Wherewith he gript her gorge with so great pain, [constrain. That soon to loose her wicked bands did her

Therewith she spu'd out of her filthy maw
A flood of poison horrible and black,
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw,
Which stunk so vilely, that it forc'd him slack
His grasping hold, and from her turn him back:
Her vomit full of books and papers was,
With loathly frogs and toads, which eyes did
lack,

And creeping sought way in the weedy grass: Her filthy parbreake1 all the place defiléd has.

As when old father Nilus gins to swell With timely pride above the Egyptian vale, His fatty waves do fertile slime outwell, And overflow each plain and lowly dale: But, when his later ebb gins to avale, [breed Huge heaps of mud he leaves, wherein there Ten thousand kinds of creatures, partly male And partly female, of his fruitful seed; Such ugly monstrous shapes elsewhere may no man reed.

The same so sore annoyéd has the Knight,
That, well-nigh chokéd with the deadly stink,
His forces fail, ne can no longer fight.
Whose courage when the Fiend perceiv'd to
shrink,

She poured forth out of her hellish sink
Her fruitful cursed spawn of serpents small,
(Deformed monsters, foul, and black as ink,)
Which swarming all about his legs did crawl,
And him encumber'd sore, but could not hurt at all.

As gentle shepherd in sweet eventide,
When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west,
High on an hill, his flock to vewen wide,
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest,
All striving to infix their feeble stings,

That from their noyance he no where can rest; But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings;

Thus ill bested, and fearful more of shame Than of the certain peril he stood in, Half furious unto his foe he came, Resolv'd in mind all suddenly to win, Or soon to lose, before he once would lin; 3 And stroke at her with more than manly force, That from her body, full of filthy sin, He reft her hateful head without remorse: A stream of coal-black blood forth gushed from her corse.

Ne ever would to any by-way bend; But still did follow one unto the end, The which at last out of the wood them brought. So forward on his way (with God to friend) He passed forth and new adventure sought: Long way he travelléd, before he heard of aught.

At length they chanc'd to meet upon the way An aged Sire, in long black weeds yclad, His feet all bare, his beard all hoary gray, And by his belt his book he hanging had; Sober he seem'd, and very sagely sad; And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in show, and yoid of malice bad; And all the way he prayéd, as he went, And often knockt his breast, as one that did repent.

He fair the Knight saluted, louting low, Who fair him quited, as that courteous was; And after askéd him, if he did know Of strange adventures, which abroad did pass. "Ah! my dear son," quoth he, "how should, alas!

Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell, Bidding his beads all day for his trespass, Tidings of war and worldly trouble tell? With holy father sits not with such things to mell,

But if of danger, which hereby doth dwell, And homebred evil ye desire to hear, Of a strange man I can you tidings tell, That wasteth all this country far and near." "Of such," said he, "I chiefly do inquere ; And shall thee well reward to show the place, In which that wicked wight his days doth wear: That such a cursed creature lives so long a space." For to all knighthood it is foul disgrace,

"Far hence," quoth he, " in wasteful wilderness His dwelling is, by which no living wight May ever pass, but thorough great distress." "Now," said the Lady, "draweth toward night;

To aid his friends, or fray his enemies : Of those he chose out two, the falsest two, And fittest for to forge true-seeming lies; The one of them he gave a message to, The other by himself stay'd other work to do.

He, making speedy way through sperséd air, And through the world of waters wide and deep, To Morpheus' house doth hastily repair. Amid the bowels of the earth full steep, And low, where dawning day doth never peep, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steep In silver dew his ever-drooping head, While sad Night over him her mantle black doth spread.

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast; The one fair fram'd of burnisht ivory, The other all with silver overcast ; And wakeful dogs before them far do lie, Watching to banish Care their enemy, Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleep. By them the sprite doth pass in quietly, And unto Morpheus comes, whom drownéd deep In drowsy fit he finds; of nothing he takes keep.

And, more to lull him in his slumber soft, A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down,

And ever-drizzling rain upon the loft, [sown Mixt with a murm'ring wind, much like the Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swown. No other noise, nor people's troublous cries, As still are wont t' annoy the walléd town, Might there be heard: but careless Quiet lies, Wrapt in eternal silence far from enemies.

The messenger, approaching, to him spake; But his waste words return'd to him in vain : So sound he slept, that naught might him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with pain, Whereat he gan to stretch: but he again Shook him so hard, that forcéd him to speak. As one then in a dream, whose drier brain Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weak, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence break.

The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threat'ned unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecaté: whereat he gan to quake,
And, lifting up his lumpish head, with blame
Half angry asked him, for what he came.
"Hither," quoth he, "me Archimago sent,
He that the stubborn sprites can wisely tame;
He bids thee to him send for his intent,

A fit false dream, that can delude the sleeper's

sent." 2

The god obey'd; and, calling forth straightway
A diverse dream out of his prison dark,
Deliver'd it to him, and down did lay
His heavy head, devoid of careful cark;
Whose senses all were straight benumb'd and
stark.

He, back returning by the ivory door,
Remounted up as light as cheerful lark;

2 Sense.

And on his little wings the dream he bore In haste unto his lord, where he him left afore.

Who all this while, with charms and hidden arts,

Had made a lady of that other spright,
And fram'd of liquid air her tender parts,
So lively, and so like in all men's sight,

And said, "Ah sir, my liege lord, and my love,
Shall I accuse the hidden cruel fate,
And mighty causes wrought in heaven above,
Or the blind god, that doth me thus amate,'
For hopéd love, to win me certain hate?
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
Die is my due; yet rue my wretched state,
You, whom my hard avenging destiny

The maker self, for all his wondrous wit,
Was nigh beguiléd with so goodly sight.
Her all in white he clad, and over it

Cast a black stole, most like to seem for Una fit.

Now when that idle dream was to him brought, Unto that Elfin Knight he bade him fly, Where he slept soundly void of evil thought, And with false shows abuse his fantasy; In sort as he him schooléd privily. And that new creature, born without her due,1 Full of the maker's guile, with usage sly He taught to imitate that Lady true, Whose semblance she did carry under feignéd hue.

Thus, well instructed, to their work they haste;
And, coming where the Knight in slumber lay,
The one upon his hardy head him plac'd,
And made him dream of loves and lustful play;
That nigh his manly heart did melt away,
Bathéd in wanton bliss and wicked joy.
Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,

And to him plain'd, how that false wingéd boy Her chaste heart had subdu'd to learn dame Pleasure's toy;

And she herself, of beauty sov'reign queen, Fair Venus, seem'd unto his bed to bring Her, whom he, waking, evermore did ween To be the chastest flower that aye did spring On earthly branch, the daughter of a king, Now a loose leman to vile service bound: And eke the Graces seeméd all to sing Hymen, To Hymen, dancing all around; Whilst freshest Flora her with ivy garland crown'd.

In this great passion of unwonted lust, Or wonted fear of doing aught amiss, He starteth up, as seeming to mistrust Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his : Lo, there before his face his Lady is, Under black stole hiding her baited hook; And, as half blushing offer'd him to kiss, With gentle blandishment and lovely look, Most like that Virgin true, which for her Knight him took.

All clean dismay'd to see so uncouth sight,
And half enragéd at her shameless guise,
He thought have slain her in his fierce despite ;
But, hasty heat temp'ring with suff'rance wise,
He stay'd his hand; and gan himself advise
To prove his sense, and tempt her feignéd
truth.

Wringing her hands, in women's piteous wise, Then gan she weep, to stir up gentle ruth Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth.

Produced without the due qualities of a real woman.

Your own dear sake forc'd me at first to leave My father's kingdom "-There she stopt with tears; [reave;

Her swollen heart her speech seem'd to beAnd then again begun ; "My weaker years, Captiv'd to fortune and frail worldly fears, Fly to your faith for succor and sure aid: Let me not die in languor and long tears." "Why, dame," quoth he, “what hath ye thus dismay'd? [affray'd?" What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me

แ

To all that in the wide deep wand'ring are;
And cheerful chanticleer with his note shrill,
Had warned once, that Phoebus' fiery car
In haste was climbing up the eastern hill,
Full envious that night so long his room did fill:

When those accurséd messengers of hell,
That feigning Dream, and that fair - forged
Sprite,

Came to their wicked master, and gan tell
Their bootless pains and ill-succeeding night:
Who, all in rage to see his skilful might
Deluded so, gan threaten hellish pain
And sad Prosérpine's wrath, them to affright.
But, when he saw his threat'ning was but
vain,

He cast about, and searcht his baleful books again.

Eftsoones he took that miscreated Fair, And that false other sprite, on whom he spread A seeming body of the subtile air, Like a young squire, in loves and lustihed His wanton days that ever loosely led, Without regard of arms and dreaded fight: Those two he took, and in a secret bed, Cover'd with darkness and misdeeming night, Them both together laid, to joy in vain delight.

Forthwith he runs with feignéd-faithful haste Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights And dreams, gan now to take more sound repast;

Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful frights, As one aghast with fiends or damnéd sprites, And to him calls; "Rise, rise, unhappy swain, That here wax old in sleep, whiles wicked wights

Have knit themselves in Venus' shameful chain: Come, see where your false Lady doth her honor stain."

All in a maze he suddenly up start
With sword in hand, and with the old man went;
Who soon him brought into a secret part,
Where that false couple were full closely ment1
In wanton lust and lewd embracement:
Which when he saw, he burnt with jealous
fire;

The eye of reason was with rage yblent;2 And would have slain them in his furious ire, But hardly was restrainéd of that aged sire.

Returning to his bed in torment great,
And bitter anguish of this guilty sight,
He could not rest: but did his stout heart eat,
And waste his inward gall with deep despite,
Irksome of life, and too long ling'ring night.
At last fair Hesperus in highest sky

Had spent his lamp, and brought forth dawning

The royal Virgin shook off drowsyhed:
And, rising forth out of her baser bow'r,
Look'd for her Knight, who far away was fled,
And for her Dwarf, that wont to wait each
hour:-

Then gan she wail and weep to see that woeful stowre.

And after him she rode with so much speed, As her slow beast could make; but all in vain :

For him so far had borne his light-foot steed, Prickéd with wrath and fiery fierce disdain, That him to follow was but fruitless pain: Yet she her weary limbs would never rest; But every hill and dale, each wood and plain, Did search, sore grievéd in her gentle breast, He so ungently left her, whom she loved best.

But subtile Archimago, when his guests He saw divided into double parts, And Una wand'ring in woods and forests, (Th' end of his drift,) he prais'd his devilish arts,

That had such might over true-meaning hearts: Yet rests not so, but other means doth make, How he may work unto her farther smarts: For her he hated as the hissing snake,

And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

He then devis'd himself how to disguise; For by his mighty science he could take As many forms and shapes in seeming wise, As ever Proteus to himself could make: Sometime a fowl, sometime a fish in lake, Now like a fox, now like a dragon fell; That of himself he oft for fear would quake, And oft would fly away. O who can tell The hidden power of herbs, and might of magic spell!

But now seem'd best the person to put on Of that good Knight, his late beguiléd guest:In mighty arms he was yclad anon, And silver shield; upon his coward breast A bloody cross, and on his craven crest A bunch of hairs discolor'd diversely. Full jolly Knight he seem'd, and well addrest; And, when he sate upon his courser free, Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.

But he, the Knight, whose semblance he did bear,

The true Saint George, was wand'red far away,
Still flying from his thoughts and jealous fear:
Will was his guide, and grief led him astray.
At last him chanc'd to meet upon the way
A faithless Saracen, all arm'd to point,
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay
Sans foy full large of limb and every joint
He was, and caréd not for God or man a point.

He had a fair companion of his way,
A goodly lady clad in scarlet red,
Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay;
And like a Persian mitre on her head

4 Without faith.

She wore, with crowns and owches garnished, The which her lavish lovers to her gave: Her wanton palfrey all was overspread With tinsel trappings, woven like a wave, Whose bridle rung with golden bells and bosses brave.

With fair disport, and courting dalliance,
She entertain'd her lover all the way:

But, when she saw the Knight his spear advance,

She soon left off her mirth and wanton play, And bade her knight address him to the fray; His foe was nigh at hand. He, prick'd with pride,

And hope to win his lady's heart that day, Forth spurréd fast; adown his courser's side The red blood trickling stain'd the way, as he did ride.

The Knight of the Redcross, when him he spied

Spurring so hot with rage dispiteous, Gan fairly couch his spear, and tówards ride: Soon meet they both, both fell and furious, That, daunted with their forces hideous, Their steeds do stagger, and amazéd stand; And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous, Astonied with the stroke of their own hand, Do back rebut, and each to other yieldeth land.

As when two rams, stirr'd with ambitious pride,

Fight for the rule of the rich-fleecéd flock, Their hornéd fronts so fierce on either side Do meet, that, with the terror of the shock Astonied, both stand senseless as a block, Forgetful of the hanging victory:

So stood these twain, unmovéd as a rock, Both staring fierce, and holding idlely The broken reliques of their former cruelty.

The Saracen, sore daunted with the buffe,
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and quiteth cuff with cuff:
Each other's equal puíssaunce envíes,
And through their iron sides with cruel spies
Does seek to pierce; repining courage yields
No foot to foe: the flashing fiër flies,

As from a forge, out of their burning shields; And streams of purple blood now dye the verdant fields.

"Curse on that Cross," quoth then the Saracen, "That keeps thy body from the bitter fitt; Dead long ago, I wot, that haddest bin, Had not that charm from thee forewarnéd it : But yet I warn thee now assuréd sit, And hide thy head." Therewith upon his

crest

With rigor so outrageous he smit,

That a large share it hew'd out of the rest, And glancing down his shield from blame him fairly blest.

Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark

Of native virtue gan eftsoones revive;
And, at his haughty helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke, that it the steel did rive,

And cleft his head: he, tumbling down alive, With bloody mouth his mother earth did kiss, Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive

With the frail flesh; at last it flitted is, Whither the souls do fly of men, that live amiss.

The lady, when she saw her champion fall, Like the old ruins of a broken tower, Stay'd not to wail his woeful funeral; But from him fled away with all her power: Who after her as hastily gan scour, Bidding the Dwarf with him to bring away The Saracen's shield, sign of the conqueror;. Her soon he overtook, and bade to stay; For present cause was none of dread her to dis

may.

She turning back, with rueful countenance, Cried, "Mercy, mercy, Sir, vouchsafe to show On silly dame, subject to hard mischance, And to your mighty will." Her humblesse low

In so rich weeds, and seeming glorious show, Did much emmove his stout heroic heart; And said, "Dear dame, your sudden overthrow Much rueth me; but now put fear apart,

And tell, both who ye be, and who that took your part."

Melting in tears, then gan she thus lament; "The wretched woman, whom unhappy hour Hath now made thrall to your commandement, Before that angry heavens list to lower, And fortune false betray'd me to your power, Was, (0 what now availeth that I was!) Born the sole daughter of an emperor; He that the wide west under his rule has, And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth pass.

"He, in the first flower of my freshest age, Betrothed me unto the only heir

Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
Was never prince so faithful and so fair,
Was never prince so meek and debonair!
But, ere my hopéd day of spousal shone,
My dearest lord fell from high honor's stair
Into the hands of his accursed fone,1

And cruelly was slain; that shall I ever moan!

"His blessed body, spoil'd of living breath, Was afterward, I know not how, convey'd, And from me hid; of whose most innocent death

When tidings came to me, unhappy maid,
O, how great sorrow my sad soul assaid!
Then forth I went his woeful corse to find,
And many years throughout the world I
stray'd,

A virgin widow; whose deep-wounded mind With love long time did languish, as the stricken hind.

"At last it chancéd this proud Saracen
To meet me wand'ring; who perforce me led
With him away; but yet could never win
The fort, that ladies hold in sovéreign dread.

1 Foes.