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At length, whenas he saw her hastie heat
Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle,
He through long sufferance growing now more great,
Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle,
Heaping huge strokes as thicke as showre of hayle,
And lashing dreadfully at every part,

As if he thought her soule to disentrayle.
Ah! cruell hand, and thrise more cruel! hart,
That workst such wrecke on her to whom thou
dearest art!

What yron courage ever could endure
To worke such outrage on so fayre a creature!
And in his madnesse thinke with hands impure
To spoyle so goodly workmanship of Nature,
The Maker selfe resembling in her feature!
Certes some hellish furie or some feend
This mischiefe framd, for their first loves defeature,
To bath their hands in bloud of dearest freend,
Thereby to make their loves beginning their lives
end.

Thus long they trac'd and traverst to and fro,
Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed,
Still as advantage they espyde thereto :
But toward th' end sir Arthegall renewed
His strength still more, but she still more decrewed,
At last his lucklesse hand he heav'd on hie,
Having his forces all in one accrewed,
And therewith stroke at her so hideouslie,
That seemed nought but death mote be her destinie.

The wicked stroke upon her helmet chaunst,
And with the force, which in itselfe it bore,
Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst
Adowne in vaine, ne harm'd her any more.
With that, her angels face, unseene afore,
Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight,
Deawed with silver drops through sweating sore;
But somewhat redder then beseem'd aright, [fight:
Through toylesome heat and labour of her weary
And round about the same her yellow heare,
Having through stirring loosd their wonted band,
Like to a golden border did appeare,
Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand:
Yet goldsmithes cunning could not understand
To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare;
For it did glister like the golden sand,
The which Pactolus with his waters shere
Throwes forth upon the rivage round about him nere.
And as his hand he up againe did reare,
Thinking to worke on her his utmost wracke,
His powrelesse arme benumbd with secret feare
From his revengefull purpose shronke abacke,
And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke
Fell downe to ground, as if the steele had sence
And felt some ruth, or sence his hand did lacke
Or both of them did thinke obedience
To doe to so divine a beauties excellence.
And he himselfe, long gazing thereupon,
At last fell humbly downe upon his knee,
And of his wonder made religion,
Weening some heavenly goddesse he did see,
Or else unweeting what it else might bee;
And pardon her besought his errour frayle,
That had done outrage in so high degree:
Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,
And made ech member quake, and manly hart to
quayle.

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But ever, when his visage she beheld,
Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:
But, when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,
She arm'd her tongue, and thought at him to scold:
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,
But brought forth speeches myld when she would
have missayd.

But Scudamour now woxen inly glad
That all his gealous feare he false had found,
And how that hag his love abused had
With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound,
The which long time his grieved hart did wound,
He thus bespake; "Certes, sir Artegall,
I ioy to see you lout so low on ground,
And now become to live a ladies thrall,
That whylome in your minde wont to despise them

[all."

Soone as she heard the name of Artegall,
Her hart did leape, and all her heart-strings tremble,
For sudden joy and secret feare withall;
And all her vitall powres, with motion nimble
To succour it, themselves gan there assemble;
That by the swift recourse of flushing blood
Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble,
And fayned still her former angry mood,
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.

When Glaucè thus gan wisely all upknit;
"Ye gentle knights, whom fortune here hath brought
To be spectators of this uncouth fit,
Which secret fate hath in this ladie wrought
Against the course of kind, ne mervaile nought;
Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo
Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought,
Fearing least she your loves away should woo;
Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants
theretoo.

"And you, sir Artegall, the Salvage Knight,
Henceforth may not disdaine that womans hand
Hath conquered you anew in second fight:
For whylome they have conquered sea, and land,
And Heaven itselfe, that nought may them withstand:
Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love,
That is the erowne of knighthood and the band
Of noble minds derived from above,
Which, being knit with vertue, never will remove.

"And you, faire ladie knight, my dearest dame,
Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will,
Whose fire were better turn'd to other flame;
And, wiping out remembrance of all ill,
Graunt him your grace; but so that he fulfill
The penance which ye shall to him empart:
For lovers Heaven must passe by sorrowes Hell."
Thereat full inly blushed Britomart;
But Artegall close-smyling ioy'd in secret hart,

Yet durst he not make love so suddenly,
Ne thinke th' affection of her hart to draw
From one to other so quite contrary:
Besides her modest countenance he saw
So goodly grave, and full of princely aw,
That it his ranging fancie did refraine,

And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw;
Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine,
Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would

restraine.

But Scudamour, whose hart twixt doubtfull feare
And feeble hope hung all this while suspence,
Desiring of his Amoret to heare

Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence,
Her thus bespake; "But, sir, without offence
Mote I request you tydings of my love,
My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence
Where she, captíved long, great woes did prove;
That where ye left I may her seeke, as doth behove."

To whom thus Britomart; "Certes, sir Knight,
What is of her become, or whether reft,

I cannot unto you aread aright.

For from that time I from enchaunters theft
Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left,
I her preserv'd from perill and from feare,
And evermore from villenie her kept:
Ne ever was there wight to me more deare
Then she, ne unto whom I more true love did beare:
“Till on a day, as through a desert wyld
We travelled, both wearie of the way
We did alight, and sate in shadow myld;
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay:
But, whenas I did out of sleepe abray,

I found her not where I her left whyleare,
But thought she wandred was, or gone astray:
I cal'd her loud, I sought her farre and neare;
But no where could her find, nor tydings of her
heare,"

When Scudamour those heavie tydings heard,
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare,
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard;
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare
That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare:
Till Glaucè thus; "Faire sir, be nought dismayd
With needlesse dread, till certaintie ye heare;
For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd:
Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd."

Nathelesse he hardly of her chearefull speech
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight
Shew'd change of better cheare; so sore a breach
That sudden newes had made into his spright;
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight;
"Great cause of sorrow certes, sir, ye have;
But comfort take; for, by this Heavens light,
I vow you dead or living not to leave,

Til I her find, and wreake on him that did her reave."

Therewith he rested, and well pleased was.
So, peace being confirm'd amongst them all,
They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas
Unto some resting place, which mote befall;
All being guided by sir Artegall:
Where goodly solace was unto them made,
And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,
Untill that they their wounds well healed had,
And wearie limmes recur'd after late usage bad.

In all which time sir Artegall made way
Unto the love of noble Britomart,
And with meeke service and much suit did lay
Continuall siege unto her gentle hart;
Which, being whylome launcht with lovely dart,
More eath was new impression to receive;
However she her paynd with womanish art
To hide her wound, that none might it perceive:
Vaine is the art that seekes itselfe for to deceive.

So well he woo'd her, and so well he wrought her,
With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,
So as she to his speeches was content

To lend an eare, and softly to relent.

At last, through many vowes which forth he pour'd
And many othes, she yeelded her consent
To be his love, and take him for her lord,

Till they with marriage meet might finish that accord.

Tho, when they had long time there taken rest,
Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,
Fit time for him thence to depart it found,
To follow that which he did long propound;
And unto her his congee came to take:
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,
And loth to leave her late betrothed make;
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to forsake.

Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged,
And wonne her will to suffer him depart;
For which his faith with her he fast engaged,
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart,
That, all so soone as he by wit or art
Could that atchieve whereto he did aspire,
He unto her would speedily revert :

No longer space thereto he did desire,

With which she for the present was appeased,
And yeelded leave, however malcontent
She inly were and in her mind displeased.
So, early on the morrow next, he went
Forth on his way to which he was ybent;
Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
As whylome was the custome ancient
Mongst knights when on adventures they did ride,
Save that she algates him a while accompanide.

And by the way she sundry purpose found
Of this or that, the time for to delay,
And of the perils whereto he was bound,
The feare whereof seem'd much her to affray :
But all she did was but to weare out day.
Full oftentimes she leave of him did take;
And eft againe deviz'd somewhat to say,
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make:
So loth she was his companie for to forsake.

At last when all her speeches she had spent,
And new occasion fayld her more to find,
She left him to his fortunes government,
And backe returned with right heavie mind
To Scudamour, whom she had left behind;
With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret,
Her second care, though in another kind:
For vertues onely sake, which doth beget
True love and faithfull friendship, she by her did set,

Backe to that desert forrest they retyred,
Where sorie Britomart had lost her late:
There they her sought, and every where inquired
Where they might tydings get of her estate;
Yet found they none. But, by what haplesse fate
Or hard misfortune she was thence convayd,
And stolne away from her beloved mate,
Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay
Untill another tyde, that I it finish may.

CANTO VII.

Amoret rapt by greedie Lust

Belphebe saves from dread: The squire her loves; and, being blam'd His daies in dole doth lead.

GREAT god of love, that with thy cruell darts
Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground,
And setst thy kingdome in the captive harts
Of kings and Keasars to thy service bound;
What glorie or what guerdon hast thou found
In feeble ladies tyranning so sore,
And adding anguish to the bitter wound
With which their lives thou lanchedst long afore,
By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more!

So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell;
And so and so to noble Britomart:
So doest thou now to her of whom I tell,
The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart
Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
In salvage forrests and in deserts wide
With beares and tygers taking heavie part,
Withouten comfort and withouten guide;

But till the horned Moone three courses did expire. That pittie is to heare the perils which she tride.

So soone as she with that brave Britonesse
Had left that turneyment for beauties prise,
They travel'd long; that now for wearinesse,
Both of the way and warlike exercise,
Both through a forest ryding did devise
T' alight, and rest their wearie limbs a while.
There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise
Of Britomart after long tedious toyle,

That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.

The whiles faire Amoret of nought affeard,
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or for need,
When suddenly behind her backe she heard
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,
That, ere she backe could turne to taken heed,
Had unawares her snatched up from ground:
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed
That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound,
There where through weary travel she lay sleeping

sound.

It was to weet a wilde and salvage man;
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,
And eke in stature higher by a span;
All overgrowne with haire, that could awhape
An hardy hart; and his wide mouth did gape
With huge great teeth, like to a tusked bore:
For he liv'd all on ravin and on rape

Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,
The signe whereof yet stain'd his blooudy lips afore.

His neather lip was not like man nor beast,
But like a wide deepe poke downe hanging low,
In which he wont the relickes of his feast
And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow :
And over it his huge great nose did grow,
Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;
And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow,
And raught downe to his waste when up he stood,
More great then th' eares of elephants by Indus
flood.

His wast was with a wreath of yvie greene
Engirt about, ne other garment wore;
For all his haire was like a garment seene;
And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,
Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,
And beath'd in fire for steele to be in sted,
But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red;
But certes was with milke of wolves and tygres fed.

This ugly creature in his armes her snatcht,
And through the forrest bore her quite away
With briers and bushes all to rent and scratcht;
Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray,

Which many a knight had sought so many a day:
He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing
Ran, till he came to th' end of all his way,
Unto his cave farre from all peoples hearing,

With that she heard some one close by her side
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine
Her tender hart in peeces would divide:
Which she long listning, softly askt againe
What mister wight it was that so did plaine?
To whom thus aunswer'd was; "Ah! wretched wight,
That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine,
Unweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight:
Selfe to forget to mind another is ore-sight!"

"Aye me!" said she, "where am I, or with whom?
Emong the living, or emong the dead?
What shall of me unhappy maid become?
Shall death be th' end, or ought else worse, aread."
Unhappy mayd," then answer'd she, "whose
dread

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Untride is lesse then when thou shalt it try:
Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead,
| Both grace aud gaine; but he in Hell doth lie,
That lives a loathed life, and wishing cannot die.

“This dismall day hath thee a caytive made,
And vassall to the vilest wretch alive;
Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade
The Heavens abhorre, and into darkenesse drive:
For on the spoile of women he doth live,
Whose bodies chast, whenever in his powre
He may them catch unable to gainestrive,
He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre,
And afterwardes themselves doth cruelly devoure,

"Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes of men
Divide their workes, have past through Heven sheene,
Since I was brought into this dolefull den ;
During which space these sory eies have seen
Seaven women by him slaine and eaten clene:
And now no more for him but I alone,
And this old woman, here remaining beene,
Till thou cam'st hither to augment our mone;
And of us three to morrow he will sure eate one."

"Ah! dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare,"
Quoth she, " of all that ever hath beene knowen!
Full many great calamities and rare
This feeble brest endured hath, but none
Equall to this, whereever I have gone.
But what are you, whom like unlucky lot
Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone?"
"To tell," quoth she, "that which ye see, needs not;
A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot!

"But what I was, it irkes me to reherse;
Daughter unto a lord of high degree;
That ioyd in happy peace, till Fates perverse
To overthrow my state and dignitie.
With guilefull Love did secretly agree
It was my lot to love a gentle swaine,
Yet was he but a squire of low degree;
Yet was he meet, unless mine eye did faine,

And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought By any ladies side for leman to have laine.

fearing.

For she (deare ladie) all the way was dead,
Whilest he in armes her bore; but, when she felt
Herselfe downe soust, she waked out of dread
Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt,
And eft gan into tender teares to melt.
Then when she lookt about, and nothing found
But darknesse and dread horrour where she dwelt,
She almost fell againe into a swound ;

Ne wist whether above she were or under ground.

"But, for his meannesse and disparagement,
My sire, who me too dearely well did love,
Unto my choise by no meanes would assent,
But often did my folly fowle reprove:
Yet nothing could my fixed mind remove,
But, whether will'd or nilled friend or foe,
I me resolv'd the utmost end to prove;
And, rather then my love abandon so,
Both sire and friends and all for ever to forgo.

"Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to worke
Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight
To hide th' intent which in my heart did lurke,
Till I thereto had all things readie dight.
So on a day, unweeting unto wight,
I with that squire agreede away tò flit,
And in a privy place, betwixt us hight,
Within a grove appointed him to meete;

To which I boldly came upon my feeble feete.

"But ah! unhappy houre me thither brought:
For in that place where I him thought to find,
There was I found, contráry to my thought,
Of this accursed carle of hellish kind,
The shame of men, and plague of womankind;
Who trussing me, as eagle doth his pray,
Me hether brought with him as swift as wind,
Where yet untouched till this present day,
I rest his wretched thrall, the sad Æmylia."

"Ah! sad Emylia," then sayd Amoret, "Thy ruefall plight I pitty as mine owne! But read to me, by what device or wit Hast thou in all this time from him unknowne Thine honour sav'd, though into thraldome throwne?" "Through helpe," quoth she, "of this old woman I have so done, as she to me hath showne: [here For, ever when he burnt in lustfull fire, She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire.”

Thus of their evils as they did discourse,
And each did other much bewaile and mone:
Loe! where the villaine selfe, their sorrowes sourse,
Came to the cave; and rolling thence the stone,
Which wont to stop the mouth thereof that none
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,
And, spredding over all the flore alone,
Gan dight himselfe unto his wonted sinne;
Which ended, then his bloudy banket should beginne.

Which whenas fearefull Amoret perceived,
She staid not th' utmost end thereof to try,
But, like a ghastly gelt whose wits are reaved,
Ran forth in hast with hideous outcry,
For horrour of his shamefull villany:
But after her full lightly he uprose,
And her pursu'd as fast as she did flie:

Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes, [toes.
Ne feeles the thorns and thickets pricke her tender

Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she staies,
But over leapes them all, like robucke light,
And through the thickest makes her nighest waics;
And evermore, when with regardfull sight
She looking backe espies that griesly wight
Approching nigh, she gins to mend her pace,
And makes her feare a spur to hast her flight;
More swift than Myrrh' or Daphne in her race,
Or any of the Thracian nimphes in salvage chace.

Long so she fled, and so he follow'd long;
Ne living aide for her on Earth appeares,
But if the Heavens helpe to redresse her wrong,
Moved with pity of her plenteous teares.
It fortuned Belphebe with her peares
The woody nimphs, and with that lovely boy,
Was hunting then the libbards and the beares
In these wild woods, as was her wonted ioy,
To banish sloth that oft doth noble mindes annoy.

It so befell, as oft it fals in chace,
That each of them from other sundred were ;
And that same gentle squire arriv'd in place
Where this same cursed caytive did appeare
Pursuing that faire lady full of feare:
And now he her quite overtaken had;
And now he her away with him did beare
Under his arme, as seeming wondrous glad,
That by his grenning laughter mote farre off be rad.

Which drery sight the gentle squire espying
Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest way,
Led with that wofull ladies piteous crying,
And him assailes with all the might he may;
Yet will not he the lovely spoile downe lay,
But with his craggy club in his right hand
Defends himselfe, and saves his gotten pray:
Yet had it bene right hard him to withstand,
But that he was full light and nimble on the lande

Thereto the villaine used craft in fight:
For, ever when the squire his iavelin shooke,
He held the lady forth before him right,
And with her body, as a buckler, broke
The puissance of his intended stroke:
And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight)
Whilest he on him was greedy to be wroke,
That any little blow on her did light,
Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight.

Which subtill sleight did him encumber much,
And made him oft, when he would strike, forbeare;
For hardly could he come the carle to touch,
But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare:
Yet he his hand so carefully did beare,
That at the last he did himselfe attaine,
And therein left the pike-head of his speare:
A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht amaine,
That all her silken garments did with blould bestaine.

With that he threw her rudely on the flore,
And, laying both his hands upon his glave,
With dreadfull strokes let drive at him so sore,
That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to save:
Yet he therewith so felly still did rave,
That scarse the squire his hand could once upreare,
But, for advantage, ground unto him gave,
Tracing and traversing, now here, now there;
For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes to
beare.

Whilest thus in battell they embusied were,
Belphebe, raunging in her forrest wide,
The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare,
And drew thereto, making her eare her guide:
Whom when that theefe approching nigh espide
With bow in hand and arrowes ready bent,
He by his former combate would not bide,
But fled away with ghastly dreriment,
Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument.

Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed
With winged feete, as nimble as the winde,
And ever in her bow she ready shewed
The arrow to his deadly marke desynde:
As when Latonaes daughter, cruell kynde,
In vengement of her mothers great disgrace,
With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde
Gainst wofull Niobes unhappy race,

That all the gods did mone her miserable case.

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