dots-menu
×

Home  »  The Complete Poetical Works by Edmund Spenser  »  Book III. The Legend of Britomartis. Canto VIII

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599). The Complete Poetical Works. 1908.

The Faerie Queene

Book III. The Legend of Britomartis. Canto VIII

  • The witch creates a snowy lady,
  • like to Florimell:
  • Who, wronged by carle, by Proteus sav’d,
  • Is sought by Paridell.

  • I
    SO oft as I this history record,

    My hart doth melt with meere compassion,

    To thinke how causelesse of her owne accord

    This gentle damzell, whom I write upon,

    Should plonged be in such affliction,

    Without all hope of comfort or reliefe,

    That sure I weene, the hardest hart of stone

    Would hardly finde to aggravate her griefe;

    For misery craves rather mercy then repriefe.

    II
    But that accursed hag, her hostesse late,

    Had so enranckled her malitious hart,

    That she desyrd th’ abridgement of her fate,

    Or long enlargement of her painefull smart.

    Now when the beast, which by her wicked art

    Late foorth she sent, she backe retourning spyde,

    Tyde with her broken girdle, it a part

    Of her rich spoyles, whom he had earst destroyd,

    She weend, and wondrous gladnes to her hart applyde.

    III
    And with it ronning hast’ly to her sonne,

    Thought with that sight him much to have reliv’d;

    Who thereby deeming sure the thing as donne,

    His former griefe with furie fresh reviv’d,

    Much more then earst, and would have algates riv’d

    The hart out of his brest: for sith her dedd

    He surely dempt, himselfe he thought depriv’d

    Quite of all hope, wherewith he long had fedd

    His foolish malady, and long time had misledd.

    IV
    With thought whereof, exceeding mad he grew,

    And in his rage his mother would have slaine,

    Had she not fled into a secret mew,

    Where she was wont her sprightes to entertaine,

    The maisters of her art: there was she faine

    To call them all in order to her ayde,

    And them conjure, upon eternall paine,

    To counsell her so carefully dismayd,

    How she might heale her sonne, whose senses were decayd.

    V
    By their advise, and her owne wicked wit,

    She there deviz’d a wondrous worke to frame,

    Whose like on earth was never framed yit,

    That even Nature selfe envide the same,

    And grudg’d to see the counterfet should shame

    The thing it selfe. In hand she boldly tooke

    To make another like the former dame,

    Another Florimell, in shape and looke

    So lively and so like that many it mistooke.

    VI
    The substance, whereof she the body made,

    Was purest snow in massy mould congeald,

    Which she had gathered in a shady glade

    Of the Riphœan hils, to her reveald

    By errant sprights, but from all men conceald:

    The same she tempred with fine mercury,

    And virgin wex, that never yet was seald,

    And mingled them with perfect vermily,

    That like a lively sanguine it seemd to the eye.

    VII
    In stead of eyes, two burning lampes she set

    In silver sockets, shyning like the skyes,

    And a quicke moving spirit did arret

    To stirre and roll them, like a womans eyes:

    In stead of yellow lockes, she did devyse,

    With golden wyre to weave her curled head;

    Yet golden wyre was not so yellow thryse

    As Florimells fayre heare: and in the stead

    Of life, she put a spright to rule the carcas dead:

    VIII
    A wicked spright, yfraught with fawning guyle

    And fayre resemblance, above all the rest

    Which with the Prince of Darkenes fell somewhyle

    From heavens blis and everlasting rest:

    Him needed not instruct, which way were best

    Him selfe to fashion likest Florimell,

    Ne how to speake, ne how to use his gest;

    For he in counterfesaunce did excell,

    And all the wyles of wemens wits knew passing well.

    IX
    Him shaped thus she deckt in garments gay,

    Which Florimell had left behind her late,

    That who so then her saw would surely say,

    It was her selfe whom it did imitate,

    Or fayrer then her selfe, if ought algate

    Might fayrer be. And then she forth her brought

    Unto her sonne, that lay in feeble state;

    Who seeing her gan streight upstart, and thought

    She was the lady selfe, whom he so long had sought.

    X
    Tho, fast her clipping twixt his armes twayne,

    Extremely joyed in so happy sight,

    And soone forgot his former sickely payne;

    But she, the more to seeme such as she hight,

    Coyly rebutted his embracement light;

    Yet still with gentle countenaunce retain’d

    Enough to hold a foole in vaine delight:

    Him long she so with shadowes entertain’d,

    As her creatresse had in charge to her ordain’d.

    XI
    Till on a day, as he disposed was

    To walke the woodes with that his idole faire,

    Her to disport, and idle time to pas

    In th’ open freshnes of the gentle aire,

    A knight that way there chaunced to repaire;

    Yet knight he was not, but a boastfull swaine,

    That deedes of armes had every in despaire,

    Proud Braggadocchio, that in vaunting vaine

    His glory did repose, and credit did maintaine.

    XII
    He, seeing with that chorle so faire a wight,

    Decked with many a costly ornament,

    Much merveiled thereat, as well he might,

    And thought that match a fowle disparagement:

    His bloody speare eftesoones he boldly bent

    Against the silly clowne, who, dead through feare,

    Fell streight to ground in great astonishment:

    ‘Villein,’ sayd he, ‘this lady is my deare;

    Dy, if thou it gainesay: I will away her beare.’

    XIII
    The fearefull chorle durst not gainesay, nor dooe,

    But trembling stood, and yielded him the pray;

    Who, finding litle leasure her to wooe,

    On Tromparts steed her mounted without stay,

    And without reskew led her quite away.

    Proud man himselfe then Braggadochio deem’d,

    And next to none, after that happy day,

    Being possessed of that spoyle, which seem’d

    The fairest wight on ground, and most of men esteem’d.

    XIV
    But when hee saw him selfe free from poursute,

    He gan make gentle purpose to his dame,

    With termes of love and lewdnesse dissolute;

    For he could well his glozing speaches frame

    To such vaine uses, that him best became:

    But she thereto would lend but light regard,

    As seeming sory that she ever came

    Into his powre, that used her so hard,

    To reave her honor, which she more then life prefard.

    XV
    Thus as they two of kindnes treated long,

    There them by chaunce encountred on the way

    An armed knight, upon a courser strong,

    Whose trampling feete upon the hollow lay

    Seemed to thunder, and did nigh affray

    That capons corage: yet he looked grim,

    And faynd to cheare his lady in dismay,

    Who seemd for feare to quake in every lim,

    And her to save from outrage meekely prayed him.

    XVI
    Fiercely that straunger forward came, and nigh

    Approching, with bold words and bitter threat,

    Bad that same boaster, as he mote on high,

    To leave to him that lady for excheat,

    Or bide him batteill without further treat.

    That challenge did too peremptory seeme,

    And fild his senses with abashment great;

    Yet, seeing nigh him jeopardy extreme,

    He it dissembled well, and light seemd to esteeme;

    XVII
    Saying, ‘Thou foolish knight! that weenst with words

    To steale away that I with blowes have wonne,

    And broght throgh points of many perilous swords:

    But if thee list to see thy courser ronne,

    Or prove thy selfe, this sad encounter shonne,

    And seeke els without hazard of thy hedd.’

    At those prowd words that other knight begonne

    To wex exceeding wroth, and him aredd

    To turne his steede about, or sure he should be dedd.

    XVIII
    ‘Sith then,’ said Braggadochio, ‘needes thou wilt

    Thy daies abridge, through proofe of puissaunce,

    Turne we our steeds, that both in equall tilt

    May meete againe, and each take happy chaunce.’

    This said, they both a furlongs mountenaunce

    Retird their steeds, to ronne in even race:

    But Braggadochio with his bloody launce

    Once having turnd, no more returnd his face,

    But lefte his love to losse, and fled him selfe apace.

    XIX
    The knight, him seeing flie, had no regard

    Him to poursew, but to the lady rode,

    And having her from Trompart lightly reard,

    Upon his courser sett the lovely lode,

    And with her fled away without abode.

    Well weened he, that fairest Florimell

    It was, with whom in company he yode,

    And so her selfe did alwaies to him tell;

    So made him thinke him selfe in heven, that was in hell.

    XX
    But Florimell her selfe was far away,

    Driven to great distresse by fortune straunge,

    And taught the carefull mariner to play,

    Sith late mischaunce had her compeld to chaunge

    The land for sea, at randon there to raunge:

    Yett there that cruell queene avengeresse,

    Not satisfyde so far her to estraunge

    From courtly blis and wonted happinesse,

    Did heape on her new waves of weary wretchednesse.

    XXI
    For being fled into the fishers bote,

    For refuge from the monsters cruelty,

    Long so she on the mighty maine did flote,

    And with the tide drove forward carelesly;

    For th’ ayre was milde, and cleared was the skie,

    And all his windes Dan Aeolus did keepe

    From stirring up their stormy enmity,

    As pittying to see her waile and weepe;

    But all the while the fisher did securely sleepe.

    XXII
    At last when droncke with drowsinesse he woke,

    And saw his drover drive along the streame,

    He was dismayd, and thrise his brest he stroke,

    For marveill of that accident extreame;

    But when he saw that blazing beauties beame,

    Which with rare light his bote did beautifyre,

    He marveild more, and thought he yet did dreame

    Not well awakte, or that some extasye

    Assotted had his sence, or dazed was his eye.

    XXIII
    But when her well avizing, hee perceiv’d

    To be no vision nor fantasticke sight,

    Great comfort of her presence he conceiv’d,

    And felt in his old corage new delight

    To gin awake, and stir his frosen spright:

    Tho rudely askte her, how she thether came.

    ‘Ah!’ sayd she, ‘father, I note read aright

    What hard misfortune brought me to this same;

    Yet am I glad that here I now in safety ame.

    XXIV
    ‘But thou good man, sith far in sea we bee,

    And the great waters gin apace to swell,

    That now no more we can the mayn-land see,

    Have care, I pray, to guide the cock-bote well,

    Least worse on sea then us on land befell.’

    Thereat th’ old man did nought but fondly grin,

    And saide, his boat the way could wisely tell:

    But his deceiptfull eyes did never lin

    To looke on her faire face, and marke her snowy skin.

    XXV
    The sight whereof in his congealed flesh

    Infixt such secrete sting of greedy lust,

    That the drie withered stocke it gan refresh,

    And kindled heat, that soone in flame forth brust:

    The driest wood is soonest burnt to dust.

    Rudely to her he lept, and his rough hand,

    Where ill became him, rashly would have thrust;

    But she with angry scorne him did with stond,

    And shamefully reproved for his rudenes fond.

    XXVI
    But he, that never good nor maners knew,

    Her sharpe rebuke full litle did esteeme;

    Hard is to teach an old horse amble trew.

    The inward smoke, that did before but steeme,

    Broke into open fire and rage extreme;

    And now he strength gan adde unto his will,

    Forcyng to doe that did him fowle misseeme:

    Beastly he threwe her downe, ne car’d to spill

    Her garments gay with scales of fish, that all did fill.

    XXVII
    The silly virgin strove him to withstand,

    All that she might, and him in vaine revild:

    Shee strugled strongly both with foote and hand,

    To save her honor from that villaine vilde,

    And cride to heven, from humane helpe exild.

    O ye brave knights, that boast this ladies love,

    Where be ye now, when she is nigh defild

    Of filthy wretch? Well may she you reprove

    Of falsehood or of slouth, when most it may behove.

    XXVIII
    But if that thou, Sir Satyran, didst weete,

    Or thou, Sir Peridure, her sory state,

    How soone would yee assemble many a fleete,

    To fetch from sea that ye at land lost late!

    Towres, citties, kingdomes ye would ruinate,

    In your avengement and dispiteous rage,

    Ne ought your burning fury mote abate;

    But if Sir Calidore could it presage,

    No living creature could his cruelty asswage.

    XXIX
    But sith that none of all her knights is nye,

    See how the heavens, of voluntary grace

    And soveraine favor towards chastity,

    Doe succor send to her distressed cace:

    So much High God doth innocence embrace.

    It fortuned, whilest thus she stifly strove,

    And the wide sea importuned long space

    With shrilling shriekes, Proteus abrode did rove,

    Along the fomy waves driving his finny drove.

    XXX
    Proteus is shepheard of the seas of yore,

    And hath the charge of Neptunes mighty heard,

    An aged sire with head all frowy hore,

    And sprinckled frost upon his deawy beard:

    Who when those pittifull outcries he heard

    Through all the seas so ruefully resownd,

    His charett swifte in hast he thether steard,

    Which, with a teeme of scaly phocas bownd,

    Was drawne upon the waves, that fomed him arownd.

    XXXI
    And comming to that fishers wandring bote,

    That went at will, withouten card or sayle,

    He therein saw that yrkesome sight, which smote

    Deepe indignation and compassion frayle

    Into his hart attonce: streight did he hayle

    The greedy villein from his hoped pray,

    Of which he now did very litle fayle,

    And with his staffe, that drives his heard astray,

    Him bett so sore, that life and sence did much dismay.

    XXXII
    The whiles the pitteous lady up did ryse,

    Ruffled and fowly raid with filthy soyle,

    And blubbred face with teares of her faire eyes:

    Her heart nigh broken was with weary toyle,

    To save her selfe from that outrageous spoyle:

    But when she looked up, to weet what wight

    Had her from so infamous fact assoyld,

    For shame, but more for feare of his grim sight,

    Downe in her lap she hid her face, and lowdly shright.

    XXXIII
    Her selfe not saved yet from daunger dredd

    She thought, but chaung’d from one to other feare:

    Like as a fearefull partridge, that is fledd

    From the sharpe hauke, which her attached neare,

    And fals to ground, to seeke for succor theare,

    Whereas the hungry spaniells she does spye,

    With greedy jawes her ready for to teare;

    In such distresse and sad perplexity

    Was Florimell, when Proteus she did see thereby.

    XXXIV
    But he endevored with speaches milde

    Her to recomfort, and accourage bold,

    Bidding her feare no more her foeman vilde,

    Nor doubt himselfe; and who he was her told.

    Yet all that could not from affright her hold,

    Ne to recomfort her at all prevayld;

    For her faint hart was with the frosen cold

    Benumbd so inly, that her wits nigh fayld,

    And all her sences with abashment quite were quayld.

    XXXV
    Her up betwixt his rugged hands he reard,

    And with his frory lips full softly kist,

    Whiles the cold ysickles from his rough beard

    Dropped adowne upon her yvory brest:

    Yet he him selfe so busily addrest,

    That her out of astonishment he wrought,

    And out of that same fishers filthy nest

    Removing her, into his charet brought,

    And there with many gentle termes her faire besought.

    XXXVI
    But that old leachour, which with bold assault

    That beautie durst presume to violate,

    He cast to punish for his hainous fault:

    Then tooke he him, yet trembling sith of late,

    And tyde behind his charet, to aggrate

    The virgin, whom be had abusde so sore:

    So drag’d him through the waves in scornfull state,

    And after cast him up upon the shore;

    But Florimell with him unto his bowre he bore.

    XXXVII
    His bowre is in the bottom of the maine,

    Under a mightie rocke, gainst which doe rave

    The roring billowes in their proud disdaine,

    That with the angry working of the wave

    Therein is eaten out an hollow cave,

    That seemes rough masons hand with engines keene

    Had long while laboured it to engrave:

    There was his wonne, ne living wight was seene,

    Save one old nymph, hight Panope, to keepe it cleane.

    XXXVIII
    Thether he brought the sory Florimell,

    And entertained her the best he might,

    And Panope her entertaind eke well,

    As an immortall mote a mortall wight,

    To winne her liking unto his delight:

    With flattering wordes he sweetly wooed her,

    And offered faire guiftes, t’ allure her sight;

    But she both offers and the offerer

    Despysde, and all the fawning of the flatterer.

    XXXIX
    Dayly he tempted her with this or that,

    And never suffred her to be at rest:

    But evermore she him refused flat,

    And all his fained kindnes did detest;

    So firmely she had sealed up her brest.

    Sometimes he boasted that a god he hight;

    But she a mortall creature loved best:

    Then he would make him selfe a mortall wight;

    But then she said she lov’d none but a Faery knight.

    XL
    Then like a Faerie knight him selfe he drest;

    For every shape on him he could endew:

    Then like a king he was to her exprest,

    And offred kingdoms unto her in vew,

    To be his leman and his lady trew:

    But when all this he nothing saw prevaile,

    With harder meanes he cast her to subdew,

    And with sharpe threates her often did assayle,

    So thinking for to make her stubborne corage quayle.

    XLI
    To dreadfull shapes he did him selfe transforme,

    Now like a gyaunt, now like to a feend,

    Then like a centaure, then like to a storme,

    Raging within the waves: thereby he weend

    Her will to win unto his wished eend.

    But when with feare, nor favour, nor with all

    He els could doe, he saw him selfe esteemd,

    Downe in a dongeon deepe he let her fall,

    And threatned there to make her his eternall thrall.

    XLII
    Eternall thraldome was to her more liefe,

    Then losse of chastitie, or chaunge of love:

    Dye had she rather in tormenting griefe,

    Then any should of falsenesse her reprove,

    Or loosenes, that she lightly did remove.

    Most vertuous virgin! glory be thy meed,

    And crowne of heavenly prayse with saintes above,

    Where most sweet hymmes of this thy famous deed

    Are still emongst them song, that far my rymes exceed.

    XLIII
    Fit song of angels caroled to bee!

    But yet what so my feeble Muse can frame,

    Shalbe t’ advance thy goodly chastitee,

    And to enroll thy memorable name

    In th’ heart of every honourable dame,

    That they thy vertuous deedes may imitate,

    And be partakers of thy endlesse fame.

    Yt yrkes me leave thee in this wofull state,

    To tell of Satyrane, where I him left of late.

    XLIV
    Who having ended with that Squyre of Dames

    A long discourse of his adventures vayne,

    The which himselfe, then ladies, more defames,

    And finding not th’ hyena to be slayne,

    With that same squyre retourned back agayne

    To his first way. And as they forward went,

    They spyde a knight fayre pricking on the playne,

    As if he were on some adventure bent,

    And in his port appeared manly hardiment.

    XLV
    Sir Satyrane him towardes did addresse,

    To weet what wight he was, and what his quest:

    And comming nigh, eftsoones he gan to gesse

    Both by the burning hart which on his brest

    He bare, and by the colours in his crest,

    That Paridell it was: tho to him yode,

    And him saluting as beseemed best,

    Gan first inquire of tydinges farre abrode;

    And afterwardes, on what adventure now he rode.

    XLVI
    Who thereto answering said: ‘The tydinges bad,

    Which now in Faery court all men doe tell,

    Which turned hath great mirth to mourning sad,

    Is the late ruine of proud Marinell,

    And suddein parture of faire Florimell,

    To find him forth: and after her are gone

    All the brave knightes, that doen in armes excell,

    To savegard her, ywandred all alone;

    Emongst the rest my lott (unworthy’) is to be one.’

    XLVII
    ‘Ah! gentle knight,’ said then Sir Satyrane,

    ‘Thy labour all is lost, I greatly dread,

    That hast a thanklesse service on thee ta’ne,

    And offrest sacrifice unto the dead.

    For dead, I surely doubt, thou maist aread

    Henceforth for ever Florimell to bee,

    That all the noble knights of Maydenhead,

    Which her ador’d, may sore repent with mee,

    And all faire ladies may for ever sory bee.’

    XLVIII
    Which wordes when Paridell had heard, his hew

    Gan greatly chaung, and seemd dismaid to bee;

    Then said: ‘Fayre sir, how may I weene it trew,

    That ye doe tell in such uncerteintee?

    Or speake ye of report, or did ye see

    Just cause of dread, that makes ye doubt so sore?

    For, perdie, elles how mote it ever bee,

    That ever hand should dare for to engore

    Her noble blood? The hevens such crueltie abhore.’

    XLIX
    ‘These eyes did see, that they will ever rew

    To have seene,’ quoth he, ‘when as a monstrous beast

    The palfrey whereon she did travell slew,

    And of his bowels made his bloody feast:

    Which speaking token sheweth at the least

    Her certeine losse, if not her sure decay:

    Besides, that more suspicion encreast,

    I found her golden girdle cast astray,

    Distaynd with durt and blood, as relique of the pray.’

    L
    ‘Ay me!’ said Paridell, ‘the signes be sadd,

    And but God turne the same to good sooth say,

    That ladies safetie is sore to be dradd:

    Yet will I not forsake my forward way,

    Till triall doe more certeine truth bewray.’

    ‘Faire sir,’ quoth he, ‘well may it you succeed:

    Ne long shall Satyrane behind you stay,

    But to the rest, which in this quest proceed,

    My labour adde, and be partaker of their speed.’

    LI
    ‘Ye noble knights,’ said then the Squyre of Dames,

    ‘Well may yee speede in so praiseworthy payne:

    But sith the sunne now ginnes to slake his beames

    In deawy vapours of the westerne mayne,

    And lose the teme out of his weary wayne,

    Mote not mislike you also to abate

    Your zealous hast, till morrow next againe

    Both light of heven and strength of men relate:

    Which if ye please, to yonder castle turne your gate.’

    LII
    That counsell pleased well; so all yfere

    Forth marched to a castle them before;

    Where soone arryving, they restrained were

    Of ready entraunce, which ought evermore

    To errant knights be commune: wondrous sore

    Thereat displeasd they were, till that young squyre

    Gan them informe the cause why that same dore

    Was shut to all which lodging did desyre:

    The which to let you weet will further time requyre.