 Book 6. Prologue. The Legend of Calador. The ways through which my weary steps I guide in this delightful land of fairy are so exceeding spacious and wide, and sprinkled with such sweet variety of all that pleasant is to ear or eye, that I nigh ravished with rare thoughts delight, my tedious travel do forget thereby, and when I gain to feel decay of might, its strength to me supplies, and cheers my dulled spite. Such secret comfort, and such heavenly pleasures, ye sacred imps that on Parnaso dwell, and they're the keeping half of learning treasures which do all worldly riches far excel, into the minds of mortal men do well, and goodly fury into them infuse. Guide ye my footing, and conduct me well in these strange ways, where never foot did use, nor none confined, but who was taught them by the muse. Reveal to me the sacred nursery of virtue, which with you doth there remain, where it in silver bar does hidden lie, from view of men, and wicked worlds disdain, since it at first was by the gods with pain planted in earth, being derived at first from heavenly seeds of bounty sovereign, and by them long with careful labour nursed, till it to ripeness grew, and forth to honour burst. Amongst them all grows not a fairer flower, than is the bloom of comely courtesy, which though it won a lowly stalk to bar, yet branches forth in brave nobility, and spreads itself through all civility, of which though present age doth plenteous seem, yet being matched with plain antiquity, ye will them all but feign it shows esteem, which carry colours fair, that feeble eyes misdeem. But in the trial of true courtesy, it's now so far from that, which then it was, that it indeed is not but forgery, fashion to please the eyes of them, that pass, which see not perfect things but in a glass, yet is that glass so gay that it can blind the wisest sight to think gold that is brass. But virtue's seat is deep within the mind, and not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defined. But where shall I, in all antiquity, so fair a pattern find, where may be seen the goodly praise of princely courtesy, as in yourself, of sovereign Lady Queen, in whose pure mind, as in a mirror sheen, it shows, and with her brightness doth inflame the eyes of all, which thereon fix had been. But meriteth indeed an higher name, yet so from low to high uplift it is your fame. Then pardon me, most dreaded sovereign, that from yourself I do this virtue bring, and to yourself do it return again, so from the ocean all rivers spring, and tribute back repay as to their king. Right so from you all goodly virtue's well into the rest, which round about you ring, fair lords and ladies, which about you dwell, and do adorn your court, where courtesies excel. Legend of Prologue Book 6 The Legend of Caledor Book 6. Canto I. The Legend of Caledor This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Morgan Scorpion The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer Book 6. The Legend of Caledor Canto I. Caledor saves from Malafot, a damsel-usered vile, doth vanquish crudor, and doth make, Brianna wecks more mild. Of court it seems, men courtesy do call, for that it there most useth to abound, and well bestemeth that in prince's hall that virtue should be plentifully found, which of all goodly manners is the ground, and root of civil conversation. Right so, in fairy court did it redound, where courteous knights and ladies most did run, of all on earth, and make a matchless paragon. But amongst them all was none more courteous knight than Caledor, beloved over all, in whom it seems that gentleness of spite and manners mild were planted natural, to which he, adding comely guise with all, and gracious speech, did steal men's hearts away. Nath lest there too he was full stout and tall, and well approved in battleous affray, that him did much renown, and far his fame display. Nor was there knight, nor was there lady found in fairy court, but him did dear embrace. For his fair usage and condition sound, the witch in all men's liking gaineth place, and with the greatest purchase greatest grace, which he could wisely use, and well apply, to please the best, and the evil to embrace. For he loathed leasing, and base flattery, and lov'd simple truth and steadfast honesty. And now he was in travel on his way, upon an hard adventure saw bestowed, when as by chance he met upon a day, with artigal, returning yet half sad from his late conquest, which he got and had, who when as each or other had a sight, they knew themselves, and both their persons rad, when Calador thus first, hail of noblest night, of all this day on ground that threeden living spright. Now tell, if please you, of the good success which ye have had in your late enterprise, to whom sir artigal Ganta express, his whole exploit, and valorous empress, in order as it did to him arise. No happy man, say then, sir Calador, which have so goodly, as ye can devise, achieved so hard a quest as few before, that shall ye most renown would make for evermore. But where ye end it have, now I begin to tread an endless trace, without an guide, or good direction, how to enter in, or how to issue forth in ways untried, in peril strange, in labours long and wide, in which although good fortune me before, yet shall it not by none be testified, what is that quest, quoth then sir artigal, that you and two such perils presently doth call? The blatant beast, quoth he, I do pursue, and through the world incessantly do chase, till I him overtake, or else subdue, yet know I not, or how, or in what place to find him out, yet still I forward trace. What is that blatant beast, then he replied? It is a monster bred up hellish race, then answered he, which often hath annoyed good nights and ladies true, and many else destroyed. Of curbus wholome he was begot, and fell chameiligra, in her dark some den. Through foul-comicsture of his filthy blot, where he was fostered long in Stygian fen, till he to perfect ripeness grew, and then into this wicked world he forthwith sent, to be the plague and scourge of wretched men, whom with vile tongue and venomous intent he saw doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment. Then, since the salvage island I did leave, said artigal, I such a beast did see, the which did seem a thousand tongues to have, that all in spite and malice did agree, with which he bade and loudly barked at me, as if at first he at once would me devour. But I that knew myself from peril free, did not regard his malice nor his power, but he the more wicked poison forth did pour. "'That surely is that beast,' said Calador, which I pursue, of which I am right glad to hear these tidings, which of none a forth who all my weary travel I have had. Yet now some hope your words unto me add, Now God you speed, quoth then, sir artigal, and keep your body from the danger dread, for ye have much adieu to deal with all, so both took goodly leave, and parted several. So Calador thence travelled not long, when as by chance a comely squire he found, that through some mighty enemies wrong, both hand and foot unto a tree was bound, who seeing him from far, with piteous sound, of his shrivel cries him call it to his side, to whom approaching, in that painful sound, when he him saw, for no demands he stayed, but first him loosed, and afterwards thus to him said, "'Unhappy squire, what hard mishap thee brought into this bay of peril and disgrace? What cruel hand thy wretched throldom brought, and thee captured in this shameful place? To whom he answered thus? My hapless case is not occasioned through my misdesert, but through misfortune, which did me abase unto the shame, and my young hopes avert, ere that I in her gulfful trains was well expert." Not far from hence, upon Yondrocky hill, hard by astrait there stands a castle strong, which doth observe a custom lewd and ill, and it hath long maintained with mighty wrong, for may no knight nor lady pass along that way, and yet they need must pass that way, by reason of the straight, and rocks among, but they that lady's locks do shave away, and that knight's beard for tol, which they for passage pay. "'A shameful use as ever I did here,' said Calador, and to be overthrown. But by what means did they at first it rear, and for what cause tell if thou have it known? Said then that squire, the lady which doth own this castle, is by name Brianna-height, then which a prouder lady liveth none. She long-time hath dear-loved a doubty knight, and sought to win his love by all the means she might. His name is Crudor, who, through high disdain and proud despite of his self-pleasing mind, refused hath to yield her love again, until a mantle she for him do find, with beards of knights and locks of ladies-lined, which to provide she hath this castle-dite, and therein hath a seneschal assigned, called Malifort, a man of Mikkelmite, who executes her wicked will with worse despite. He this same day, as I that way did come with a fair damsel, my beloved dear, in execution of her lawless doom, did set upon us flying both for fear, for little boots against him hand to rear. Me first he took, unable to withstand, and whilst he her pursued everywhere, till his return unto this tree he bond. Know what I surely, whether her he yet hath found. Thus whilst they spake, they heard a rueful shriek of one loud crying, which they straightway guessed, that it was she, the witch for help did seek. Though looking up unto the cry to last, they saw that Carl from far, with hand unblessed, hailing that maiden by the yellow hair, that all her garments from her snowy breast, and from her head her locks he knited tear. Nor would he spare for pity, nor refrain for fear. Which heinous sight when Calador beheld, effed soonce he loosed that squire, and so him left, with heart dismay an inward dollar quelled, for to pursue that villain, which had weft that piteous spoil by so injurious theft, whom overtaking, loud to him he cried. Leave fate a quickly that misgotten weft to him, that hath it better justified, and turned thee soon to him, of whom thou art defied. Who hearkening to that voice himself upreared, and seeing him so fiercely towards make, against him stoutly ran as nought afeared, but rather more enraged for those words' sake, and with stern countenance thus unto him spake, art thou the Cate of that defiest me, and for this maid, whose party thou dost take, wilt give thy beard, though it but little be, yet shall it not her locks for ransom for me free. With that he fiercely at him flew, and laid on hideous strokes with most importune might, that oft he made him stagger as unstayed, and oft recoiled to shun his sharp despite. But Calador, that was well-skilled in fight, him long for bore, and still his spirit spared. Lying in wait, how him he damaged might, but when he felt him shrink, and come to ward, he greater grew, and ganned to drive at him more hard. Like as a water stream, whose swelling source shall drive a mill, within strong banks his pent, and long restrained of his ready course, so soon as passage is unto him lent, makes forth, and makes his way more violent. Such was the fury of Sir Calador, when once he felt his foment to relent, he fiercely him pursued, and pressured sore, who as he still decayed, so he increased it more. The heavy burden of whose dreadful might, when as the call no longer could sustain, his heart gone faint, and straight he took his flight toward the castle, where if need constrain his hope of refuge used to remain, whom Calador, perceiving fast to fly, he him pursued, and chasted through the plain, that he for dread of death, gone loud to cry unto the ward, to open to him hastily. They from the wall seeing him so aghast, the gate soon opened to receive him in. But Calador did follow him so fast, that even in the porch he did him win, and cleft his head asunder to his chin. The carcass tumbling down within the door did choke the entrance with a lump of sin, that it could not be shut, whilst Calador did enter in, and slew the porter on the floor. With that the rest, the which the castle kept about him frocked, and hard at him did lay, but he them all from him full lightly swept, as doth a steer in heat of summer's day, with his long tail the brises brush away. Since passing forth into the hall he came, whereof the lady self in sad display, he was in met, who with uncommonly shame, gan him salute, and foul upbraid with faulty blame. False traitor night said she, no night at all, but scorn of arms, that haste with guilty hand murdered my men, and slain my sunnishile. Now comest thou to rob my house unmanned, and spoil myself, that cannot thee withstand? But doubt thou not, but that some better night than thou, that shall thy treason understand, will it avenge and pay thee with thy right? And if none do, yet shame shall thee with shame requite. Much was the night abashed at that word, yet answered thus, not unto me the shame, but to the shameful doer it afford. Blood is no blemish, for it is no blame to punish those that do deserve the same, but they that break bands of civility and wicked customs make, those do defame both noble arms and gentle courtesy, no greater shame to man than inhumanity. Then do yourself, for dread of shame, forgo this evil manner, which she here maintain, and do instead thereof mild curtsy show, to all that pass, that shall you glory gain more than his love, which thus ye seek to obtain, where with all full of wrath she thus replied, Vile requiant, know that I do much disdain thy courteous law, that dost my love deride, who scorns thy idle scoff, and bid thee be defied. To take defiance at a lady's word, quoth he, I hold it no indignity, but were he here that would it with his sword a bet, perhaps he moat it dearer by? Cowherd, quoth she, were not that thou wouldst fly, and he do come, he should be soon in place. If I do so, said he, then liberty I leave to you, for I me to disgrace, with all those shames that erst ye spake me to deface. With that adwarf she called to her in haste, and taking from her hand a ring of gold, a privy token which between them passed, bade him to fly, with all the speed he could, to crudor, and desire him that he would vouchsafe to rescue her against a knight, who those strong power had now herself enhold, having late slain her seneschal in fight, and all her people murdered without rages might. The dwarf his way did haste, and went all night, but Calador did with her there abide. The coming of that so much threatened night, where that discourteous dame with scornful pride, and foul entreaty him indignified, that iron heart it hardly could sustain. But he, that could his wrath full wisely guide, did well endure her womanish disdain, and did himself from frail impatience refrain. The molo next, before the lamp of light above the earth, upreared his flaming head. The dwarf, who bore that message to her knight, brought answer back, that ere he tasted bread, he would her succor, and alive or dead, her foe deliver up into her hand. For he willed her do away all dread, and that of him she moat assured stand, and sent to her his bassinet as a faithful band. There wroth full blithe the lady straight became, and gant her augment her bitterness much more, yet no wit more appalled for the same, nor ought dismayed was the Calador, but rather did more cheerful seem therefore. And having soon his arms about him died, did issue forth to meet his foe a foe, for along he stayed not, when as a night he spied came pricking on with all his power and might. Well winged he straight, that he should be the same, which took in hand her quarrel to maintain, nor stayed to ask if it were he by name, but couched his spear, and ran at him amane. They been admit in middest of the plain with so fell fury, and despiteous force, that neither could the other's stroke sustain, but rudely rolled to ground both man and force, neither of other taking pity nor remorse. But Calador uproars again full blithe, whilst yet his foe lay fast in senseless sound, yet would he not him hurt, although he might, for shame he weaned the sleeping wight to wound. But when Brianna saw that dreary sound, that where she stood upon the castle wall, she deemed him sure to have been dead on ground, and made such pitious mourning there with all that from the battlements she ready seemed to fall. Nevertheless at length himself he did up rear, in lustless wise as if against his will, ere he had slept his fill he wakened were, and ghan to stretch his limbs, which feeling ill of his late fall, a while he rested still. But when he saw his foe before in view, he shook off lusciousness, and courage chill, kindling afresh, ghan battled to renew, to prove if better foot than horseback would ensue. There then began a fearful cruel fray, betwixt them too, for maestery of might, for both were wondrous practic in that play, and passing well expert in single fight, and both inflamed with furious despite, which as it still increased, so still increased their cruel strokes and terrible afright, nor once for wuth their rigor they released, nor once to breathe a while their angers tempest ceased. Thus long they tracked, and traversed, to and fro, and tried always how each moat entrance make into the life of his malignant foe. They hew their helms, and plaits a sunderbreak, as they had protchairs been, for nought moats slake their greedy vengences, but gory blood, that at the last like to a purple lake of bloody gore congealed about them stood, which from their riven sides forth gushed like a flood. That lengthy chanceed, that both their hands on high, at once did heave with all their power and might, thinking the utmost of their force to try, and prove the final fortune of the fight. But Calidor, that was more quick of sight, and nimble a-handed than his enemy, prevented him before his stroke could light, and on the helmet smoke him formally, that made him stoop to ground with meek humility. And ere he could recover foot again, he following that fair advantage fast, his stroke redoubled with such might and main that him upon the ground he groveling cast, and leaping to him light would have unlaced his helm to make unto his vengeance way. Who seeing in what danger he was placed, cried out, Our mercy, sir, do not slay, but save my life which lot before your foot doth lay. With that his mortal hand a while he stayed, and having somewhat calmed his wrathful heat, with goodly patience, thus he to him said, And is the boast of that proud lady's threat, that menaced me from the fields to beat, now brought to this? By this no may ye learn, strangers no more rudely to entreat, but put away proud look and usage-stone, the which shall naught to you but foul dishonour yearn. For nothing is more blaneful to a night than curtsy doth as well as arms profess, the however strong and fortunate in flight, than the reproach of pride and coolness. In vain he seeketh others to suppress, who hath not learned himself first to subdue. All flesh is frail, and full of fickleness, subject to fortune's chance, still changing you, what haves to-day to me, to-morrow may to you. Who will not mercy unto others show, how can he mercy ever hope to have? To pay each with his own his right and due, yet since ye mercy now doth need to crave, I will it grant your hopeless life to save, with these conditions which I will propound. First that ye better shall yourself behave unto all errant nights, where so on ground, next that ye ladies aid in every stead and sound. The wretched man that all this while did well, in dread of death, his heasts did gladly hear, and promised to perform his precept well, and whatsoever else he would require. So suffering him to rise, he made him swear, by his own sword, and by the cross thereon, to take Brianna for his loving fare, without endow or composition, but to release his form of foul condition. All which accepting, and with faithful oaths, binding himself most firmly to obey, he up arose, however, leaf or loath, and swore to him true fealty for a, then forth he called from sorrowful dismay, the sad Brianna, which all this beheld, who coming forth yet full of later fray, so Calador upcheered, and to her tell'd all this accord, to which he crudor had compelled, were of she now more glad than sorry erst, all overcome with infinite effect, for his exceeding courtesy, that pierced her stubborn heart with inward deep effect, before his feet herself she did project, and him adoring as her life's dear Lord, with all due thanks, with dutiful respect, her self-acknowledged bound for that accord, by which he had to her both life and love restored. So all returning to the castle glad, most joyfully she did them entertain, where goodly glee and feast to them she made, to show her thankful mind and meaning fame, by all the means she most best explain, and after all, unto so Calador, she freely gave that castle for his pain, and herself bound to him for ever more, so wondrously no change from that she was afore. But Calador himself would not retain nor land nor fee for hire of his good deed, but gave them straight unto that squire again, whom from her seneschal he lately freed, and to his damsel as their rightful mead, for recompense of all their former wrong, there he remained with them right well agreed, till of his wounds he waxed whole and strong, and then to his first quest he pass'd forth along. Legend of Canto VI, Book I, The Legend of Calador, Book VI, Canto II, The Legend of Calador. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Morgan Scorpion. The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer, Book VI, The Legend of Calador, Canto II. Calador sees young Tristram's sleigh a proud, discourteous night. He makes him squire, and of him learns his state and present plight. What virtue is so fitting for a night or for a lady whom a night should love, as courtesy, to bear themselves a right, to all of each degree, as doth behove? For whether they be placed high above or low beneath, yet ought they well to know their good, that none them rightly may reprove of rudeness, for not yielding what they owe. Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow. There to great help dame nature self doth lend, for some so goodly greatest are by kind, that every action doth them much commend, and in the eyes of men great liking find. Which others, that have greater skill in mind, though they enforce themselves, cannot attain. For everything, to which one is inclined, doth best become, and greater grace doth gain, yet praise likewise deserve good views and force with pain. That well-incurtious Calador appears, whose every action word that he did say, was like enchantment, that through both the ears and both the eyes did steal the heart away. He now again is on his form away, to follow his first quest, when, as he spied, a tall young man from thence not far away, fighting on foot, as well he him described, against an armoured night that did on horseback ride. And then beside a lady-fair he saw, standing alone on foot, in foul array, to whom himself he hastily did draw, to weep the cause of so uncommonly fray, and to depart them, if so be he may. But ere he came in place, that youth had killed that armoured night that low on ground he lay, which when he saw his heart was inly chilled with great amazement, and his thought with wonder filled. Him steadfastly he marked, and saw to be a goodly youth of amiable grace, yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see yet seventeen years, but tall and fair of face, that sure he deemed him born of noble race. All in a woodman's jacket he was clad, of Lincoln-green, belayed with silver lace, and on his head and hood with aglete spread, and by his side his hunter's horn he hanging had. Since he wore of costless cordwaying, pinked upon gold, and paled part per part, as then the guise was for each gentle swaying. In his right hand he held a trembling dart, whose fellow he before had sent apart, and in his left he held a sharp borespere, with which he want to launch the salvage heart of many a lion, and of many a bear, that first unto his hand in chase did happen near. From Caledor a while, while having rewed, at length bespake. What means this gentle swaying? Why hath thy hand too bold itself and brood in blood of night, the which by thee is slain? By thee no night, which arms impugneth plain. Surtis said he, loathful I to have broken the law of arms, yet break it should again rather than let myself of white be stroken, so long as these two arms were able to be broken. Or, not I him, as this his ladies here may witness well, did offer first to wrong, nor surely thus unarmed I likely were. But he me first, through pride and precance strong, assailed, not knowing what to arm stuff long. Padi, great blame, then said Sir Caledor, for armoured night a white unarmed to wrong, but then a reed thou gentle child, wherefore betwixt you too began this strife and stern uproar. That shall I sooth, said he, to you declare, I whose unriper years are yet unfit for thing of weight or work of greater care, to spend my days and bend my careless wit to salvage chase, where I thereon may hit in all this forest and wild woody rain, where, as this day I was in ranging it, I chanced to meet this night, who there lies slain, together with this lady, passing on the plain. This night, as ye did see, on horseback was, and this his lady, that him ill became, on her fair feet by his horse-side did pass, through thick and thin, unfit for any dame. Yet not content, more to increase his shame, when so she lagged, as she needs moat so, he with his spear, that was to him great blame, would sump her forward, and in force to go, weeping to him in vain and making pretty as woe. Which when I saw, as they me passed by, much was I moved in indignant mind, and ganned to blame him for such cruelty towards the lady, whom with usage kind he rather should have taken up behind. Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdain, took in foul scorn that I such fault did find, and me and you thereof reviled again, threatening to chastise me, as doth her child pertain. Which I know lest disdaining, back returned his scornful taunts unto his teeth again, that he straightway with haughty collar burned, and with his spear struck me one stroke or twain, which I in force to bear, throw to my pain, cast I to equite, and with a slender doubt fellow of this I bear, thrown not in vain, struck him, as seamoth, underneath the heart, that through the wound his spirit shortly did depart. Much did Sir Calidor admire his speech, tempered so well, but more admired the stroke that through the males had made so strong a breach into his heart, and had so sternly woke his wrath on him, that first occasion broke. Yet rested not but further gunning choir of that same lady, whether what he spoke were soothly so, and that the unrighteous ire of her own night had given him his own due hire. Of all which, when as she could not deny, but cleared that stripling of the imputed blame, said then Sir Calidor, neither will I him charge with guilt, but rather do quite claim for what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame. And what he did he did himself to save, against both which that night wrought nightless shame, for nights and all men this by nature have, towards all women kind, them kindly to behave. The sith that he has gone irrevocable, pleas it you lady, to ask to a reed what cause could make him so dishonourable to drive you so unfoot unfit to tread, and lacky by him against all woman-head. Sir Tis the night, say she, full loath I were to raise a living blame against the dead. But since it me concerns myself to clear, I will the truth discover, as it chanced while here. This day as he and I together rode upon our way, to which we were unbent, we chanced to come for by a covert glade within a wood, for as the lady-gent sat with a night in joyous jollament, of their frank love, free from all jealous spies. Fair was the lady sure that moat content and hot, not carried with too curious eyes, and unto him did show all lovely courtesies. Whom when my night did see so lovely fair, he inly gang her lover to envy, and wish that he part of his spoil might share. Where, too, when my presence he did spy to be a let, he bade me by and by for to a light, but when as I was loath my love's own part to leave so suddenly, he with strong hand down from his steed me throath, and with presumptuous power against that night's straight gulf. Unarmed was all the night, as then more meet for lady's service and for love's delight, then fearing any foeman there to meet, whereof he taking odds straight bids him dite, himself to yield his love or else to fight, whereat the other starting up dismayed, yet boldly answered, as he rightly might, to leave his love he should be ill-paid, in which he had good right against all, that is, gainsaid. Yet, since he was not presently implied her to defend or his to justify, he him requested, as he was a night, to lend him day his better right to try, or stay till he his arms which were thereby might likely fetch. But he was fierce and what, nor time would give, nor any terms aby, but at him flew, and with his spear him smote, from which to think to save himself it brooded not. Meanwhile, while his lady, which this outrage saw, while a stay together for the quarries drove, into the covet did herself withdraw, and closely hid herself within the grove. My night hers soon, it seems, to danger drove, and left sore wounded, but when her he missed, he walks half mad, and in that rage gone robe and range through all the wood, where so he whisked she hidden was, and sought her so long as him list. But when, as her he by no means could find, after long search and chove, he turned it back unto the place where me he left behind, there gan he me to curse and ban, for lack of that fair booty, and with bitter rag to wreak on me the guilt of his own wrong. Of all which I yet glad to bear the pack strove to appease him, and persuaded long, but still his passion grew more violent and strong. Then as it were to avenge his wrath on me, when fall we should fare, he flat refused to take me up, as this young man did see, upon his steed, for no just cause accused, but forced to trot on foot, and foul misused, punching me with the butt end of his spear, in vain complaining to be so abused, for he regarded neither plain to nor tear, but more enforced my pain, the more my plain's to hear. So pass it we, till this young man us met, and being moved with pity of my plight, spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret, whereof befell, what now is in your sight. Now sure, then said Sir Calidor, and right me seems that him befell by his own fault, who ever thinks through confidence of might, or through support of countenance proud and halt, to wrong the weaker, oft falls in his own assault. Then turning back unto that gentle boy, which had himself so stoutly well acquit, seeing his face so lovely stern and coy, and hearing the answers of his pregnant wit, he praised it much, and much admired it, that sure he weened him born of noble blood, with whom those graces did so goodly fit, and when he long had him beholding stood, he burst into these words, as to him seemed good. Fair gentle swaying, and yet as stout as fair, that in these woods amongst the nymphs does one, which daily meets to thy sweet-look's repair, as they all want unto the tonized son, after his chance on woody since thus done, well may I cert his such and one thee read, as by thy worth thou worthily has won, or surely born of some heroic seed, that in thy face appears and gracious goodly head. But should it not displease thee it to tell, unless thou in these woods thyself conceal for love among the woody gods to dwell, I would thyself require thee to reveal, for dear affection and unfainted zeal, which to thy noble personage I bear, and wish thee grow in worship and great will, for since the day that alms I first did rear I never saw in any greater hope appear. To whom then thus the noble youth? May be so night that by discovering my estate, harm may arise unwitting unto me. Naveless, sith ye so courteous seamed late, to you I will not fear it to relate. Then woody that I am a Britain-born, son of a king, however, though of fate or fortune I my country hath forlorn, and lost the crown, which should my head by right adorn. And Tristram is my name, the only heir of good King Miliogras, which did reign in Cornwall, till that he through life's despair untimely died, before I did attain ripe years of reason my right to maintain. After whose death his brother, seeing me an infant, weaker kingdom to sustain, upon him took the royal high degree and sent me, where him list, instructed for to be. The widow-queen my mother, which then hight, fair Emeline, conceiving then great fear of my frail safety, resting in the might of him that did the kingly sceptre bear, whose jealous dread, enduring not appear, is won't to cut off all that doubt may breed, though best away me to remove somewhere into some foreign land, where as no need of dreaded danger might his doubtful humor feed. So taking counsel of a wise man red, she was by him advised, to send me quite out of the country wherein I was bred, the which the fertile lionesses hight, into the land of Fairy, where no white should weep of me, nor work me any wrong. To whose wise read she hearkening, sent me straight into this land, where I have won this long, since I was ten years old, now grown to stature strong. All which my days I have not newly spent, nor spilt the blossom of my tender years in idleness, but as was convenient, have trained me with many noble fears, in gentle views, and such like seemly leers, amongst which my most delight hath always been, to hunt the salvage chase amongst my peers, of all that ranges in the forest green, of which none is to me unknown that ever was seen. Now is there hawk which mantles her on perch, whether hightowering, or a coasting low, but either measure of her flight do search, and all her prey, and all her diet know. Such be our joys which in these forests grow. Only the use of arms, which most I joy, and fiteth most for noble swain to know, I have not tasted yet, yet past a boy, and being now hightime these strong joints to employ. Therefore, good sir, since now occasion fit doth fall, whose like hereafter seldom may, let me this crave, unworthy, though of it, that ye will make me squire without delay, that from henceforth in battleous array I may bear arms, and learn to use them right, the rather since that fortune hath this day, given to me the spoil of this dead night, these goodly gilded arms, which I have won in fight. All which, when Sir Khalidor had heard, him much more now than erst he gan'd admire. For the rare hope which in his years appeared, and thus replied, Fair child, the high desire to love of arms, which anew doth aspire, I may not certis without blamed an eye, but rather wish that some more noble hire, though none more noble than his chivalry, I had you to reward with greater dignity. There him he caused to kneel, and made to swear faith to his night, and truth to ladies all, and never to be requriant for fear of peril, or of ought that might befall. So he him dubbed, and his squire did call, full glad and joyous, then young Tristan grew, like as a flower, whose silk and levers small, long shut up in the bud from heaven's view, at length breaks forth, and road displaying his smiling hue. Thus when they long had treated to and fro, and Calidor betook him to depart, child Tristan prayed, that he with him might go on his adventure, vowing not to start but wait on him in every place and part, where at Sir Calidor did much delight, and greatly joyed at his so noble heart, in hope he sure would prove a doubty night, yet for the time this answer he to him the height. Glad would I surely be, thou courteous squire, to have thy presence in my present quest, that moat thy kindled courage set on fire, and flame forth honour in thy noble breast. But I am bound by vow, which I profess to my dread sovereign, when I it assaid, that in achievement of her high behest, I should no creature join unto mine aid, for thy I may not grant, that ye so greatly played. But since this lady is all desolate, and needeth safeguard now upon her way, ye may do well in this her needful state to succour her, from danger of dismay, that thankful girdon may to you repay, the noble imp of such new service feign it gladly did accept, as he did say, so taking courteously they parted twain, and Calidor forth passed to his former pain. But Tristan then despoiling that dead night of all those goodly implements of praise, long fed his greedy eyes with the fair sight of the bright metal shining like the sun rays, handling and turning them a thousand ways, and after having them upon him night, he took that lady, and her up did raise upon the steed of her own late dead night, so with her march had forth, as she did him be height. There to their fortune leave we them a while, and turn we back to good Sir Calidor, who ere he thence had travelled many a mile, came to the place, whereas ye heard afore, this night whom Tristan slew had wounded saw another night in his despiteous pride. There he that night found lying on the floor, with many wounds full perilous and wide, that all his garments and the grass in vermal died. And there beside him sat upon the ground his woeful lady, picturesly complaining with loud laments that most unlucky sound, and heard sad self with careful hand constraining to wipe his wounds, and ease their bitter paining. Which sorry sight, when Calidor did view with heavy iron from tears underneath refraining, his mightly heart their mournful case can rue, and for their better comfort to them nigh a drew. Then speaking to the lady, thus he said, ye doleful dame, let not your grief impeach to tell what cruel hand hath thus arrayed this night unarmed, with so unnightly breach of arms, that if I yet him nigh may reach, I may avenge him of so foul despite. The lady, hearing his so courteous speech, ganwear her eyes as to the cheerful light, and from her sorry heart few heavy words forthsight, in which she shooed, how that discourteous night, whom Tristan slew, them in that shadow found, joying together in unblamed delight, and him unarmed, as now he lay on ground, charged with his spear, and mortally did wound without an cause, but only her to rieve from him, to whom she was for ever bound. Yet when she fled into that covert grieve, he her not finding, both them, thus nigh dead, did leave. When Calidor this rueful story had well understood, he ganne of her demand, what manner white he was, and how he clad, which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand. She then, like as she best could understand him thus described, to be of stature large, clad all in gilden arms, with azure band quartered a thought, and bearing in his targe a lady on rough waves, rode in a summer barge. Then ganne Sir Calidor to guess straight way, by many signs which he described it had, that this was he, from Tristan earth did slay, and to her said, Dame would be no longer sad, for he that hath your night so ill-bissed sad is now himself in much more wretched plight. These eyes him saw upon the cold earth's brad, the mead of his dessert for that despite, which to yourself he wrought, and to your lover'd night. Therefore, fair lady, lay aside this grief, which ye have gathered to your gentle heart, for that displeasure, and think what relief were best devised for this your lover's smart, and how you may him hence, and to what part convey to be recurred. She thanked him dear, both for that news he did to her in part, and for the courteous care which he did bear, both to her love, and to herself in that sad drear. Yet could she not devise by any wit, how thence she might convey him to some place, for him to trouble she had thought unfit, that was a stranger to her wretched case, and him to bear she thought it thing to base, which when as he perceived he thus bespake. Fair lady, let it not you seem disgrace to bear this burden on your dainty back, myself will bear a part, comportion of your pack. So off he did his shield, and downward laid upon the ground, like to an hollow bear, and pouring balm which he had long pervade into his wounds, him up thereon did rear, and twixt them both with parted pains did bear, twixt life and death, not knowing what was done. Thence they him carried to a castle near, in which a worthy, ancient knight did one, where what ensued shall in next canto be begun. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit Librivox.org. Recording by Morgan Scorpion The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer Book 4 The Legend of Calador, Canto III Calador brings Priscilla home, pursues the blatant beast, saves Serena while Calapine by Turpine is oppressed. True is, that while on the good poet said, the gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, for a man by nothing is so well berate as by his manners, in which plain is shown of what degree and what race he has grown. For seldom seen a trotting stallion get an ambling cult, that is his proper own. So seldom seen, that one in baseness set, doth noble courage shoo, with courteous manners met. But ever more contrary has been tried, that gentle blood will gentle man's breed. As well may be, in Calador described, by late in sample of that courteous deed, done to that wounded knight in his great need, whom on his back he bore, till he him wrought, and to the castle, where they had decreed thereof the knight, the witch that the castle ought, to make abode that night he greatly was besought. He was, to eat, a man of full ripe years, that in his youth had been of Mickelmite, and borne great sway in arms among his peers. But now weak age had dimmed his candle-light, yet was he courteous still to every white, and loved all that did to arms incline, and was the father of that wounded knight, whom Calador thus carried on his chine, and eldest was his name, and his son's Aladdin. Who when he saw his son so ill bedight with bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beer, by a fair lady, and a stranger knight, was inly-touched with compassion dear, and dear affection of so doleful drear, that he these words burst forth, ah, sorry boy, is this the hope that to my hoary hair thou brings? I me, is this the timely joy which I expected long, now turn to sad annoy? Such is the weakness of all mortal hope. So fickle is the state of earthly things, that ere they come unto their amoured scope, they fall too short of our frail reckonings, and bring us bale and bitter sourings, instead of comfort, which we should embrace. This is the state of Caesars and of Kings, that none therefore that is in meaner place too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case. So well and wisely did that good old knight temper his grief, and turned it to cheer, to cheer his guests, whom he had stayed that night, and make their welcome to them well appear, that too Sir Calador was easy gear, but that fair lady would be cheered for naught, but sight and sorrow for her lover dear, and inly did afflict her pensive thought, with thinking to what cause her name should now be brought. For she was daughter to a noble lord who dwelt thereby, who sought her to a fie to a great pier, but she did discord, nor could her liking to his love apply, but loved this fresh young knight, who dwelt her nigh. The lusty Alladin, though meaner-born, and of less livelihood and ability, yet full of thalla, though which did adorn his meanness much, and make her the other's riches scorn. So having both found fit occasion, they met together in that luckless glade, where that proud knight in his presumption, the gentle Alladin did erst invade, being unarmed and set in secret shade. Whereof she now be thinking, Gant advise, how great a hazard she at erst had made of her good fame, and further Gant advise, how she the blame might solve with coloured disguise. But Calador, with all good courtesy, feigned her to frolic, and to put away the pensive fit of her melancholy, and that old knight, by all means, did assay, to make them both as merry as he may. So there the evening passed, till time of rest, when Calador in seemly good array, and to his bow was brought, and there undressed, to sleep all night through weary travel of his quest. But fair Priscilla, so that lady-height, would to no bed, nor take no kindly sleep, but by her wounded love did watch all night, and all the night for bitter anguish weep, and with her tears his wounds did wash and steep, so well she washed them, and so well she watched him, that of the deadly swooned in which full deep he drenched was, she at the length dispatched him, and drove away the sound which mortally attached him. For more next, when day Gant to up-look, he also Gant up-look with dreary eye, like one that out of deadly dream awoke, where when he saw his fair Priscilla by, he deeply sighed and groaned inwardly, to think of this ill state in which she stood, to which she for his sake had weedingly now brought herself, and blamed her noble blood, for first, next after life, he tendered her good. Which she perceiving did with plenty's tears, his care more than her own compassionate, forgetful of her own to mind his fears, so both conspiring Gant to intimate each other's grief with zeal affectionate. And tricks them twain with equal care to cast, how to save whole her hazarded estate, for which the only help now left them last seemed to be Calador, all other helps were passed. Him they did deem, as sure to them he seemed, a courteous night, and full of faithful trust. Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed, whole to commit, and to his dealing just. Early, so soon as Titans beamed forthfast, through the thick clouds in which they steeped lay all night in darkness, dulled with iron rust, Calador rising up as fresh as day, gown freshly him a dress unto his former way. But first him seemed fit that wounded night to visit, after this night's perilous pass, and to salute him if he were in plight, and eke that lady his fair lovely lass, there he him found much better than he was, and moved speech to him of things of course. The anguish of his pain to over-pass, amongst which he namely did to him discourse of former days mishap, his sorrow's wicked source, of which occasion, Aldean taking hold, gone break to him the fortunes of his love, and all his disadvantages to unfold, that Calador it dearly deep did move. In the end his kindly courtesy to prove, he him by all the bands of love besought, and as it moat a faithful friend behove, to save conduct his love, and not for ought to leave, till to her father's house he had her brought. So Calador his faith there too did plight it to perform, so after little stay, that she herself had to the journey-dite, he pass'd forth with her in fair array, fearless, who ought did think, or ought did say, sith his own thought he knew most clear from white, so as they pass'd together on their way, he can devise this countercast of slight, to give fair colour to that lady's cause in sight. Straight to the carcass of that night he went, the cause of all this evil, who was slaying the day before by just a vengement of noble Tristram, where it did remain, there he the neck thereof did cut in twain, and took with him the head, the sign of shame, so forth he passed to that day's pain, till to that lady's father's house he came, most pensive man, through fear, what of his child he came. There he arriving boldly, did present the fearful lady to her father dear, most perfect, pure, and guiltless innocent of blame, as he did on his knighthood swear, since first he saw her, and did free from fear of a discourteous night, who her had weft, and by outrageous force awaited bare, witnessed thereof he showed his head there left, and wretched life forlorn forvengement of his theft. Most joyful man her sire was her to see, and hear the adventure of her late mischance, and thousand thanks to Calidor for fear of his large pains and her deliverance did yield, nor lest the lady did advance, thus having her restored trustily, as he had vowed, some small continuance he there did make, and then most carefully, and to his first exploit, he did himself apply. So as he was pursuing of his quest, he chanced to come, whereas a jolly night in covert shade himself did safely rest, to solace with his lady in delight. His warlike arms he had from him undight, for that himself he thought from danger free, and far from envious eyes that moat him spite, and eek the lady was full fair to see, and courteous with all, becoming her degree. To whom, so Calidor, approaching nigh, ere they were well aware of living white, them much abashed, but more himself thereby, that he so rudely did upon them light, and trouble had had their quiet love's delight. Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault, himself thereof he laboured to a quiet, and pardon-craved for his so rush assault, that he, against courtesy, so foully did default. With which his gentle words and goodly wit, he soon allayed that night's conceived displeasure, that he besought him down by him to sit, that they moat treat of things abroad at leisure, and of adventures, which had in his measure of so long ways to him befallen late. So down he sat, and with delightful pleasure, his long adventures gand to him relate, which he endured had through dangerous debate. Of which, whilst they discoursed both together, the fair Serena, so his lady-height, allured with mildness of the gentle weather, and pleasant of the place, the which was diet, with diverse flowers distinct with rare delight, wandered about the fields, as liking led, her wavering lust after her wandering sight, to make a garland to adorn her head, without suspect of ill, or dangers hidden dread. All suddenly, out of the forest near, the blatant beast, forth rushing unaware, caught her thus loosely wandering here and there, and in his wide great mouth away her bare, crying aloud to show her sadness fair unto the nights, and calling off for aid, who with the horror of her helpless care, hastily starting up like men dismayed, run after fast, to rescue the distress it made. The beast with their pursuit incited more, into the wood was bearing her apace, for to have spoiled her, when Calador, who was more light of foot than swift in chase, him overtook in middest of his race, and fiercely charging him with all his might, forced to forego his prey there in the place, and to but take himself to fearful flight, for he dost not abide with Calador to fight. Who, nevertheless, when he the lady saw there left on the ground, though in full evil plight, yet knowing that her night now near did draw, stayed not to sucker her in that of fright, but followed fast the monster in his flight. Through woods and hills he followed him so fast, that he knowed let them breathe nor gathers fright, but forced him gape and gasp with dread aghast, as if his lungs and lights were nigh a sound of rast. And now where this Sir Calapine, so height, came to the place where he his lady found in dolorous dismay and deadly plight, all in gore blood there tumbled on the ground, having both sides through-gripped with greasely wound, his weapons soon from him he threw away, and stooping down to her in dreary swooned, upreared her from the ground whereon she lay, and in his tender arms her forced up to stay. So well he did his busy pains apply, that the faint spright he did revoke again, to her frail mansion of mortality. Then up he took her, tricked his arm as twain, and, setting on his steed, her did sustain, with careful hands, soft-footing her beside, till to some place of rest they motor-tain, where she in safe assurance motor-bide, till she recured were of those her wounds as wide. Now when as Phoebus, with his fiery wane, unto his inn began to draw a pace, though wexing weary of that toilsome pain, and travelling on foot so long a space, not want on foot with heavy arms to trace, down in a dale for by a riverside he chance to spy a fair and stately place, to which he meant his weary steps to guide, in hope there for his love some succor to provide. But coming to the riverside he found that hardly passable on foot it was, therefore there still he stood as in astound, nor wist which way he through the Ford-Mote pass. Thus, while he was in this distressed case, devising what to do, he nigh aspired an armored night approaching to the place, with a fair lady linkered by his side, the which themselves prepared, though of the force to ride, whom Calipine saluting, as became, besought of courtesy in that his need, for safe conducting of his sickly dame, through that same perilous Ford with better heed, to take him up behind upon his steed. To whom that other did this taunt return, per dither peasant night, might rightly read me then to be full base and evil-born, if I would bear behind a burden of such scorn. But as though hast thy steed fall on with shame, so fare on foot till thou another gain, and let thy lady likewise do the same, or bear her on thy back with pleasing pain, and prove thy manhood on the billows vane. With which rude speech his lady much displeased did him reprove, yet could not him restrain, and would on her own pulfry have him eased for pity of his dame, whom she saw so diseased. So Calipine her thanked, yet in the wrath against her night, her gentleness refused, and carelessly into the river-goth, as in despite to be so foul abused of a rude churl, whom often he accused of foul discordancy, unfit for night, and strongly wading through the waves unused, with spear in the one hand stayed himself upright, with the other stayed his lady up with steady might. And all the while that same discourteous night stood on the further bank beholding him, at whose calamity, for more despite he laughed, and mocked to see him like to swim, but when as Calipine came to the brim, and saw his carriage pass that peril well, looking at that same carl with countenance grim, his heart with vengeance in related swell, and forth at last did break in speeches sharp and fell. Unnightly night the blemish of that name, and blot of all that arms upon them take, which is the badge of honour and of fame, lo, I defy thee, and hear challenge make, that thou for ever do those arms forsake, and be for ever held a requriant night, unless thou dare for thy dear lady's sake, and for thine own defence on foot alight, to justify thy fault against me in equal fight. The dastard that did hear himself defied, seemed not to weigh his threatful words at all, but laughed them out, as if his greater pride did scorn the challenge of so base a thrall, or had no courage, or else had no gore. So much the more was Calipine offended, that him to no revenge he forth could call, but both his challenge and himself condemned, nor cared as a coward to be so condemned. But he, not weighing what he said or did, turned his steed about another way, and with his lady to the castle-rid, where was he won, nor did the other stay, but afterwent directly as he may, for his sick charge some harbour there to seek, where he arriving with the fall of day, drew to the gate, and there with prayers meek and mild entreaty lodging did for her beseek. But the rude porter that no man has had, did shut the gate against him in his face, and entrance boggly unto him for bad. Nevertheless the night, now in so needy case, gun him entreat even with submission base, and humbly prayed to let them in that night. Who to him answered, that there was no place or lodging fit for any errant night, unless that with his lord he formally did fight. Full loathom I, quoth he, as now at earth, when day is spent and rest us needeth most, and that this lady, who's both sides of pierce with wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost. Nor would I gladly combat with mine host, that should to me such courtesy afford, unless that I were there unto enforce. But yet a read to me, how hight thy lord, that doth thus strongly ward the castle of the ford. His name, quoth he, if that thou list to learn, is hight Sir Turpine, one of Mikkelmite, and manhood rare, but terrible in stone in all assays to every errant night, because of one, that wrought him foul despite. Il seams, said he, if he so valiant be, that he should be so stern to stranger white, for seldom yet did living creatures see that courtesy and manhood ever disagree. But go thy ways to him, and fro me say, that here is at his gate an errant night, that house roam craves, yet would be loathed to say the proof of battle, now in doubtful night, or courtesy with rudeness to requite. Yet if he needs will fight, crave leave till morn, and tell with all the lamentable plight in which this lady languishes forlorn, that pity craves, as he a woman was aborn. The groom went straightway in, and to his lord declared the message which that night did move, who sitting with his lady then at board, not only did not his demand approve, but both himself reviled, and eek his love, albeit his lady, that landena hight, him of ungentle usage did reprove, and earnestly entreated that they might find favourite to be lodged there for that same night. Yet would he not persuade it be for aught, nor from his courage will a wit reclaim? Which answer, when the groom returning, bought to Calipine, his heart did inly flame, with rustful fury for so foul a shame, that he could not thereof avenge it be, but most for pity of his dearest dame, whom now in deadly danger he did see, yet had no means to comfort, nor for cure her glee. But all in vain, for why, no remedy he saw, the present mischief to redress. But the art must end perforce for to her by, which for that night's fortune would for him address, so down he took his lady in distress, and laid her underneath a bush to sleep, covered with cold, and wrapped in wretchedness, while he himself all night did not but weep, and wary watch about her for her safeguard keep. The morrow next, as soon as joyous day did show itself in sunny beams bedight, serena full of dollower's dismay, twist darkness dread, and hope of living light, upreared her head to see that cheerful sight. Then Calipine, however inly wroth, and greedy to avenge that vile despite, yet for the feeble lady's sake, full loath to make their longer stay, forth on his journey goth. He goth on foot all armoured by her side, of staying still herself upon her steed, being unable else alone to ride, so saw her sides, so much her wounds did bleed, till that at length in his extremest need, he chanced far off an armoured night to spy, pursuing him a pace with greedy speed, and well he wished to be some enemy, that meant to make advantage of his misery. Wherefore he stayed, till that he nearer drew, to weep what issue would thereof be tied, for when as he approached at nigh in view, by certain signs he plainly him described, to be the man that with such scornful pride had him abused and shamed yesterday. Therefore, misdoubting, lest he should misguide his former malice to some newer say, he cast to keep himself so safely as he may. By this the other came in place likewise, and couching close his spear and all his power, as bent to some malicious enterprise, he bade him stand, to abide the bitter star of his sore vengeance, or to make avar of the lewd words and deeds which he had done, with that run at him, as he would devar his life at once, who not could do but shun the peril of his pride, or else be overrun. Yet he him still pursued from place to place, with full intent him cruelly to kill, and like a wild goat round about did chase, flying the fury of his bloody will, but his best sucker and refuge was still behind his lady's back, who to him cried and called off with prayers loud and shrill, as ever he to lady was afide, to spare her night, and rest with reason pacified. But he the more thereby enraged was, and with more eager feloness him pursued, so that at length, after long weary chase, having by chance a close advantage viewed, he overwrought him, having long eschewed his violence in vain, and with his spear stroked through his shoulder, that the blood ensued in great abundance, as a well it were, that for that oven hill fresh gushing did appear. Yet seized he not for all that cruel wound, but chased him still for all his lady's cry, nor satisfied till on the fatal ground, he saw his life poured forth despiteously, the which was surty in great jeopardy, had not a wondrous chance his rescue wrought, and saved from his cruel villainy. Such chances oft exceed all human thought, that in another canto shall to end be brought. Recording by Morgan Scorpion Edmund Spencer, The Fairy Queen Book Six The Legend of Calador Canto Four Calipine by a salvage man from Turpine rescued is, and whilst an infant from a bear he saves, his love doth miss. Like as a ship with dreadful storm long tossed, having spent all her masts and her ground-hold, now far from harbour likely to be lost, at last some fisher bark doth near behold, that giveth comfort to her courage cold. Such was the state of this most courteous night, being oppressed by that fate of bold, that he remained in most perilous plight, and his sad lady left in bitter full of fright. Till that by fortune, passing all foresight, the salvage man, which in those woods did won, drawn with that lady's loud and piteous trite, toward the same incessantly did run, to understand what there was to be done. Thus he, this most discourteous craven found, as fiercely yet, as when he first begun, chasing the gentle calipine around, nor sparing him the more for all his grievous wound. The salvage man, that never till this hour did taste of pity, neither gentlest knew. Seeing his sharp assault, and cruel star, was much in moverd at his peril's view, that even his rude heart began to rule, and feel compassion of his evil plight, against his foe that did him so pursue, from whom he meant to free him, if he might, and him avenge of that so villainous despite. Yet arms or weapon had he none to fight, nor knew the use of warlike instruments, save such a sudden rage him lent to smite, but naked without needful vestiments, to clad his corpse with meat habiliments, he cared not for dint of sword nor spear, no more than for the stroke of straws or bents, for from his mother's womb which him did bear, he wasn't vulnerable made by magic leer. He stayed not to advise, which way were best, his photo sale, or how himself to guard, but with fierce fury and with force infest upon him ran, who being well prepared his first assault full wearily did ward, and with the push of his sharp-pointed spear, full on the breast him struck, so long and hard that forced him back recoiled, and real arrear, yet in his body made no wound nor blood appear. With that the wild man more enraged grew, like to a tiger that hath missed his prey, and with mad mood again upon him flew, regarding neither spear that moat him flay, nor his fierce steed that moat him much dismay. The salvage nation doth all dread despise, though on his shield he gripple hold did lay, and held the same so hard, that by no wise he could him force to loose, or leap his enterprise. Long did he rest and ring it to and fro, and every way did try but all in vain, for he would not his greedy grip forego, but hailed and pulled with all his might and maim, that from his steed him nigh he drew again, who having now no use of his long spear, so nigh at hand, nor force his shield to strain, both spear and shield, as things that needless were, he quite foresuck, and fled himself away for fear. But after him the wild man ran apace, and him pursued with importune speed, for he was swift as any buck in chase, and had he not in his extremest need, been helped through the swiftness of his steed, he had him overtaken in his flight. Whoever, as he saw him nigh succeed, Ghan cry aloud with horrible afight, and shrieked out, a thing uncommonly fore a night. But when the salvage saw his labour vain in following of him, that fled so fast, he weary walks, and back returned again, with speed unto the place, whereas he last had left that couple, near their utmost cast. There he that night full sorely bleeding found, and eek the lady fearfully aghast, but for the peril of the present stoned, and also for the sharpness of her wrangling wound. For though she were right glad, so rid to be from that vile lozzle, whom her late offended, yet now no less incoherence she did see, and peril by this salvage man pretended, against whom she saw no means to be defended, by reason that her night was wounded sore. Therefore herself she wholly recommended to God's sole grace, whom she did often plough to send her succour, being of all hope for law. But the wild man, contrary to her fear, came to her creeping like a thawning hound, and by rude tokens made to her appear his deep compassion of her doleful stout, kissing his hands and crouching to the ground, for other language had he none nor speech, but a soft murmur and confused sound of senseless words, which nature did him teach to express his passions, which his reason did impeach. And coming likewise to the wounded night, when he beheld the streams of purple blood yet flowing fresh, as movered with the sight, he made great moan after his salvage mood, and running straight into the thickest wood a certain herb from thence unto him wrought, whose virtue he by use well understood. The dew swore off into his wound he wrought, and stopped the bleeding straight, ere he at staunch had thought. Then taking up that requiem's shield and spear, which erst he left, he signs unto them maid, which him to wend unto his warning near, to which he easily did them persuade, far in the forest by a hollow glade, covered with mossy shrubs, which spreading broad did underneath them make a gloomy shade, where foot of living creature never trod, nor scarce wild beasts does come, there was this white subode. There ere he bought these unacquainted guests, to whom fair semblance as he could he showed, by signs, by looks, and all his other guests. But the bare ground with hoary moss bestrode must be their bed, their pillow was unsold, and the fruits of the forest was their feast, for their bad steward neither flowed nor sowed, nor fed on flesh, nor ever of wild beasts did taste the blood, obeying nature's first behest. Yet howsoever base and mean it were, they took it well, and thankered God for all, which had them freed from that deadly fear, and saved from being to that cative thrall. Here they of force, as fortune now did fall, compelled were themselves a while to rest. Glad of that easement, though it were but small, that having there their wounds a while redressed, they moat the abler, be to pass unto the rest. During which time, that wild man did apply his best endeavour, and his daily pain, in seeking all the woods, both far and nigh, for herbs to dress their wounds, still seeming fame, when ought he did, that did their liking gain. So as ere long he had that night's wound recured well, and made him whole again. But that same lady's hurt no herb he found which could redress, for it was inwardly unsound. Now when his calipine was wax and strong, upon a day he cast abroad to Wend, to take the air, and hear the thrush's song, unarmed, as fearing neither foe nor friend, and without sort his person to defend. There him befell, unlookered for before, and hard adventure with unhappy end, a cruel bear, the which an infant bore, betwixt his bloody jaws, besprinkled all with gore. The little babe did loudly scrike and scrawl, and all the woods with Pitch's planes did fill, as if his cry did mean for help to call, to calipine, whose ears those shriekers shrill, piercing his heart with Pitch's point did thrill. That after him he ran with zealous haste to rescue the infant, ere he did him kill, whom though he saw, now somewhat overpast, yet by the cry he followed, and pursued fast. Well then him chanced his heavy arms to Wend, whose burden moat and Pitch his needful speed, and hindered him from liberty to pant, for having long time, as his daily weed, than Wend to wear, and Wend on foot for need. Now wanting them he felt himself so light, that like an hawk which feeling herself freed from bells and jesses, which did let her flight, him seemed his feet did fly, and in their speed delight. So well he sped him, that the weary bear, ere long he overtook and forced to stay, and without weapon him assailing near, compelled him soon the spoiler down to lay, wherewith the beast enraged to loose his prey upon him turned, and with greedy force and fury, to recross in his way, gaping full wide, to think without remorse to be avenged on him, and to devour his course. But the bold knight no writ thereat dismayed, but catching up in hand a ragged stone, which lay thereby, so fortune did him aid, upon him ran, and thrust it all at one, into his gaping throat, that made him groan, and gasped for breath, that he nigh chokered was, being unable to digest that bone, nor could it upward come nor downward pass, nor could he brook the coldness of the stony mass. Whom when as thus he combered did behold, striving in vain that nigh his bowls brust, he with him closed, and laying mighty hold upon his throat, did gripe his gorge so fast, that wanting breath, him down to ground he cast, and then oppressing him with urgent pain, ere long and forced to breathe his utmost blast, gnashing his cruel teeth at him in vain, and threatening his sharp claws, now wanting power to strain. Then took he up betwixt his armour's train, the little babe, sweet relics of his prey, whom pitying to hear so sore complain, from his soft eyes the tears he wiped away, and from his face the filth that did it ray, and every little limb he searched around, and every part, under Sweatban's lay, nest that the beast's sharp teeth had any wound made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found. So having all his bands again uptied, he with him sought back to return again, but when he looked about on every side to wheat which way were best to entertain to bring him to the place where he would feign, he could no path nor tract of foot describe, nor by inquiry learn, nor guess by aim, for naught but woods and forests far and nigh that all about did close the compass of his eye. Much was he then encumbered, nor could tell which way to take. Now west he went awhile, then north, then neither but as fortune fell. So up and down he wandered many a mile with weary travel and uncertain toil, yet nought the nearer to his journey's end, and evermore his lovely little spoil crying for food did greatly him offend, so all that day in wandering vainly he did spend. At last about the setting of the sun, himself out of the forest he did wind, and by good fortune the plain champion won. We're looking all about where he might find some place of succor to content his mind. At length he heard under the forest side a voice that seemed of some woman kind, which to herself lamenting loudly cried, and oft complained of fate, and fortune oft defied. To whom are approaching, when as she perceived a stranger white in place, her plain she stayed, as if she doubted to have been deceived, or loathed to let her sorrows be berayed, whom when as Calapine saw so dismayed he to her drew, and with fair blandishment her cheering up, thus gently to her said, What be you woeful dame which thus lament, and for what cause declare, so moat ye not repent? To whom she's thus what need me, sir, to tell, that which yourself have urged a red so right, a woeful dame you have me termed well, so much more woeful as my woeful plight cannot redress it be by living white. Nevertheless, quote he, if need do not you bind, do it disclose to ease your grievous fright, of times it haves that sorrows of the mind find remedy unsought, which seeking cannot find. Then thus began the lamentable dame, since then ye needs will know the grief I horde, I am the unfortunate Matilda by name, the wife of Bolster Bruin, who is lord of all this land, late conquered by his sword from a great giant, called Cormorant, whom he did overthrow by Yonder Ford, and in three battles did so deadly daunt, that he dare not return for all his daily want. So is my lord now seized of all the land, as in his fee with peaceable estate, and quietly doth hold it in his hand, nor any dares with him for it debate. But to these happy fortunes cruel fate has joined one evil, which doth overthrow all these our joys, and all our bliss abate, and like in time to further ill to grow, and all this land with endless lost overflow. For the heavens envying our prosperity, have not much safe to grant unto us twain the gladful blessing of posterity, which we might see after ourselves remain in the heritage of our unhappy pain, so that for want of heirs it to defend, all is in time like to return again to that falfiend, who daily doth attend to leap into the same after our life as end. But most my lord has grievered here with all, and makes exceeding moan when he doth think that all this land unto his focial fall, for which he long in vain did sweat and swing, that now the same he greatly doth forethink. Yet was it said, there should to him a sun be gotten, not begotten, which should drink and dry up all the water, which doth run in the next brook, by whom that fiend should be foredone? Well hoped he then, when this was prophesied, that from his side some noble child should rise, for which through fame should far be magnified, and this proud giant should with brave and prize quite overthrow, who now guine as to despise the good Sir Bruin, growing far in years, who thinks from me his sorrow all doth rise, lo this my cause of grief to you appears, for which I thus do moan, and pour forth ceaseless tears. Which when he heard, he inly touched was, with tender-ruth for her unworthy grief, and when he had devised it of her case, he began in mind conceived a fit relief for all her pain, if please her make the brief, and having cheered her thus said, fair dame, in evil's counsel is the comfort chief, which though I be not wise enough to frame, yet as I well it mean, but save it without blame. If that the cause of this your languishment be lack of children to supply your place, lo how good fortune doth to you present this little babe of sweet and lovely face and spotless spirit, in which he may in chase whatever forms you list there to reply, being now soft and fit them to embrace, whether ye list him train and chivalry, or nursel up in law of learned philosophy, and certis it hath oft times been seen, that of the like whose lineage was unknown, more brave and noble knights have razored been, as their victorious deeds have often shown, being with fame through many nations blown, than those which have been dandled in the lap. Therefore some thought that those brave imps were sown here by the gods, and fed with heavenly sap, that made them grow so high to all honourable hap. The lady, harkening to his sensible speech, found nothing that he said, unmeet nor geeson, having oft seen it tried as he did teach. Therefore, inclining to his goodly reason, agreeing well both with the place and season, she gladly did of that same babe accept, as of her own by livery and season, and having over it a little wept, she brought thence and ever as her own it kept. Right glad was Calliphan to be so wid of his young charge, whereof he skillet naught, nor she less glad, for she so wisely did, and with her husband under hand so wrought, that when that infant unto him she brought, she made him think it surely was his own, and it in goodly use so well upbrought that it became a famous night well known, and did right noble deeds, the which else where were shown. But Calliphan, now being left alone under the greenwood site in sorry plight, without an arms or steed to ride upon, or house to hide his head from heaven's spite, I'll be that dame by all the means she might, him oft desired home with her to wend, and offered him his courtesy to requite, both horse and arms, and what so else to lend. Yet he them all refused, though thanked her as a friend. And for exceeding grief which inly grew, that he his love so luckless now had lost, on the cold ground Morgore himself he threw, for fell despite, to be so sorely crossed, and there all night himself in anguish tossed, vowing, that never he in bed again his limbs would rest, nor lie in ease embossed, till that his lady's sight he motortain, or understand, that she in safety did remain. End of Canto 4, Book 6, The Legend of Calador Book 6, Canto 5, The Legend of Calador This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Morgan Scorpion The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer Book 6, The Legend of Calador Canto 5 The salvage serves Matilda well, till she Prince Arthur find, who her together with his squire, with the hermit leaves behind. A what an easy thing is to describe the gentle blood, however it be wrapped in sadness fortunes, foul deformity, and wretched sorrows, which have often happed. For how so ever it may grow misshaped, like this wild man being undisciplined, that to all virtue it may seem unapped, yet will it show some sparks of gentle mind, and at the last break forth in his own proper kind. That plainly may in this wild man be read, who though he were still in this desert wood, amongst salvage beasts, both rudely born and bred, nor ever saw fair guise, nor learned good, yet showed some token of his gentle blood by gentle usage of that wretched dame. For certain he was born of noble blood, however by hard hap he ever came, as she may know when time shall be to tell the same. Who when as now long time he lackered had the good so calipine, that far was strayed, did work succeeding sorrowful and sad, as he of some misfortune were afraid, and leaving there this lady all dismayed, when forth straightway into the forest wild, to seek if he perchance asleep were laid, or what so else were unto him betide. He sought him far and near, yet him know where he spied. Though back returning to that sorry dame, he showed semblance of exceeding moan, by speaking signs as he them best could frame. Now ringing both his wretched hands in one, now beating his hard head upon a stone, that wuth it was to see him so lament. By which she well perceiving what was done, gantare her hair, and all her garments rent, and beat her breast, and pigeonsly herself torment. Upon the ground herself she fiercely threw, regardless of her wounds, yet bleeding rife, that with their blood did all the floor imbrew, as if her breasts new-launched with murderous knife would straight dislodge the wretched weary life. There she long groveling, and deep groaning lay, as if her vital powers were at strife with stronger death, and feared their decay, such were this lady's pangs and dolerous assay. And when the salvage saw so sore distressed, he reared her up from the bloody ground, and sought by all the means that he could best her to recure her out of that stony swooned, and staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound, yet would she be reconfited for naught, nor sees her sorrow and impatience down. But day and night did vex her careful thought, and ever more and more her own affliction wrought. At length, when as no hope of his return she saw now left, she cast to leave the place, and went abroad, though feeble and forlorn, to seek some comfort in that sorry case, his steed now strong through rests along a space, while as she could she got, and did bedite, and being there on mounted forth did pace without and guide her to conduct a rite, or guard her to defend from bold oppressor's might. Whom when her host saw ready to depart, he would not suffer her alone to fare, but Ghan himself addressed to take her part. Those warlike arms which Caliphein Wallyer had left behind, he Ghan aftersoons prepared, and put them all about himself unfit. His shield, his helmet, and his curets bare, but without sword upon his thigh to sit, so Caliphein himself away had hidden it. So forth they travelled, an uneven pair, that moat to all men seemed an uncouth sight. A salvage man matched with a ladyfare, that rather seemed the conquest of his might, gotten by spoil, than purchased a rite, that he did her attend most carefully, and faithfully did serve both day and night, without an thought of shame or villainy, nor ever showed sign of foul disloyalty. Upon a day, as on their way they went, enchanced some furniture about her steed to be disordered by some accident, which to address she did the assistance need of this her groom, which he by signs did read, and straight his converse arms aside did lay upon the ground, without an doubt or dread, and in his homely wise began to assay, to amend what was amiss, and put in right array. About which whilst he was busied thus hard, though where a night together with his squire, all arms to point came riding thitherward, which seemed by their portents and attire to be two errant nights, that did inquire after adventures, where they moat them get. Those were to wheat, if that ye it require, since Arthur and young Timious, which met by strange occasion, that here needs forth be set. After that Timious had again recured the favour of Belfibe, as ye heard, and of her grace did stand again assured, to happy bliss he was full high upreared, neither of envy nor of change appeared, though many foes did him align therefore, and with unjust detraction him did beard, yet he himself so well and wisely bore, that in her sovereign liking he dwelt evermore. But of them all which did his ruin seek, three mighty enemies did him most despite, three mighty ones, and cruel-minded eek, that him not only sought by open might to overthrow, but to supplant by slight. The first of them by name was called Despeto, exceeding all the rest in power and height. The second not so strong but wise, Despeto. The third, nor strong nor wise, but spitefulest, Despeto. Of times their sundry powers they did employ, and several deceits, but all in vain, for neither they by force could him destroy, nor yet entrap in trees and subtle train. Therefore, conspiring altogether plain, they did their councils now in one compound where singled forces fail, conjoined may gain. The blatant beast the fittest means they found, to work his utter shame, and solely him confound. Upon a day as they the time did wait, when he did range the wood for salvage game, they sent that blatant beast to be a bait, to draw him from his dear beloved dame, unawares into the danger of defame. For well they wist that squire to be so bold, that no one beast in forest wild or tame met him in chaste, but he it challenge would, and pluck the prey of times out of their greedy hold. The hardy boy, as they devised had, seeing the ugly monster passing by, upon him set of peril, nor to drad, nor skillful of the uncouth jeopardy, and charged him so fierce and furiously, that his great force, unable to endure, he forced was to turn from him and fly. Yet, ere he fled, with his tooth impure, him heedless bit, the whilst he was thereof secure. Securely he did after him pursue, thinking by speed to overtake his flight, who through thick woods and rakes and breers him drew, to weary him the more, and waste his spite, so that he now has almost spent his spite. Till that at length, unto a woody glade, he came, whose covert stopped his further sight. There his three foes shrouded in gullful shade, out of their ambush broke, and gan him to invade. Sharply, they all at once, did him assail, burning with inward rancour and despite, and heapered strokes did round about him hail, with so huge force, that seemered nothing might bear off their blows, from piercing through quite. Yet he them all so warily did ward, that none of them in his soft flesh did bite, and all the while his back for best safeguard he lent against a tree, that backward on set barred. Like a wild bull, that being at a bay, is baited of a mastiff, and a hound, and a cur-dog, that do him sharper say on every side, and beat about him round. But most that cur barking with bitter sound, and creeping still behind, doth him encumber, that in his chop he digs the trampled ground, and threats his horns, and bellows like the thunder. So did that squire his foes disperse, and drive a thunder. Him so well behoved so, for his three foes sought to encompass him on every side, and dangerously did round about him close. But most of all defetto him annoyed, creeping behind him still to have destroyed. So did defetto eek him circumvent. But stout despetto, in his greater pride, did front him face to face against him bent, yet he them all withstood, and often made relent. Till that at length, nigh tired with former chase, and weary now with careful keeping ward, he gant to shrink, and somewhat to give place. Full like ear long to have escaped hard, when as unaware see in the forest heard a trampling steed, that with his naying fast did warn his rider to be upon his guard, with noisere of the squire, now nigh aghast, revived was, and sad despair awaited cast. Aftersoons he spied a night approaching nigh, who seeing one in so great danger set amongst many foes, himself did faster hide to rescue him, and his weak part abet. For pity so to see him overset, whom soon as his three enemies did view, they fled, and fast into the wood did get. Him booted not to think them to pursue, the covert was so thick that did no passage shoe. Then turning to that swaying, him well he knew to be his timious, his own true squire, whereof exceeding glad he to him drew, and him embracing, tricks his arms entire, him thus bespake, my life's desire. Why have you me alone this long a left? Tell me what world's despite, or heaven's ire, has you thus long away from me bereft? Where have you all this while been wandering? Where been weft? With that he sighed deep for inward time, to whom the squire not answered aghann, but shedding few soft tears from tender eye, his dear effect with silence did restrain, and shot up all his plaint in privy pain. There they awhile some gracious speeches spent, as to them seemed fit time to entertain, after all which up to their steeds they went, and forth together rode a comely couplement. So now they be arrived both in sight of this wild man, whom they full busy found about the sad Serena things to dite, with whose brave armours lying on the ground, that seemed the spoil of some right well renowned, which when that squire beheld, he to them stepped, thinking to take them from that holding hound, but he it seeing, lightly to him leapt, and sternly with strong hand it from his handling kept. Nashing his grinded teeth with greasely look, and sparkling fire out of his furious eye, him with his fist unawares on the head he struck, that made him down unto the earth incline, when soon up starting much he gan'd repine, and laying hand upon his wrathful blade, thought there with all forthwith him to have slain, who it perceiving, hand upon him laid, and greedily him griping his revengement staid. With that allowed the fair Serena cried unto the night, them to dispart in twain, who to them stepping did them soon divide, and did from further violence restrain, albeit the wild man hardly would refrain. Then gan'd the prince, of her for to demand, rotten from whence she was, and by what train she fell into that salvage Billon's hand, and whether free with him she now were, or in band. To whom she thus I am, as now you see, the regidest dame that lived this day on ground, who both in mind, the which most grieve with me, and body have perceived a mortal wound, that hath me driven to this dreary stoned. I was, erewhile, the love of Callipine, who whether he alive be to be found, or by some deadly chance be done to pine, since I him lately lost, uneath is to define. In salvage forest I him lost of late, where I had surely long ere this been dead, or else remain'd in most wretched state, had not this wild man in that woeful stead kept, and delivered me from deadly dread. In such a salvage white of brutish kind, among wild beasts in desert forest's bread, it is most strange and wonderful to find, so mild humanity, the perfect gentle mind. Yet me therefore this favour for him find, that ye will not your wrath upon him weak, since he cannot express his simple mind, nor yours conceive, nor but by token speak, small praise to prove your power on white so weak. With such fair words she did their heat assuage, and the strong course of their displeasure break, that they to pity turned their former age, and each sought to supply the office of her page. So having all things well about her diet, she on her way cast forward to proceed, and they her forth conducted, where they might find harbour fit to comfort her great need, for now her wounds corruption gant to breed, and each this squire, who likewise wounded was of that same monster late for lack of heed, now gant to faint, and further could not pass through feebleness, which all his limbs oppressor'd has. So forth they rode together, all in troop, to seek some place, the which moat yield some ease to these sick twain, that now began to droop, and all the way the prince sought to appease the bitter anguish of their sharp disease, by all the courteous means he could invent, some while with merry purpose fit to please, and other while with good encouragement, to make them to endure the pains did them torment. Amongst which Serena did to him relate the foul discurtices and unlikely parts which Turpine had unto her showered late, without compassion of her cruel smarts, although Blandina did with all her arts in otherwise persuade all that she might, yet he of malice, without her deserts not only her excluded late at night, but also treacherously did wound her weary night, wherewith the prince saw moved, there avowed, that soon as he returned back again he would avenge the abuses of that proud and shameful night, of whom she did complain. This wise did they each other entertain to pass the tedious travel of the way, till towards night they came unto a plain by which a little hermitage there lay, far from all neighbourhood, the which a nigh it may, and nigh there too a little chapel stood, which being all with ivy overspread, decked all the roof and shadowing the root, seemed like a grove fair branched overhead. Therein the hermit, which his life here led, in straight observance of religious vow, was once his hours and holy things to bed, and therein he likewise was praying now, when as these nights arrived they wished not where nor how. They stayed not there, but straightway in did pass, whom when the hermit present saw him in place, from his devotion straight he troubled was, which breaking of he did towards them pace, with steered steps, and grave-besieming grace, for while it seemed that while he had been some goodly person, and of gentle race, that could his good to all, and well did wean how each to entertain was curtsy well-besseen. And soothly it was said by common fame, so long as age enabled him there too, that he had been a man of nickel name, renowned much in arms and daring do. But being aged now, and weary too of war's delight, and world's contentious toil, the name of knighthood he did disavow, and hanging up his arms and warlike spoil, from all this world's incumbrance did himself a soil. He thence them led into his hermitage, letting their steeds to graze upon the green. Small was his house, and like a little cage, for his own turn, yet inly neat and clean, decked with green boughs, and flowers gay-besseen. Therein he them for fair did entertain. Not with such forgid shows, as fit have been for courting fools, that curtsies would feign, but with entire affection and appearance plain. Yet was there fair, but homely, such as he did use, his feeble body to sustain, the which full gladly they did take in glee, such as it was, nor did of want complain, but being well-surprised, them rested feign. But fair Serene all night could take no rest, nor yet that gentle squire for grievous pain of their late wounds, the which the blatant beast had given them, whose grief through sufferance saw increased. So all that night they passed in great disease, till that the morning, bringing early light to guide men's labours, brought them also ease, and some assuagement of their painful plight. Then up they rose, and ganned themselves to diet unto their journey, but that squire and dame so faint and feeble were, that they no might endure to travel, nor one foot to frame, their hearts were sick, their sides were sore, their feet were lame. Therefore the prince, whom great affairs in mind would not permit to make them longer stay, was forced there to leave them both behind in that good hermit's charge, whom he did pray to tend them well. So forth he went his way, and with him eek the salvage, that while ear seeing his royal usage and array, was greatly grown in love of that brave peer, would needs depart, as shall be declared elsewhere. End of Canter of Five, Book Six, The Legend of Calidor