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend,
Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve;
And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend.
But all the night in silver sleepe I spend,

"Sometimes I hunt the fox, the vowed foe
Unto my lambes, and him dislodge away;
Sometime the fawne I practise from the doe,
Or from the goat her kidde, how to convay;
Another while I baytes and nets display
The birds to catch or fishes to beguyle;
And, when I wearie am, I downe doe lay
My limbes in every shade to rest from toyle;

Being his harts owne wish; and home with him did And drinke of every brooke, when thirst my throte

go.

There he was welcom'd of that honest øyre
And of his aged beldame homely well;
Who him besought himselfe to disattyre,
And rest himselfe, till supper time befell;
By which home came the fayrest Pastorell,
After her flocke she in their fold had tyde:
And, supper readie dight, they to it fell
With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,
The which doth litle crave contented to abyde.

doth boyle.

"The time was once, in my first prime of yeares,
When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,
That I disdain'd amongst mine equall peares
To follow sheepe and shepheards base attire;
For further fortune then I would inquire:
And, leaving home, to roiall court I sought,
Where I did sell myselfe for yearely hire,
And in the princes gardin daily wrought:
There I beheld such vainenesse as I never thought.

"With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded
With idle hopes which them doe entertaine,
After I had ten yeares myselfe excluded
From native home, and spent my youth in vaine,
I gan my follies to myselfe to plaine,

And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare:
Tho, backe returning to my sheepe againe,
I from thenceforth have learn'd to love more deare
This lowly quiet life which I inherite here."

Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare
Hong still upon his melting mouth attent;
Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare,
That he was wrapt with double ravishment,
Both of his speach that wrought him great content,
And also of the obiect of his vew,

On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;
That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew,
He lost himselfe, and like one halfe-entraunced grew.

Yet to occasion meanes to worke his mind,
And to insinuate his harts desire,
He thus replyde; "Now surely, syre, I find,
That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire,
Be but vaine shadows to this safe retyre
Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead,
Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre,
Which tosseth states, and under foot doth tread
The mightie ones affrayd of every chaunges dred.

"That even I, which daily doe behold
The glorie of the great mongst whom I won,
And now have prov'd what happinesse ye hold
In this small plot of your dominion,
Now loath great lordship and ambition;
And wish the Heavens so much had graced mee,
As graunt me live in like condition;
Or that my fortunes might transposed bee
From pitch of higher place unto this low degree."

"In vaine," said then old Melibee, "doe men
The Heavens of their fortunes fault accuse;
Sith they know best what is the best for them:
For they to each such fortune doe diffuse,
As they doe know each can most aptly use.
For not that, which men covet most, is best;
Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse;
But fittest is, that all contented rest

With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest.

"It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill,
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:
For some, that hath abundance at his will,
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store;
And other, that hath litle, asks no more,
But in that litle is both rich and wise;
For wisedome is most riches: fooles therefore
They are, which fortunes doe by vowes devize;
Sith each unto himselfe his life may fortunize."

"Since then in each mans self," said Calidore,
"It is to fashion his owne lyfes estate,
Give leave awhyle, good father, in this shore
To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late
With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate.
In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine;
That, whether quite from them for to retrate
I shall resolve or backe to turne againe,

I may here with yourselfe some small repose obtaine.

"Not that the burden of so bold a guest
Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all;
For your meane food shall be my daily feast,
And this your cabin both my bowre and hall:
Besides, for recompence hereof, I shall
You well reward, and golden guerdon give,
That may perhaps you better much withall,
And in this quiet make you safer live."
So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it

[drive.

But the good man, nought tempted with the offer
Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away,
And thus bespake; "Sir Knight, your bounteous
Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display tproffer
That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,
That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread:
But, if ye algates covet to assay

This simple sort of life that shepheards lead,
Be it your owne: our rudenesse to yourselfe aread."

So there that night sir Calidore did dwell,
And long while after, whilest him list remaine,
Daily beholding the faire Pastorell,

And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane:
During which time he did her entertaine
With all kind courtesies he could invent;
And every day, her companie to gaine,
When to the field she went, he with her went:
So for to quench his fire he did it more augment.

But she that never had acquainted beene
With such quient usage, fit for queens and kings,
Ne ever had such knightly service seene;
But, being bred under base shepheards wings,
Had ever learn'd to love the lowly things;
Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,
But cared more for Colins carolings

Then all that he could doe, or e'er devize; [spize.
His layes, his loves, his lookes, she did them all de-

Which Calidore perceiving, thought it best
To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke;
And doffing his bright armes himselfe addrest
In shepheards weed; and in his hand he tooke,
Instead of steele-head speare, a shepheards hooke;
That who had seene him then, would have bethought
On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke,
When he the love of fayre Benone sought,
What time the golden apple was unto him brought.

So being clad unto the fields he went
With the faire Pastorella every day,
And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,
Watching to drive the ravenous wolfe away,
The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play;
And every evening helping them to fold:
And otherwhiles, for need, he did assay
In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,
And out of them to presse the milke; love so much
could.

Which seeing Corridon, who her likewise
Long time had lov'd, and hop'd her love to gaine,
He much was troubled at that straungers guize,
And many gealous thoughts conceiv'd in vaine,
That this of all his labour and long paine
Should reap the harvest ere it ripened were;
That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine
Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there, [dere.
That she did love a stranger swayne then him more

And ever, when he came in companie
Where Calidore was present, he would loure
And byte his lip, and even for gealousie
Was readie oft his owne hart to devoure,
Impatient of any paramoure:

Who on the other side did seeme so farre
From malicing, or grudging his good houre,
That, all he could, he graced him with her,
Ne ever shewed signe of rancour or of iarre.

And oft, when Coridon unto her brought
Or litle sparrowes stolen from their nest,
Or wanton squirrels in the woods farre sought,
Or other daintie thing for her addrest,

He would commend his guift, and make the best:
Yet she no whit his presents did regard,
Ne him could find to fancie in her brest :
This new-come shepheard had his market mard.
Old love is litle worth when new is more prefard.

One day, whenas the shepheard swaynes together
Were met to make their sports and merrie glee,
As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather,
The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee;
They fell to daunce: then did they all agree
That Colin Clout should pipe, as one most fit;
And Calidore should lead the ring, as hee
That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit :
Thereat frown'd Coridon, and his lip closely bit.

But Calidore, of courteous inclination,
Tooke Coridon and set him in his place,
That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion;
For Coridon could daunce, and trimly trace;
And whenas Pastorella, him to grace,
Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head,
And plast on his, he did it soone displace,
And did it put on Coridons instead:

Thus Calidore continu'd there long time
To winne the love of the faire Pastorell;
Which having got, he used without crime
Or blamefull blot; but menaged so well,
That he, of all the rest which there did dwell,
Was favoured and to her grace commended:
But what straunge fortunes unto him befell,
Ere he attain'd the point by him intended,
Shall more conveniently in other place be ended.

CANTO X.

Calidore sees the Graces daunce

To Colins melody:

The whiles his Pastorell is led
Into captivity.

WHO now does follow the foule Blatant Beast,
Whilest Calidore does follow that faire mayd,
Unmyndfull of his vow, and high beheast
That he should never leave, nor be delayd
Which by the Faery queene was on him layd,
From chacing him, till he had it attchieved?
But now, entrapt of love which him betrayd,
He mindeth more how he may be relieved
With grace from her, whose love his heart hath sore
engrieved.

That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew
Another quest, another game in vew
His former quest, so full of toile and paine;

He hath, the guerdon of his love to gaine;
With whom he myndes for ever to remaine,
And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort,
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine
Of courtly favour fed with light report

Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead. Of every blast, and sayling alwaies in the port.

Another time, whenas they did 'dispose
To practise games and maisteries to try,
They for their judge did Pastorella chose;
A garland was the meed of victory :
There Coridon, forth stepping, openly
Did chalenge Calidore to wrestling game;
For he, through long and perfect industry,
Therein well practisd was, and in the same

Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be
From so high step to stoupe unto so low;
For who had tasted once, as oft did he,
The happy peace which there doth overflow,
And prov'd the perfect pleasures which doe grow
Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales;
Would never more delight in painted show

Thought sure t' avenge his grudge, and worke his of such false blisse, as there is set for stales

foe great shame.

But Calidore he greatly did mistake;
For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,
That with one fall his necke he almost brake;
And, had he not upon him fallen light,
His dearest ioynt he sure had broken quight.
Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell
Given to Calidore as his due right;
But he, that did in courtesie excell,
Gave it to Coridon, and said he wonne it well.

Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare
Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,
That even they, the which his rivals were,
Could not maligne him, but commend him needs:
For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds
Good will and favour: so it surely wrought
With this faire mayd, and in her mynde the seeds
Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought
The fruite of ioy and blisse, though long time dearely
bought.

T' entrap unwary fooles in their eternall bales.

For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze
Like to one sight which Calidore did vew?
The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze,
That never more they should endure the shew
Of that shunne-shine, that makes them looke askew:
Ne ought, in all that world of beauties rare,
(Save onely Glorianaes heavenly hew,
To which what can compare?) can it compare ;
The which, as commeth now by course, I will de-
clare.

One day, as he did raunge the fields abroad,
Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere,
He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,
Unto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere
To passe all others on the Earth which were:
For all that ever was by Natures skill
Deviz'd to worke delight was gathered there;
And there by her were poured forth at fill,
As if, this to adorne, she all the rest did pill.

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