Guyon is of immodest Merth
Led into loose desire;
Fights with Cymocbles, whiles bis bro-
ther burnes in furious fire.
I A HARDER lesson, to learne continence
In joyous pleasure then in grievous paine:
For sweetnesse doth allure the weaker sence
So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine
From that, which feeble nature covets faine:
But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies,
And foes of life, she better can restraine:
Yet Vertue vauntes in both her victories;
And Guyon in them all shewes goodly maisteries.
2 Whom bold Cymochles travelling to finde,
With cruell purpose bent to wreake on him
The wrath, which Atin kindled in his mind,
Came to a river, by whose utmost brim
Wayting to passe, he saw whereas did swim
Along the shore, as swift as glaunce of eye,
A little gondelay, bedecked trim
With boughes and arbours woven cunningly,
That like a litle forrest seemed outwardly.
3 And therein sate a lady fresh and faire,
Making sweet solace to her selfe alone:
Sometimes she sung as loud as larke in aire,
Sometimes she laught, that nigh her breth was gone;
Yet was there not with her else any one,
That to her might move cause of meriment:
Matter of merth enough, though there were none,
She could devize, and thousand waies invent
To feede her foolish humour, and vaine jolliment.
4 Which when far off Cymochles heard, and saw,
He loudly cald to such as were a bord
The little barke unto the shore to draw,
And him to ferrie over that deepe ford.
The merry mariner unto his word
Soone hearkned, and her painted bote streightway
Turnd to the shore, where that same warlike lord
She in receiv'd; but Atin by no way
She would admit, albe the knight her much did pray.
5 Eftsoones her shallow ship away did slide,
More swift than swallow sheres the liquid skie,
Withouten oare or pilot it to guide,
Or winged canvas with the wind to flie;
Onely she turned a pin, and by and by
It cut away upon the yielding wave,
Ne cared she her course for to apply;
For it was taught the way, which she would have, And both from rocks and flats it selfe could wisely save.
6 And all the way the wanton damsell found New merth, her passenger to entertaine; For she in pleasant purpose did abound,
And greatly joyed merry tales to faine,
Of which a store-house did with her remaine;
Yet seemed, nothing well they her became;
For all her wordes she drownd with laughter vaine,
And wanted grace in utt'ring of the same,
That turned all her pleasance to a scoffing game.
7 And other whiles vaine toyes she would devize,
As her fantasticke wit did most delight;
Sometimes her head she fondly would aguize
With gaudie girlonds, or fresh flowrets dight
About her necke, or rings of rushes plight:
Sometimes, to do him laugh, she would assay
To laugh at shaking of the leaves light,
Or to behold the water worke, and play
About her little frigot, therein making way.
8 Her light behaviour, and loose dalliaunce
Gave wondrous great contentment to the knight,
That of his way he had no sovenaunce,
Nor care of vow'd revenge and cruell fight,
But to weake wench did yeeld his martiall might.
So easie was to quench his flamed mind
With one sweet drop of sensuall delight,
So easie is t' appease the stormy wind
Of malice in the calme of pleasant womankind.
9 Diverse discourses in their way they spent;
Mongst which Cymochles of her questioned
Both what she was, and what that usage ment,
Which in her cot she daily practized:
Vaine man (said she) thou wouldest be reckoned
A straunger in thy home, and ignoraunt
Of Phaedria (for so my name is red)
Of Phaedria, thine owne fellow servaunt
For thou to serve Acrasia thy selfe doest vaunt.
Io In this wide inland sea, that hight by name
The Idle Lake, my wandring ship I row,
That knowes her port, and thither sailes by ayme,
Ne care, ne feare I how the wind do blow,
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow:
Both slow and swift a like do serve my tourne;
Ne swelling Neptune ne loud thundring Jove
Can chaunge my cheare, or make me ever mourne:
My litle boat can safely passe this perilous bourne.
II Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she toyd,
They were far past the passage, which he spake,
And come unto an island waste and voyd,
That floted in the midst of that great lake;
There her small gondelay her port did make,
And that gay paire issuing on the shore
Disburdned her. Their way they forward take
Into the land, that lay them faire before,
Whose pleasaunce she him shew'd and plentifull great store.
12 It was a chosen plot of fertile land,
Emongst wide waves set, like a litle nest,
As if it had by Natures cunning hand
Bene choisely picked out from all the rest,
And laid forth for ensample of the best:
No daintie flowre or herbe, that growes on ground,
No arboret with painted blossomes drest
And smelling sweet, but there it might be found
To bud out faire, and her sweet smels throw all around.
13 No tree, whose braunches did not bravely spring;
No braunch, whereon a fine bird did not sit:
No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing;
No song but did containe a lovely dit.
Trees, braunches, birds, and songs, were framed fit
For to allure fraile mind to carelesse ease.
Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his weake wit
Was overcome of thing, that did him please:
So pleased, did his wrathfull purpose faire appease.
14 Thus when shee had his eyes and senses fed
With false delights, and fild with pleasures vaine,
Into a shadie dale she soft him led,
And layd him downe upon a grassie plaine:
And her sweet selfe without dread or disdain
She set beside, laying his head disarmd
In her loose lap, it softly to sustaine,
Where soone he slumbred, fearing not be harm'd,
The whiles with a love lay she thus him sweetly charmd:
15 Behold, O man, that toilesome paines doest take,
The flowres, the fields, and all that pleasant growes,
How they themselves doe thine ensample make,
Whiles nothing envious nature them forth throwes
Out of her fruitfull lap: how, no man knowes,
They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh and faire,
And decke the world with their rich pompous showes;
Yet no man for them taketh paines or care,
Yet no man to them can his carefull paines compare.
16 The lilly, ladie of the flowring field,
The Flowre-deluce, her lovely paramoure,
Bid thee to them thy fruitlesse labours yield,
And soone leave off this toylsome wearie stoure:
Loe loe, how brave she decks her bounteous boure,
With silken curtens and gold coverlets,
Therein to shrowd her sumptuous Belamoure,
Yet nether spinnes nor cardes, ne cares nor fretts,
But to her mother Nature all her care she lets.
17 Why then dost thou, O man, that of them all Art lord, and eke of nature soveraine,
Wilfully make thy selfe a wretched thrall, And waste thy joyous houres in needelese paine, Seeking for daunger and adventures vaine? What bootes it all to have, and nothing use? Who shall him rew, that swimming in the maine, Will die for thirst, and water doth refuse ? Refuse such fruitlesse toile, and present pleasures chuse.
18 By this she had him lulled fast a sleepe,
That of no wordly thing he care did take:
Then she with liquors strong his eyes did steepe,
That nothing should him hastily awake.
So she him left, and did her selfe betake
Unto her boat againe, with which she cleft
The slouthfull wave of that great griesly lake:
Soone she that island far behind her lefte,
And now is come to that same place where first she wefte.
19 By this time was the worthy Guyon brought
Unto the other side of that wide strond
Where she was rowing, and for passage sought:
Him needed not long call, she soone to hond
Her ferry brought, where him she byding fond
With his sad guide: him selfe shee tooke aboord,
But his black palmer suffred still to stond,
Ne would for price or prayers once affoord
To ferry that old man over the perlous foord.
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