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“ In that same conflict (woe is me!) befell But Calidore recomforting his griefe, (swado This fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident,

Though not his feare; for nought may feare dit Whose heavy tydings now I have to tell.

Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe First all the captives, which they here had hent, Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade, Were by them slaine by generall consent;

Whom Coridon him counseld to invade Old Melibee and his good wife withall

Now all unwares, and take the spoyle away; These eyes saw die, and dearely did lament: But he, that in his mind bad closely made But, when the lot to Pastorell did fall, [forstall, | A further porpose, would not so them slay, Their captaine long withstood, and did her death But gently waking them gave them the time of day. “ But what could he gainst all them doe alone Tho, sitting downe by them upon the greene, It could not boot; needs mote she die at last ! Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine, Ionely scapt through great confusione

That he by them might certaine tydings weene Of cryes and clamors, which amongst them past, Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine: In dreadfull darknesse, dreadfully aghast;

Mongst which the theeves them questioned againe, That better were with them to have bene dead, What mister men, and eke from whence they were Then here to see all desolate and wast,

To whom they answer'd, as did appertaine, Despoyled of those ioyes and jollyhead, [lead." That they were poore heardgroomes, the which whyWhich with those gentle shepheards here I wont to

lere

[elswhere.

Had from their maisters fled, and now sought hyre When Calidore these ruefull newes had raught, His hart quite deaded was with anguish great, Whereof right glad they seem'd, and offer made And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught, To hyre them well if they their flockes would keepe: That be his face, his head, his brest did beat, For they themselves were evill groomes, they sayd, and death itselfe unto himselfe did threat; Unwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe, Oft cursing'th' Heavens, that so cruell were But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe. To her, whose name be often did repeat;

Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke And wishing oft, that he were present there (nere. To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe ; When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour For they for better hyre did shortly looke :

So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke. But after griefe awhile had had his course, And spent itselfe in mourning, he at last

Tho, wbenas towards darksome night it drew, Began to mitigate his swelling sourse,

Unto their hellish dens those theeves them brought; And in his mind with better reason cast

Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew, How he might save her life, if life did last; And all the secrets of their entrayles sought : Or, if that dead, how he her death might wreake; There did they find, contrárie to their thought, Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past; That Pastorell yet liv'd; but all the rest Or, if it to revenge he were too weake, (breake. Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught : Then for to die with her, and his lives threed to Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,

But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most possest. Tho Coridon he prayd, sith he well knew The readie way unto that theevish wonne,

At length, when they occasion fittest found, To wend with him, and be his conduct trew In dead of night, when all the theeves did rest Unto the place, to see wbat should be donne: After a late forray, and slept full sound, But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne, Sir Calidore him arm'd, as he thought best ; Would not for ought be drawne to former drede; Having of late by diligent inquest But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne: Provided him a sword of meanest sort; Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed, With which he streight went to the captaines nest: And fairę bespoke with words, that he at last agreed. But Coridon durst not with him consort,

Ne durst abide hebind for dread of worse effort. So forth they goe together (God before) Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,

When to the cave they came, they foumd it fast: And both with shepheards hookes; but Calidore But Calidore with huge resistlesse might Had, underneath, bim armed privily:

The dores assayled, and the locks upbrast: Tho, to the place when they approached nye, With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light They chaunst, upon an hill not farre away,

Unto the entrance ran; where the bold knight Some Hockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy; Encountring him with small resistence slew : To whom they both agreed to take their way, The whiles faire Pastorell through great affright In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new assay.

Some uprore were like that which lately she did rew. There did they find, that which they did not feare, But whenas Calidore was comen in, The self-same flocks the which those theeves had And gan aloud for Pastorell to call, From Melibee and from themselves whyleare; (reft Knowing bis voice, although not heard long sin, And certaine of the theeves there by them left, She sudden was revived therewithall, The which, for want of heards, themselves then kept: And wondrous joy felt in her spirits thrall: Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe, Like him that being long in teinpest lost, And, seeing them, for tender pittie wept : (keepe, Looking each houre into Deathes mouth to fall, But, when he saw the theeves which did them at length espyes at hand the happie cost, His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe. On which he safety hopes that earst feard to be lost.

Her gentle hart, that now long season past
Had never ivyance felt nor chearefull thought,
Began some smacke of comfort new to tast,

CANTO XII.
Like lyfeful heat to nummed senses brought,
And life to feele that long for death had sought :

Fayre Pastorella by great hap
Ne lesse in hart reioyced Calidore,

Her parents understands. When he her found; but, like to one distraught

Calidore doth the Blatant Beast And robd of reason, towards her him bore;

Subdew, and bynd in bands. A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more.

Lire as a ship, that through the ocean wyde But now by this, with noyse of late uprore, Directs her course unto one certaine cost, The hue and cry was raysed all about;

Is met of many a counter winde and tyde, And all the brigants flocking in great store With which her winged speed is let and crost, Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having dont And she herselfe in stormie surges tost; Of that was doen, and entred in a rout.

Yet, making many a borde and many a bay, But Calidore in th' entry close did stand,

Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost ; And, entertayning them with courage stout, Right so it fares with me in this long way, Still slew the formost tliat came first to hand; Whose course is often stayd, yet never is astray. So long, till all the entry was with bodies mand.

For all that hetherto hath long delayd Tho, when no more could nigh to him approch, This gentle knight from sewing his first quest, He breath'd his sword, and rested him till day; Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd, Which when he spyde upon the earth t' encroch, To shew the courtesie by him profest Through the dead carcases he made his way, Even unto the lowest and the least. Mongst which he found a sword of better say, But now I come into my course againe, With which he forth went into th' open light, To his atchievement of the Blatant Beast; Where all the rest for him did readie stay,

Who all this while at will did range and raine,
And, fierce assayling him, with all their might Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to re-
Gan all upon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight.

straine.
How many ilyes in whottest summers day Sir Calidore, when thus he now had raught
Do seize upon some beast, whose flesh is bare, Faire Pastorella from those brigants powre,
That all the place with swarmes doe overlay, Unto the castle of Belgard her brought,
And with their litle stings right felly fare;

Whereof was lord the good sir Bellamoure;
So many theeves about him swarming are, Who whylome was in his youthes freshest flowre,
All which do bim assayle on every side,

A lustie knight as ever wielded speare, Aud sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare; And had endured many a dreadfull stoure But he doth with his raging brond divide

In bloudy battell for a ladie deare, Their thickest troups, and round about him scattreth The fayrest ladie then of all that living were: wide.

Her name was Claribell; whose father hight Like as a lion mongst an heard of dere,

The lord of many ilands, farre renound Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray; For his great riches and his greater might: So did he fly amongst them here and there, He, through the wealth wherein he did abound, And all that nere him came did hew and slay, This daughter thought in wedlocke to have bound Till he bad strowd with bodies all the way; Unto the prince of Picteland, borderin, nere; That none his daunger daring to abide

But she, whose sides before with secret wound Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convay Of love to Bellamoure einpierced were, Into their caves, their heads from death to hide, By all meanes shund to match with any forreign Ne any left that victorie to him envide.

fere : Then, backe returning to his dearest deare, And Bellamour againe so well her pleased He her gan to recomfort, all he might,

With dayly service and attendance dew,
With gladfull speaches and with lovely cheare; That of her love he was entyrely seized,
And forth her bringing to the ioyous light,

And closely did her wed, but knowne to few:
Whereof she long bad lackt the wishfull sight, Which when her father understood, he grew
Deviz'd all goodly meanes from her to drive In so great rage that them in dongeon deepe
The sad remembrance of her wretched plight: Without compassion cruelly he threw;
So her uneath at last he did revive

Yet did so streightly them asunder keepe,
That long had lyen dead, and made againe alive. That neither could to company of th' other creepe.
This doen, into those theevish dens he went,

Nathlesse sir Bellamour, whether through grace And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take, Or secret guifts, so with his keepers wrought, Which they from many long had robd and rent: That to bis love sometimes he came in place; But Fortune now the victors meed did make; Whereof her wombe unwist to wight was fraught, Of which the best he did his love betake;

And in dew time a mayden child forth brought : And also all those flockes, which they before Which she streightway (for dread least if her syre Had reft from Melibee and from his make, Should know thereof to slay he would have songht) He did them all to Coridon restore:

Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre So drove them all away, and his love with him bore. Sheshould it cause be fostred under straunge attyre.

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The trustie damzell bearing it abrode

But first, ere I doe his adventures tell Into the emptie fields, where living wight

In this exploite, me needeth to declare Mote not bewray the secret of her lode,

What did betide to the faire Pastorell, She forth gan lay unto the open light

During his absence left in heavy care, The litle babe, to take thereof a sight:

Through daily mourning and nightly misfarç: Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold, Yet did that auncient matrone all she might, Upon the litle brest, like christall bright,

To cherish her with all things choice and rare; She mote perceive a litle purple mold,

And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight, That like a rose her silken leaves did faire unfold. Appointed to attend her dewly day and night. Well she it markt, and pittied the more,

Who in a morning, when this maiden faire . Yet could not remedie her wretched case ;

Was dighting her, having her snowy brest But, closing it againe like as before,

As yet not laced, nor her golden haire
Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in the place ; Into their comely tresses dewly drest,
Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space

Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest
Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde, The rosie marke, which she remembred well
To weet what mortall hand, or Heavens grace, That litle infant had, which forth she kest,
Would for the wretched infants helpe provyde; The daughter of her lady Claribell, (dwell.
For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde. The which she bore the whiles in prison she did
At length a shepheard, which thereby did keepe Which well avizing, streight she gan to cast
His fleecie flocke upon the playnes around, In her conceiptfull mynd that this faire mayd
Led with the infants cry that loud did weepe, Was that same infant, which so long sith past
Came to the place; where when he wrapped found She in the open fields had loosely layd
Th'abandond spoyle, he softly it unbound; To Fortunes spoile, unable it to ayd:
And, seeing there that did him pittie sore,

So, full of ioy, streight forth she ran in hast
He tooke it up and in his mantle wound;

Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd,
So home unto his honest wife it bore,

To tell her, how the Heavens had her graste,
Who as her owne it nurst and named evermore. To save her chylde, which in Misfortunes mouth

was plaste.
Thus long continu'd Clar:bell a thrall,
And Bellamour in bands; till that her syre The suber mother seeing such her mood,
Departed life, and left unto them all:

Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine thro,
Then all the stormes of Fortunes former yre Askt her, how mote her words be understood,
Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre. And what the matter was that mov'd her so.
Thenceforth they ioy'd in happinesse together, '“ My liefe," sayd she, “ye know that long ygo,
And lived long in peace and love entyre,

Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gave Without disquiet or dislike of ether,

A little maydę, the which ye chylded tho;
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella thether, The same againe if now ye list to have,

The same is yonder lady, whom high God did save."
Both whom they goodly well did entertaine;
For Bellamour knew Calidore right well,

Much was the lady troubled at that speach,
And loved for his prowesse, sith they twaine

And gan to question streight how she it knew, Long since bad fought in field : als Claribell

“Most certaine markes," sayd she, “ do me it teach; Ne lesse did tender the faire Pastorell,

For on her breast I with these eyes did vew Seeing her weake and wan through durance long.

The litle purple rose which thereon grew, There they awhile together thus did dwell

Whereof her name ye then to her did give. In much delight, and many ioyes among,

Besides, her countenaunce and her likely bew, Untill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong. Matched with equall years, do surely prieve

That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet Tho gan sir Calidore him to advize

doth live." Of bis first quest, which he had long forlore,

The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire, Asham'd to thinke how he that enterprize,

But forth in hast ran to the straunger mayd ; The which the Faery queene had long afore

Whom catching greedily, for great desire
Bequeath'd to him, forslacked had so sore;

Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd,
That much he feared least reproachfull blame
With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore;

In which that rose she plainely saw displayd:

Then, her embracing twixt her armës twaine, Besides the losse of so much loos and fame,

She long so held, and softly weeping sayd; As through the world thereby should glorifie his

** And livest thou, my daughter, now againe ?

Andart thou yet alive, whom dead I long did faine ?" Therefore, resolving to returne in hast

Tho further asking her of sundry things,
Unto so great atchievement, he bethought And tirnes comparing with their accidents,
To leave his love, now perill being past,

She found at last, by very certaine signes
With Claribell ; whylest he that monster souglit And speaking markes of passed monuments,
Throughout the world, and to destruction brought. That this young mayd, whom chance to her presents, '
So taking leave of his faire Pastorell,

L her owne daughter, her owne infant deare.
Whom to recomfort all the meanes he wrougbt, Tho, wondring long at those so straunge events,
With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,

A thousand times she her embraced nere, (teare. He went forth on his quest, and did that him befell. With many a joyfull kisse and many a melting

name.

Whoever is the mother of one chylde,

And them amongst were mingled here and there Which having thought long dead she fyndes alive, The tongues of serpents, with three-forked stings, Let her by proofe of that which she bath fylde That spat out poyson, and gore-bloudy gere, In her owne breast, this mothers ioy descrive: - At all that came within his ravenings, For other none such passion can contrive

And spake licentious words and batefúll things In perfect forme, as this good lady felt,

Of good and bad alike, of low and hie, When she so faire a daughter saw survive, Ne Kesars spared he a whit nor kings; As Pastorella was; that nigh she swelt

But either blotted them with infamie, For passing ioy, which did all into pitty melt. Or bit them with his banefull teeth of injury. Thence running forth unto her loved lord, But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd, She unto him recounted all that fell :

Rencountred him with so impetuous might, Who, joyning ioy with her in one accord,

That th' outrage of his violenre he stayd, Acknowledg'd, for his owne, faire Pastorell. And bet abacke threatning in vaine to bite, There leave we them in ioy, and let us tell And spitting forth the poyson of his spight Of Calidore; who, seeking all this while

That fomed all about his bloody iawes: That monstrous beast by finall force to quell, Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight, Through every place with restlesse paine and toile He rampt upon him with his ravenous pawes, Him follow'd by the tract of his outragious spoile. As if he would have rent him with his cruell clawes : Through all estates he found that he had past, But be right well aware, his rage to ward, In which he many massacres had left,

Did cast his shield atweene; and, therewithall And to the clergy now was come at last;

Putting liis puissaunce forth, pursu'd so hard, In which such spoile, such havocke, and such theft That backeward he enforced him to fall; He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft, And, being downe, ere he new helpe conld call, That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin knight,

His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held; Who now no place besides unsought had left,

Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall At length into a monastere did light, (might. Of butchers balefull band to ground is feld, Where he him found despoyling all with maine and is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld. Into their cloysters now he broken had, [there,

Full cruelly the beast did rage and rore Through which the monckes he chaced here and To be downe held, and maystred so with might, And them pursu'd into their dortours sad,

That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore, And searched all their cels and secrets neare;

Striving in vaine to rere himself upright: In which what filth and ordure did appeare,

For still, the more he strove, the more the knight Were yrkesome to report ; yct that foule beast,

Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew; Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare, | He grind, he bit, he scracht, he venim threw,

That made him almost mad for fell despight: And ransacke all their dennes from most to least, Regarding nought religion nor their holy heast.

And fared like a feend right horrible in hew;

Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they faine From thence into the sacred church he broke, And robd the chancell, and the deskes downe threw, After that he had labourd long in vaine

That great Alcides whilome overthrew, And altars fouled, and blasphémy spoke,

To crop his thousand heads, the which still new And the images, for all their goodly hew,

Forth budded, and in greater number grew. Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew;

Such was the fury of this hellish beast, So all confounded and disordered there:

Whilest Calidore him under him downe threw; But, seeing Calidore, away he few,

Who nathëmore bis heavy load releast, [creast. Knowing his fatall hand by former feare;

But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his powre inBut he him fast pursuing soone approached neare.

Tho, when the beast saw he mote nought availe Him in a narrow place he overtooke,

By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply, And fierce assailing forst him turne againe: And sharpely at him to revile and raile Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke With bitter termes of shamefull infamy; With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine Oft interlacing many a forged lie, With open mouth, that seemed to containe Whose like he never once did speake, nor heare, A full good pecke within the utmost brim,

Nor ever thought thing so unworthily: All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine,

Yet did he nought, for all that, bim forbeare, That terrifide his foes, and armed him,

But strained him so streightly that he chokt him Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly grim: And therein were a thousand tongs empight At last, whenas he found his force to shrincke Of sundry kindes and sundry quality ;

And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzle strong Some were of dogs, that barked day and night ; Of surest yron made with many a lincke; And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry; Therewith he mured up his mouth along, And some of beares, that groynd continually; And therein shut up his blasphemous tong, And some of tygres, that did seeme to gren For never more defaming gentle knight, And snar at all that ever passed by:

'Or unto lovely lady doing wrong: But most of them were tongues of mortall men, And thereunto a great long chaine he tight, Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor With which he drew him forth, even in his og when.

despight

neare.

wonne.

Like as whylóme that strong Tirynthian swaine So did he ceke long after this remaine,
Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of Hell Untill that, (whether wicked fate so framed
Against his will fast bound in yron chaine, Or fault of men) he broke his yron chaine,
And roring horribly did him compell

And got into the world at liberty againe.
To see the hatefull Sunne, that he might tell
To griesly Plato, what on Earth was donne, Thenceforth more mischiefe and more scath he
And to the other damped ghosts which dwell To mortall men then he had done before; [wrvught
For aye in darkenesse which day-light doth shonne: Ne ever could, by any, more be brought
So led this knight his captyve with like conquest Into like bands, ne maystred any more:

Albe that, long time after Calidore,
Yet greatly did the beast repine at those

The good sir Pelleas him tooke in hand;
Straunge
bands, whose like till then be never bore, Aud all his brethren borse in Britaine land;

And after him sir Lamoracke of yore;
Ne ever any durst till then impose ;
And chauffed inly, seeing now no more

Yet none of them could ever bring him into band.
Him liberty was left aloud to rore :

So now be raungeth through the world againe,
Yet durst he not draw backe, nor once withstand

And rageth sore in each degree and state;
The proved powre of noble Calidore ;
But trembled underneath his mighty hand, (land. He growen is so great and strong of late,

Ne any is that may him now restraine,
And like a fearefull dog him followed through the Barking and biting all that him doe bate,
Him through all Faery land he follow'd so, Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crine;
As if he learned had obedience long,

Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate,
That all the people, whereso he did go,

Ne sparetb he the gentle poets rime;
Out of their townes did round about him throng,

But rends, without regard of person or of time.
To see him leade that beast in bondage strong ;
And, seeing it, much wondred at the sight:

Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest,
And all such persons, as he earst did wrong,

Hope to escape his venemous despite,
Rcioyced much to see his captive plight, (knight. More than my former writs, all were they cleanest
And much admyrd the beast, but more adinyrd the From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite

With which some wicked tongues did it backebite,
Thus was this monster, by the maystring might And bring into a mighty peres displeasure,
Of doughty Calidore, supprest and tamed, That never so deserved to endite.
That never more he mote endaminadge wight Therefore do you, my rimes, keep better measure,
With his vile tongue, which many had defamed, And seeke to please ; that now is counted wise mens
And ny causelesse caused to be blamed:

threasure,

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TWO CANTOS OF MUTABILITIE:

WHICH, BOTH FOR FORME AND MATTER, APPEARE TO BE PARCELL OF SOME FOLLOWING BOOKE OF

THE FAERIE QUEENE,

UNDER THE

LEGEND OF CONSTANCIE.

But first, here falleth fittest to unfold
CANTO VI.

Her antique race and linage ancient,

As I have found it registred of old
Proud Change (not pleasd in mortall things In Faery land mongst records permanent.
Beneath the Moone to raigne)

She was, to weet, a daughter by descent
Pretends, as well of gods as men,

Of those old Titans that did whylome strive ?
To be the soveraine.

With Saturnes sonne for Heavens regiment;
Whom though high Tove of kingdomo did deprive,

Yet many of their stemme long after did survive:
What man that sees the ever-whirling wheele
Of Change, the which all mortall things doth sway, And many of them afterwards obtain'd
But that thereby doth find, and plainly feele, Great power of love, and high authority :
How Mutability in them doth play

As Hecatè, in whose almighty hand
Her cruell sports to many mens decay?

He plac't all rule and principality,
Which that to all may better yet appeare, To be by her disposed diversly
I will rehearse, that whylome I heard say, To gods and men, as she them list divide;
How she at first herselfe began to reare

And drad Bellona, that doth sound on hie
Gainst all the gods, and th' empire sought from Warres and allarums unto nations wide, (pride.
them to beare.

That makes both Heaven and Earth to tremble at her

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