 Book 4. Canto 5. The Legend of Campbell and Telemond. The Ladies for the Girdle Strive of Famous Floramel. Scudamore, coming to Carey's house, doth sleep from him expel. It hath been through all ages ever seen, that with the praise of arms and chivalry the prize of beauty still hath joined it been, and that for reasons special privity, for either doth on other side much rely, for he me seems most fit the fair to serve, that can her best defend from villainy, and she most fit his service doth deserve, that fairest is, and from her faith will never swerve. So fitly now here cometh next in place, after the proof of prowess ended well, the contraverse of beauty sovereign grace, in which to her that doth the most excel shall fall the girdle of fair Floramel, that many wish to win for glory vain, and not for virtuous use which some do tell, that glorious belt did in itself contain, which ladies ought to love and seek for to obtain. That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love, and wifehood true to all that did it bear, but whosoever contrary doth prove might not the same about her middle wear, but it would loose, or else asunder tear, will own it was, as fairies won't report. Dame Venus girdle by her steemit deer, what time she used to live in wively sort, but laid aside when, so she used her looser sport. Her husband Vulcan, why alone for her sake, when first he lov'd her with heart entire, this precious ornament they say did make, and wrought in Lemno with unquench'd fire, and afterwards did for her love's first hire, give it to her for ever to remain, therewith to bind lascivious desire, and loose affections straightly to restrain, which virtue it for ever after did retain. The same one day when she herself disposed to visit her beloved Paramore, the God of war, she from her middle loosed, and left behind her in her secret bower, on Asidalean Mount, where many an hour she with the pleasant graces want to play, there Floramel in her first age's flower was fostered by those graces, as they say, and brought with her from thince that goodly belt away. That goodly belt was Sestu's height by name, and as her life by her esteemed deer, no wonder then if that to win the same so many ladies sought, as shall appear, for peerless she was thought that did it bear. And now by this their feast all being ended, the judges, which there too selected were, into the Martian field a down descended, to deem this doubtful case for which they all contended. But first was question made which of those nights that lately turnied had the wager won. There was it judged by those worthy wights that satyrane the first day best had done, for he last ended, having first begun. The second was to triumphant be height, for that he saved the victor from for done, for Campbell, victor, was in all men's sight, till by mishap he in his foeman's hand did light. The third day's prize unto that stronger night whom all men termed night of the hebeen spear, to Britomart was given by good right, for that with Poisson's stroke she down did bear, the salvage night, that victor was swileer, and all the rest which had the best for, and to the last unconquered did appear, for last is deem it best, to her, therefore, the fairest lady was a judged for paramour. But there had greatly grudged Arthegal, and much repined that both of victor's mead and eek of honor she did him for stall, yet moat he not withstand what was decreed, but inly thought of that despiteful deed fit time to wait a vinged for to be. This being ended thus, and all agreed, then next ensued the paragon to see of beauty's praise, and yield the fairest her due fee. Then first Cambello brought unto their view his fair Cambeena, cover it with a veil, which being once withdrawn most perfect hue and passing beauty did Eftsoons reveal, that Abel was to weak hearts away to steal. Next did did sur Triamond unto their sight, the face of his dear Canissi unheal, whose beauty's beam Eftsoons did shine so bright, that dazed the eyes of all, as with exceeding light. And after her did Peridell produce his false duessa, that she might be seen, who with her forged beauty did seduce the hearts of sun, that fairest her did wean. As diverse wits affected diverse beam, then did sur Feremond unto them shoe his lucida, that was full fair and sheen, and after these and hundred ladies know, appeared in place, the which each other did outgo. All which who so dare think, for to enchase him, needeth sure a golden pin, I wean, to tell the feature of each goodly face, for since the day that they created beam, so many heavenly faces were not seen, assembled in one place, nay he that thought for Keonfolk to portrait beauty's queen, by view of all the fairest to him brought, so many fair did see, as here he might have sought. At last, the most redoubted Britoness, her lovely Amoret did open shoe, whose face discovered, plainly, did express the heavenly portrait of bright angels' hue. Well weaned it all, which her that time did view, that she should surely bear the bell away, till Blandemore, who thought he had the true, and very florimel, did her display, the sight of whom once seen, did all the rest dismay. For all a four that seem it fair and bright now base, and contemptible did appear, compared to her that shone as Phoebe's light, amongst the lesser stars in evening clear, all that her saw with wonder ravished were, and weaned no mortal creature she should be, but some celestial shape that flesh did bear, yet all were glad there florimel to see, yet thought that florimel was not so fair as she. As guileful gold smith that by secret skill, with golden foil doth finally overspread, some baser metal, which come in he will unto the vulgar for good gold instead, he much more goodly glossed there on doth shed, to hide his falsehood, than if it were true. So hard this idol was to be a red that florimel herself in all men's view she seemed to pass, so forged things do fairest shoe. Then was that golden belt by doom of all granted to her as to the fairest dame, which being brought about her middle small they thought to gird, as best it her became. But by no means they could it there to frame, for ever as they fascinated it, it loosed and fell away as feeling secret blame. Full oft about her was she it enclosed, and it is oft was from about her waist disclosed. That all men wondered at the uncouth sight, and each one thought as to their fancies came. But she herself did think it done for spite, and touch it was with secret wrath and shame therewith, as thing devised her to defame. Then many other ladies likewise tried, about their tenderloins to knit the same. But it would not on none of them abide, but when they thought it fast, after soons it was untied. Which when that scornful squire of dames did view, he loudly again to laugh and thus to jest, alas for pity that so fair a crew is like, cannot be seen from east to west, cannot find one this girdle to invest, file the man that did it first, invent, to shame us all with this, ungirt unblessed, let never lady to his love assent that hath this day so many so unmanly shent. There at all nights gan laugh and ladies lower, till that it last the gentle amoret likewise assayed, to prove that girdle's power, and having it about her middle set, did find it fit, without an breach or let, where at the rest gan greatly to envy. But Floramel exceedingly did fret, and snatching from her hand half angrily the belt again about her body, gan it tie. Yet nay the more would it her body fit, yet nay the less to her, as heard you right, it yielded was by them that judge it it, and she herself a judge it to the night, that bore the hebeen spear as one in fight. But Britomart would not there to assent, nay her own amoret forego so light for that strange dame, whose beauties wonderment she less esteemed, than the other's virtuous government, whom when the rest did see her to refuse, they were full glad in hope themselves to get her. Yet at her choice they all did greatly muse. But after that the judges did arret her unto the second best, that loved her better. That was the salvage night, but he was gone, in great displeasure, that he could not get her. Then was she judge it triumond his one. But triumond loved Canasy and other none. Though unto Saturn she was a judge it, who was right glad to gain so goodly mead, but Blandomore there at full greatly grudged, and little praised his labour's evil speed, that for to win the saddle lost the steed. Nay less there at did Peridell complain, and thought to appeal from that which was decreed, to single combat with Sir Satterain. There to him Arte stirred, new discord to maintain. And Eek with these, full many other nights she, through her wicked working, did incense, her to demand, and challenge as their rights, deserve it for their perils recompense. Amongst the rest with boastful vain pretense, stepped Braggadocio forth, and as his thrall her claimed, by him in battle one long sense, where to herself he did to witness call, who, being asked, accordingly, confessed all. There at exceeding Roth was Satterain, and Roth with Satterain was Blandomore, and Roth with Blandomore was Erevan, and at them both Sir Peridell did Lauer, so altogether stirred up strifeful stour, and ready were new battle to Durain. Each one professed to be her paramour, and vowed with spear and shield it to maintain, ne judge's power, ne reason's rule moat them restrain. Which troublous stir, when Satterain avised, he gann to cast how to appease the same, and to accord them all this means devised, first in the midst to set that fairest dame, to whom each one his challenge should disclaim, and he himself his right would eke release, then look to whom she voluntary came. He should without disturbance her possess, sweet is the love that comes alone with willingness. They all agreed, and then that snowy maid was in the middest placed among them all, all on her gazing wished, and vowed, and prayed, and to the queen of beauty close did call, that she unto their portion might befall. Then when she long had looked upon each one, as though she wished to have pleased them all, at last, to Braggadocio, self alone, she came of her accord, in spite of all his phone. Which when they all beheld they chaffed, and raged, and wokes nymad for very hearts despite, that from revenge their wills they scarce asswaged. Some thought from him her to have reft by might. Some proffer made with him for her to fight. But he not cared for all that they could say. For he their words as wind esteemed light, yet not fit place, he thought it there to stay. But secretly from thence that night, her bore away. They which remained, so soon as they perceived that she was gone, departed thence with speed, and followed them, in mind, her to have reaved. From white unworthy of so noble mead, in which pursuit, how each one did succeed, shall else be told in order as it fell. But now, of Britomart, it here doth need, the hard adventures and strange haps to tell, since with the rest she went not after Florimel. For soon, as she them saw to discord set, her list no longer in that place abide. But taking with her lovely amorette, upon her first adventure forth did ride, to seek her loved, making blind love her guide. Unlucky maid, to seek her enemy, unlucky maid, to seek him far and wide, whom, when he was unto herself most nigh, she through his late disguisement, could him not describe. So much the more her grief, the more her toil, yet neither toil nor grief she once did spare, in seeking him that should her pain a soil, where too great comfort in her sad misfare was amorette, companion of her care. Who likewise sought her lover long miswent, the gentle scudamore, whose heart we layer, that strifeful hag with jealous discontent had filled, that he who fell revenge was fully bent. Bent to revenge on blameless Britomart, the crime which cursed Ati, kindled erst, that which like thorns did prick his jealous heart, and through his soul like poisoned arrow pierced, that by no reason it might be reversed, for art that glousy could, or do, or say, for either more that she the same rehearsed, the more it galled, and grieved him night and day, that not but dire revenge his anger moat defray. As they traveled, the drooping night covered with cloudy storm and bitter shower, that dreadful seed to ever a living white, upon them fell before her timely hour, that forced them to seek some covered bower, where they might hide their heads in quiet rest, and shroud their persons from that stormy stour. Not far away, not meet for any guest, they spied a little cottage, like some poor man's nest. Under a steep hill's side it place it was, there where the moulded earth had caved the bank, and fast beside a little brook did pass, of muddy water, that like puddles stank, by which few crooked salos grew in rank, where to approaching nigh they heard the sound of many iron hammers beating rank, and answering their weary turns around, that seemed some blacksmith dwelt in that desert ground. There entering in they found the good man's self, full busily unto his work he bent, who was to wheat a wretched wearish elf, with hollow eyes and raw bone cheeks for spent, as if he had in prison long been pent. Full black and grizzly did his face appear, besmeared with smoke, that nigh his eyesight blent, with rugged beard and hoary-shagged hair, the which he never want to comb, or comely shear. Rude was his garment, and two rags all rent, nay better had he, nay for better cared, with blistered hands amongst the cinder's brint, and fingers filthy with long nails unpaired. Right fit to rind the food on which he ferried. His name was care, a blacksmith by his trade, that neither day nor night from working spared, but to small purpose iron wedges made, those be unquiet thoughts that careful minds invade. In which his work he had six servants pressed, about the anvil standing evermore, with huge great hammers that did never rest, from heaping strokes which thereon sows it soar. All six strong grooms but one than other more, for by degrees they all were disagreed, so likewise did the hammers which they bore, like bells in greatness, orderly succeed, that he which was the last the first did far exceed. He, like a monstrous giant, seemed in sight, far-passing, brontings, are pirachmen great, the which in Vipari do day and night frame thunderbolts for joves a vengeful threat. So dreadfully he did the anvil beat, that seemed to dust he surely would it drive, so huge his hammer and so fierce his heat, that seemed a rock of diamond it could rive, and rind asunder quite if he there too list strife. Sir Skudamor, there, entering, much admired, the manner of their work and weary pain, and having long beheld at last inquired, the cause and end thereof, but all in vain, for they for naught would from their work refrain, now let his speeches come unto their ear, and eek the breathful bellows blew amane, like to the northern wind that none could hear, those pensiveness did move, and sighs the bellows were. Which when that warrior saw, he said no more, but in his armor laid him down to rest, to rest he laid him down upon the floor, while alone for venturous nights the bedding best, and thought his weary limbs to have redressed, and that old aged dame, his faithful squire, her feeble joints laid eek a down to rest, that needed much her weak age to desire, after so long a travel, which them both did attire. There lay Sir Skudamor long while expecting, when gentle sleep his heavy eyes would close, oft challenging sides, and oft new place electing, where better seemed he moat himself repose, and often wroth he since again up rose, and often wroth he laid him down again, but wheresoever he did himself dispose, he by no means could wish it ease obtain, so ever replace seemed painful in each changing vein. And evermore when he to sleep did think, the hammers sound his senses did molest, and evermore when he began to wink, the bellows' noise disturbed his quiet rest. Ne suffered sleep to settle in his breast, and all the night the dogs did bark and howl about the house, at scent of stranger guest, and now the crowing caulk, and now the owl, loud shriking him afflicted to the very soul. And if by fortune any little nap upon his heavy eyelids chanced to fall, after soon one of those villains him did rap upon his headpiece with his iron maul, that he was soon awaked therewithal, and lightly started up as one afraid, or as if one him suddenly did call, so often times he out of sleep abrade, and then lay musing long on that him ill-appaid. So long he mused, and so long he lay, that at last his weary sprite oppressed, with fleshly weakness which no creature may long time resist, gave place to kindly rest, that all his senses did full soon arrest, yet in his soundest sleep, his daily fear, his idle brain, again busily molest, and made him dream those two disloyal were, the things that day most minds at night do most appear. With that the wicked carol, the master smith, a pair of red-hard iron tongs did take, out of the burning cinders, and therewith under his side him nipped, that forced to wake. He felt his heart for very pain to quake, and started up a vinged for to be on him, the which his quiet slumber break. Yet looking round about him none could see, yet did the smart remain. Though he himself did flee, in such disquiet and heart-fretting pain, he all that night, that too long night did pass, and now the day out of the ocean main began to peep above this earthly mass, with pearly dew sprinkling the morning grass, then up he rose like heavy lump of lead, that in his face as in a looking glass, the signs of anguish one moat plainly read, and guessed the man to be dismayed with jealous dread, unto his lofty steed he clomenon, and forth upon his former voyage ferret, and with him eek that aged squire at one, who whatsoever peril was prepared, both equal pains and equal peril share it, the end whereof and dangerous event shall, for another canticle be spared, but here my weary team nigh overspent shall breathe itself a while, after so long a wint. End of Canto 5, Book 4, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond Book 4, Canto 6, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer, Book 4, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond Canto 6, Both Scudibor and Arthegol do fight with Britomart. He sees her face, doth fall in love, and soon from her depart. What equal torment to the grief of mind, and pining anguish hidden gentle heart, that inly feeds itself with thoughts unkind, and nourishes her own consuming smart. What a medicine can in a leeches art yield such a sore, that doth her grievance hide, and will to none her malady impart. Such was the wound that Scudibor did gride, for which Dan Phoebus self cannot a self provide. Who having left that restless house of care, the next day as he on his way did ride, full of melancholy and sad misfare, through misconceit. All unawares espide, an armoured night under a forest side, sitting in shade beside his grazing steed, who soon as them approaching he described, again towards them to prick with eager speed, that seemed he was full-bent to some mischievous deed. Which Scudibor, perceiving forth his shewed, to have re-encountered him in equal race. But soon as the other nigh approaching, view it, the arms he bore, his spear he again abase, and void his course, at which so sudden case he wondered much. But the other thus can say, Ah, gentle Scudibor, under your grace, I me submit, and you of pardon pray, that almost head against you trespass it this day. Where to thus, Scudibor, small harm it were for any night upon a ventrous night without displeasance, for to prove his spear, but read you, sir, sit ye my name, have height, what is your own, that I moat you requite? Sertes said he, he moat is now excused me from discovering you, my name aright, for time yet serves, that I the same refuse, but call ye me the salvage night, as others use. This then, sir salvage night, quote he, a read, or do you hear within this forest one, that seemth well to answer to your weed, or have ye it for some occasion done, that rather seems, sit no in arms ye shun? This other day, said he, a stranger night, shame and dishonour, hath unto me done, on whom I wait to wreak that foul despite, whenever he this way shall pass, by day or night. Shame be his mead, quote he, that meaneth shame, for what is he by whom ye shame it were? A stranger night, said he, unknown by name, but known by fame, and by an ebene spear, with which he all that met him down did bear. He in an open tourney lately held, for me the honour of that game did rear, and having me all weary arsed, down felled, the fairest lady reft, and ever since withheld. When Skudamor heard mention of that spear, he wist right well that it was Britomart, the which from him his fairest love did bear, though again he swell in every inner part, for fell despite, and gnaw his jealous heart, that at thus he sharply said, Now by my head yet is not this the first unnightly part, which that same night, whom by his lands I read, hath done to noble knights, that many makes him dread. For lately he, my love hath throw me reft, and he could defile it with foul villainy, the sacred pledge, which in his faith was left, in shame of knighthood and fidelity, the which ere long, full dear he shall abide. And if to that avenge by you decreed this hand may help, or succor ought supply, it shall not fail when so ye shall it need. So both to wreak their wrath on Britomart agreed. Whilst thus they commuted low far away, a knight, soft riding towards them they spied, attired in foreign arms in strong array, whom when they nigh approached, they plain described, to be the same for whom they did abide. Said then, Sir Skudamor, Sir salvage knight, let me this crave, sith first I was defied, that first I may that wrong to him requite. And if I have to fail, you shall recure my right, which, being yielded, he his threatful spear again futher. And against her fiercely ran, who soon as she him saw approaching near, with so foul rage herself she lightly again to dite, to welcome him well as she can. But entertained him in so rude a wise, that to the ground she smote both horse and man, whence neither greatly hasted to arise, but on their common harms together did devise. But Artigal, beholding his mischants, knew matter added to his form of fire, and effed of entering his steel-headed lance, against her road full of despiteous ire, that not but spoil and vengeance did require. But to himself his felonious intent returning, disappointed his desire, while's unawares his saddle he forewent, and found himself on ground in great amazement. Lightly he started up out of that stound, and snatching forth his direful, deadly blade, did leap to her as Dothan eager hound, thrust to unhind within some covered glade, whom without peril he cannot invade. With such fail-greediness he her assailed, that though she mounted were, yet he her made to give him ground, so much his force prevailed, and shun his mighty strokes, against which no arms availed. So as they coursed here and there, it chanced that in her wheeling round, behind her crest so sorely he her stroke, that since it glanced a down her back, that which it fairly blessed, from foul mischance, may did it ever rest till on her horses hind her parts it fell, where, biting deep so deadly it impressed, that quite it kind his back behind the cell, and to a light on foot her all gates did compel, like as the lightning brawned from riven sky, thrown out by angry jove in his vengeance, with dreadful force falls on some steeple high, which battering down it on the church doth glance, and tears it all with terrible mischance, yet she, no quit dismayed, her steed forsook, and casting from her that enchanted lance unto her sword and shield her soon betook, and there with all it him right furiously she struck. So furiously she struck in her first heat, whilst with long fight on foot he breathless was, that she him force it backward to retreat, and yield unto her weapon way to pass, whose raging rigor neither steel nor brass could stay, but to the tender flesh it went, and poured the purple blood forth on the grass, that all his mail arrived, and plates irrent shewed all his body bear unto the cruel dent, at length when as he saw her hasty heat abate, and panting breath begin to fail, he, through long sufferance growing now more great, rose in his strength in getting her fresh assail, keeping huge strokes as thick as shower of hail, and lashing dreadfully at every part, as if he thought her soul to disentrain. Ah, cruel hand, and thrice more cruel heart, that works such wreck on her to whom thou dearest art. What iron courage ever could endure to work such outrage, on so fair a creature, and in his madness think with hands impure to spoil so goodly workmanship of nature, the maker self resembling in her feature, surty some hellish fury, or some fiend this mischief framed, for their first loves defeature, to bathe their hands in blood of dearest friend, thereby to make their loves beginning, their lives end. Thus long they traced, and traversed, to and fro, sometimes pursuing, and sometimes pursued. Still, as advantage they aspired there too, but toward the end Sir Arthagal renewed his strength still more, but she still more, dear Crüed. At last his luckless hand he heaved on high, having his forces all in one, a Crüed, and therewith stroke at her so hideously, that seem it not but death, moat be her destiny. The wicked stroke upon her helmet chanced, and with the force, which in itself it bore, her ventail shard away, and henceforth glanced down in vain, nay harmed her any more. With that her angels' face, unseen afore, like to the ruddy mourn, appeared in sight, dew it with silver drops, through sweating sore, but somewhat redder than besieged aright, through toilsome heat and labour of her weary fight. And round about the same her yellow hair, having through stirring loosed their wanted band, like to a golden border did appear, frame it in Goldsmith's forge with cunning hand. Yet Goldsmith's cunning could not understand to frame such subtle wire, so shiny clear, for it did glister like the golden sand, the which Pactolus, with his water's sheer, throws forth upon the rivage round about him near. And as his hand he up again did rear, thinking to work on her his utmost rack, his powerless arm benumbed with secret fear, from his revengeful purpose shrunk aback, and Crüel's sword out of his finger's slack fell down to ground as if the steel had sense and felt some roof, or since his hand did lack, or both of them did think, obedience to do, to so divine a beauty's excellence. And he himself, long gazing thereupon, at last fell humbly down upon his knee, and of his wonder made religion, weaning some heavenly goddess he did see, or else unwitting what it else might be, and pardon her besought his error frail, that had done outrage in so high degree, whilst trembling horror did his sense assail, and made each member quake and manly heart to quail. Nay the less she full of wrath for that late stroke all that long while upheld her wrathful hand, with fel intent on him to be enroke. And looking stern still over him did stand, threatening to strike unless he would withstand, and bade him rise, or surely he should die. But die or live for naught he would upstand, but her a pardon prayed more earnestly, or wreak on him her will for so great injury. Which Winnes Skodemore, who now a braid beheld whereas he stood not far aside, he was therewith right wondrously dismayed, and drawing nigh when, as he plain described, that peerless patron of dame nature's pride, and heavenly image of perfection, he blessed himself as one sore terrified, and turning his fear to faint devotion did worship her as some celestial vision. But glousy, seeing all that chancid there, well weeding how their error to a soil, full glad of so good end, to them drew near, and her salued with seemly bellacoyle, joyous to see her safe after long toil. Then her besought, as she to her was dear to grant unto those warriors truce a while, which yielded they their beavers up did rear, and shooed themselves to her as such as indeed they were. When Britomart with sharp, visful eye beheld the lovely face of Artigal, tempered with sternness, and stout majesty she again effed soonce it to her mind to call, to be the same which in her father's hall, long since in that enchanted glass she saw. There with her wrathful courage gan a pall, and haughty spirits meekly to a doll, that her in hauntsid hand she down again soft withdraw, yet she had forced to have again upheld as feigning color which was turned to cold. But ever when his visage she beheld, her hand fell down, and would no longer hold the wrathful weapon against his countenance bold. But when in vain to fight she oft assayed she armed her tongue, and thought it him to scold. Nathaless her tongue not to her will obeyed, but brought forth speeches mild when she would have mis-said. But Skudamor now walks an inly glad that all his jealous fear he false had found, and how that hag his love-abuse had had with breach of faith and loyalty unsound, the which long time his grieve at heart did wound. He thus bespake, Sir Tis, Sir Artigal, I joy to see you lout so low on ground, and to now become to live a lady's thrall, that while own in your mind want to despise them all, soon as she heard the name of Artigal her heart did leap, and all her heart strings trembled, for a sudden joy and secret fear with all, and all her vital powers with motion nimble to succor it, themselves again there assembled, that by the swift recourse of flushing blood right plain appeared, though she it would disimble, and fainted still her former angry mood, thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood. When glousy, thus again wisely all up-knit, ye gentle knights, whom fortune hath brought, to be spectators of this uncouth fit, which secret fate hath in this lady wrought against the course of kind, nay mervel not. Nay, thenceforth fear the thing that hitherto hath troubled both your minds with idle thought, fearing least she your loves away should woo, fear it in vain, sith means ye see there once there too. And you, Sir Artigal, the salvage knight, henceforth may not disdain that woman's hand hath conquered you and you in second fight, for while own they have conquered sea and land and heaven itself that not may them withstand. Nay, henceforth be rebellious unto love that is the crown of knighthood, and the band of noble minds derive it from above, which being knit with virtue never will remove. And you, fair lady knight, my dearest dame, relint the rigor of your wrath for will, whose fire were better turned to other flame, and wiping out remembrance of all ill, grant him your grace, but so that he fulfill the penance which ye shall to him impart, for lover's heaven must pass by sorrow's hell, there at full inly-blushed Britomart, but Artigal, close smiling joyed, in secret heart. Yet adrift he not to make love so suddenly, nay, think the affection of her heart to draw from one to other so quite contrary. Besides her modest countenance he saw so goodly grave, and full of princely awe, that it his ranging fancy did refrain, and looser thoughts to lawful bounds withdraw, whereby the passion grew more fierce and fame, like to a stubborn steed, whom strong hand would restrain. But Scudamore, whose heart twixed doubtful fear and feeble hope hung all this wild suspense, desiring of his amorette to hear some gladful news and sure intelligence, her thus bespeak. But, sir, without a finse mode I request you tidings of my love, my amorette sith you her freed fro fence, where she captive in long great woes did prove, that where ye left I may her seek, is that behoove. To whom thus, Britomart, surty, sir knight, what is of her become, or whether reft, I cannot unto you a read, a write, for from that time I from Enchanter's theft her freed, in which ye her all hopeless left, I her preserved from peril and from fear, and evermore from villainy her kept. Nay, ever was there white to me more dear, than she, nay unto whom I more true love did bear. Till on a day as through a desert wild we traveled, both weary of the way we did alight, in setting shadow mild, where fearless I to sleep me down did lay, but when as I did out of sleep abray I found her not where I her left while near, but thought she wandered was, or gone stray. I called her loud, I sought her far and near, but nowhere could her find, nor tidings of her here. When Scudamore those heavy tidings heard, his heart was thrilled with point of deadly fear, nay in his face or blood or life appeared, but senseless stood, like to amaze it steer, that yet of mortal stroke the astound doth bear. Till glousy thus, fair sir, be not dismayed with needless dread, till certainty ye hear, for yet she may be safe, though somewhat strayed. It's best to hope the best, though of the worst, afraid. Nay, the less he hardly of her cheerful speech did comfort take, or in his troubled sight shoot a change of better cheer. So sore a breach that sudden news had made in his spright, till Britomart him fairly thus be height. Great cause of sorrow, sirty sir, ye have, but comfort take, for by this heaven's light I vow, ye dare o' living not to leave till I her find, and wreak on him that her did reave. Therewith ye rested in well pleas it was. So peace being confirmed amongst them all, they took their steeds and forward thins did pass, unto some resting place which moat before, all being guided by sir Artigale, where goodly solace was unto them made, and daily feasting both in bower and hall, until that they their wounds well heeled had, and weary limbs recured after late usage bad. In all which time sir Artigale made way unto the love of noble Britomart, and with meek service and much suit did lay continual siege unto her gentle heart, which being while alone launched with lovely dart, more eith was new impression to receive. However she her pained with womanish art to hide her wound that none might yet perceive, vain is the art that seeks itself for to deceive. So well he would her, and so well he wrought her with fair entreaty and sweet blandishment, that at length unto a bay he brought her, so as she to his speeches was content, to lend an ear and softly to relent. At last through many vows which forth he poured, and many oaths she yielded her consent to be his love, and take him for her lord, till they with marriage meet might finish that accord. Though when they had long time there taken rest, sir Artigale, who all this while was bound upon a hard adventure yet in quest, fit time for him since to depart it found, to follow that which he did long propound, and unto her his congee came to take, but her therewith full sort is pleased it he found, and loath to leave her late betrothed make, her dearest love full loath so shortly to forsake, yet he with strong persuasions her assuag'd and won her will to suffer him depart, for which his faith with her he fast engaged, and thousand vows from bottom of his heart, that all so soon as he by wit or art could that achieve, where to he did aspire, he unto her would speedily revert, no longer space there to he did desire, but till the horned moon three courses did expire, with which she for the present was appeas'd, and yielded leave, however mal content she inly were, and in her mind displeased. So early in the morrow, next he went forth on his way, to which he was event, nay white him to attend, or way to guide, as while own was the custom ancient, amongst knights, when on adventures they did ride, save that she all gates him a while accompanied. And by the way she sundry purpose found, of this or that, the time for to delay, and of the perils where to he was bound, the fear where of seemed much her to affray, but all she did was but to wear out day. Full often times she leave of him did take, and after gain devised some what to say, which she forgot, whereby excuse to make, so loathe she was his company, for to forsake. At last, when all her speeches she had spent, and new occasion failed, her more to find. She left him to his fortune's government, and back returned it with right heavy mind, to Scudamore, whom she had left behind, with whom she went to seek fair Amorette, her second care, though in another kind. For virtue's only sake, which doth beget true love and faithful friendship, she by her did set. Back to that desert forest they retired, where Sorye Britomart had lost her late. There they her sought, and everywhere inquired, where they might tidings get of her estate, yet found they none. But by what hapless fate, or hard misfortune she was thence conveyed, and stone away from her beloved mate, will long to tell, therefore I here will stay until another tide, that I it finish may. End of Canto Six, Book Four, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Zhu The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer Book Four, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond Canto Seven, Amorette, Wrapped by greedy lust, Belfibi saves from dread. The squire her loves, and being blamed, his days in dole doth lead. Great God of love, that with thy cruel darts, Dost conquer greatest conquerors on ground, and sets thy kingdom in the captive hearts of kings and caesars, to thy service bound. What glory, or what good, and hast thou found in feeble ladies tyrannying so sore, and adding anguish to the bitter wound, with which their lives thou launch'dst longer for, by heaping storms of trouble, on them daily more. So, Wylam, didst thou to fair Florimel, and so, and so, to noble Britomart. So dost thou now to her, of whom I tell, the lovely Amorette, whose gentle heart thou martyrest with sorrow and with smart, in savage forests, and in deserts wide, with bears and tigers taking heavy part, without in comfort, and without in guide, that pity is to hear the perils which she tried. So soon, as she with that brave Britoness had left that tournament for beauty's prize, they travelled long, that now for weariness both of the way, and warlike exercise, both through a forest riding did devise to a light, and rest their weary limbs a while. There, heavy sleep, the eyelids did surprise of Britomart, after long, tedious toil, that did her passered pains, in quiet rest, a soil. The wiles, fair Amorette of Norterfeard, walked through the wood, for pleasure, or for need, when suddenly, behind her back, she heard one rushing forth out of the thickest weed, that ere she back could turn, to take an heed, had unawares, has snatched up from ground. Feebly she shrieked, but so feebly indeed, that Britomart heard not the shrilling sound, there where through weary travel she lay sleeping sound. It was to wheat a wild and savage man, yet was no man, but only like in shape, and eek in stature higher by a span, all overgrown with hair, that could or hape and hardy heart, and his wide mouth did gape with huge great teeth, like to a tuskered bore. For he lived all on raven, and on rape, of men and beasts, and fed on fleshly gore, the sign whereof yet stained his bloody lips afore. His nether lip was not like man or beast, but like a wide deep poke, down hanging low, in which he won't the relics of his feast, and cruel spoil, which he had spared to stow, and over it his huge great nose did grow, full dreadfully and purpled all with blood, and down both sides, two wide long ears did glow, and wrought down to his waist, when up he stood, more great than the ears of elephants, by indus flood. His waist was with a wreath of ivy green and girt about, nay other garment wore, for all his hair was like a garment seen, and in his hand a tall young oak he bore, whose knotty snags were sharpened all afore, and beathed in fire for steel to be instead. But whence he was, or of what womb he bore, of beasts, or of the earth, I have not read, but Sertuz was with milk of wolves and tigers fed. This ugly creature in his arms her snatched, and through the forest bore her quite away, with briars and bushes all to rent and scratched, nay care he had, nay pity of the prey which many a night had sought so many a day. He stayered not, but in his arms her bearing ran, till he came to the end of all his way, unto his cave far from all people's hearing, and there he threw her in, not feeling, nay not fearing. For she, dear lady, all the way was dead, whilst he in arms her bore, but when she felt herself downsouced she wakered out of dread straight into grief, that her dear heart nay swelled, and effed gan into tender tears to melt. Then when she looked about, and nothing found but darkness and dread horror where she dwelt, she almost fell again into a swound, nay wist whether above she were or underground. With that she heard someone close by her side, sighing and sobbing soar, as if the pain her tender heart in pieces would divide, which she, long listening, softly asked again what Mr. White it was that sowed it plain. To whom thus answered was, ah wretched White, that seeks to know another's grief in vain, unwitting of thine own like hapless plight, self to forget, to mind another, is o'er sight. I, me, said she, where am I, or with whom, among the living or among the dead? What shall of me unhappy maid become? Shall death be the end, or ought else worse a red? Unhappy maid, then answered she, whose dread untried is less than when thou shalt it try, Death is to him that wretched life doth lead both grace and gain, But he in hell doth lie, that lives a loathed life, and wishing cannot die. This dismal day hath thee a cative maid, and vassal to the vilest wretch alive, Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade the heavens a poor, and into darkness drive, For on the spoil of women he doth live, Whose bodies chaste whenever in his power he may them catch, Unable to gain strife, he with his shameful lust doth first deflower, And afterwards, themselves, doth cruelly devour. Now twenty days, by which the sons of men divide their works, Have passed through heaven sheen, since I was brought until this doleful den, During which space these sorry eyes have seen seven women by him slain, and eaten clean, And now no more for him but I alone, and this old woman here remaining been, Till thou camest hither to augment our moan, And of us three, to-morrow he will sure eat one. Ah dreadful tidings which thou dost declare, quoth she, of all that ever hath been known, Full many great calamities and rare this feeble breast endureth hath, But none equal to this, wherever I have gone. But what are you whom like unlucky lot hath linked With me in the same chain at one? To tell, quoth she, that which ye see needs not, A woeful, wretched maid of God and man forgot. But what I was, it irks me to rehearse, Daughter unto a lord of high degree, That joy'd in happy peace till fates perverse, With guileful love did secretly agree To overthrow my state and dignity. It was my lot, to love a gentle swain, Yet was he but a squire of low degree, Yet was he meet, unless mine I did feign, By any lady's side for lee-man to have lain. But for his meanness and disparagement, My sire, who me too dearly well did love, Unto my choice by no means would assent, But often did my folly foul reprove. Yet nothing could my fixed mind remove, But whether willed or nilled, friend or foe, I me resolved the utmost end to prove, And rather than my love abandon so, Both sire and friends, and all for ever to forego. Thenceforth I sought by secret means To work time to my will, And from his wrathful sight to hide the intent Which in my heart did lurk. Till I there too had all things ready-dite. So on a day un-weeting unto white, I with that squire agreed a way to flit, And in a privy place betwixt us height, Within a grove appointed him to meet, To which I boldly came upon my feeble feet. But, ah, unhappy hour me thither brought, For in that place where I him thought to find, There was I found, contrary to my thought, Of this accursed carl of hellish kind, The shame of men, and plague of woman kind, Who, trossing me, as eagle doth his prey, Me hither brought with him a swift as wind, Where yet untouched till this present day I rest his wretched thrall, the sad Emilia. Ah, sad Emilia, then said Amorette, Thy rueful plight I pity as mine own. But read to me, by what device or wit Has thou in all this time From him unknown thine honour saved, Though into thraldom thrown. Through help, quoth she, Of this old woman here I have so done, As she to me hath shown, For ever when he burnt in lustful fire, She in my stead supplied his bestial desire. Thus of their evils as they did discourse, And each did other much bewail and moan, Low where the villain's self, Their sorrow's source came to the cave, And rolling thence the stone, Which won't to stop the mouth thereof, That none might issue forth, Came rudely rushing in, And spreading over all the floor alone, Gandite himself unto his wanted sin, Which ended, then his bloody bank it should begin. Which when, as fearful Amorette perceived, She stayed not the utmost end thereof to try, But like a ghastly gelt, Whose wits are reaved, Ran forth in haste with hideous outcry, For horror of his shameful villainy. But after her, full lightly he up rose, And her pursued as fast as she did fly, Full fast she flies, And far afore him goes, Nay feels the thorns and thickets, Prick her tender toes. Nor hedge nor ditch nor hill nor dale she stays, But overleaps them all, like robuck light, And through the thickest makes her nyest ways. And evermore when with regardful sight She looking back espies that grizzly white, Approaching nigh, she gins to mend her pace, And makes her fear a spur to haste her flight, More swift than Mer or Daphne in her race, Or any of the thretian nymphs in savage chase. Long so she fled, and so he followed long, Nay living aid for her on earth appears, But if the heavens help to redress her wrong, Moved with pity of her plenteous tears. It fortune'd, Bel Phoebe with her peers, The woody nymphs, and with that lovely boy, Was hunting then the leopards and the bears In these wild woods as was her wanted joy, To banish sloth that oft doth noble minds adnoy. It so befell, as oft it falls in chase, That each of them from other sundered were, And that same gentle squire arrived in place, Where this same cursed catif did appear, Pursuing that fair lady, full of fear. And now he her quite overtaken had, And now he her away with him did bear under his arm, A seeming wondrous glad, That by his grinning laughter mutt fur off birad. Which dreary sight the gentle squire espying, Doth haste to cross him by the nearest way, Led with that woeful lady's piteous crying, And him assails with all the might he may, Yet will not he the lovely spoil down lay, But with his craggy club in his right hand Defends himself, and saves his gotten prey. Yet had it been right hard him to withstand, But that he was full light and nimble on the land. There too the villain used cruft in fight, For ever when the squire his javelin shook, He held the lady forth before him right, And with her body as a buckler, Broke the puissance of his intended stroke. And if it chanced, as needs it must in fight, Whilst he on him was greedy to be roke, That any little blow on her did light, Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight. Which subtle slight did him encumber much, And made him oft when he would strike for bear, For hardly could he come the call to touch, But that he her must hurt, or hazard near. Yet he his hand so carefully did bear, That at the last he did himself attain, And therein left the pike-head of his spear. A stream of coal-black blood, Then scushed a mane, That all her silken garments did with blood bestane. With that he threw her rudely on the floor, And laying both his hands upon his glaive, With dreadful strokes let drive at him so sore, That forced him fly aback, himself to save. Yet he therewith, so felly still did rave, That scarce the squire his hand could once uprear, But for advantage ground unto him gave, Tracing and traversing, Now here, now there, for bootless thing it was to think, Such blows to bear. Whilst thus in battle they embizzied were, Belphibi, ranging in that forest wide, The hideous noise of their huge strokes did hear, And drew there too, making her ear her guide, Whom when that thief approaching nigh Aspired, with bow in hand and arrows ready bent, He by his former combat would not bide, But fled away with ghastly dreariment, Well knowing her to be his death's sole instrument. Whom seeing fly she speedily pursued, With winged feet as nimble as the wind, And ever in her bow she ready showed the arrow To his deadly mark designed. As when Latone's daughter cruel kind, Invengement of her mother's great disgrace, With fell despite her cruel arrows tined, Against woeful niob's unhappy race, That all the gods did moan her miserable case. So well she spared her, and so far she ventured, That ere unto his hellish den he wrought, Even as he ready was there to have entered, She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught, That in the very door him overcourt, And in his nape arriving, Through it thrilled his greedy throat. Therewith in two distraught, That all his vital spirits thereby spilled, And all his hairy breast, with gory blood, Was filled. Whom when on ground she groveling saw to roll, She ran in haste his life to have bereft. But ere she could him reach, The sinful soul having his carrion course quite senseless left, Was fled to hell, surcharged with spoil and theft. Yet over him she there long gazing stood, And oft admired his monstrous shape, And oft his mighty limbs, Whilst all with filthy blood the place there overflown Seemed like a sudden flood. Thenceforth she passed unto his dreadful den, Where nought but dark some drearing as she found, Nay creature saw, but hearkened now and then Some little whispering and soft groaning sound. With that she asked what ghosts there underground lay hid in horror of eternal night, And bade them, if so be they were not bound, To come and show themselves before the light, Now freed from fear and danger of that dismal white. Thenforth the sad Amelia eschewed, Yet trembling every joint through former fear, And after her the hag there with her mewed, A foul and loathsome creature did appear, A leman fit for such a lover dear, That moved Belfi be her no less to hate, Than for to rue the other's heavy cheer Of whom she gan inquire of her estate, Who all to her at large as happened did relate. Thence she then brought toward the place, Where late she left the gentle squire with Amorette, There she him found by that new lovely mate, Who lay the wiles in swan, full sadly set, From her fair eyes wiping the dewy wet, Which softly stilled, and kissing them Between, and handling soft the hurts Which she did get, for of that carl She sorely bruised had been, Alls of his own rash hand, one wound was to be seen. Which when she saw, with sudden glancing eye, Her noble heart with sight thereof was filled With deep disdain and great indignity, That in her wrath she thought them both Have thrilled with that self-arrow which the carl had killed, Yet held her rothful hand from vengeance saw, But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld. Is this the faith, she said? And said no more, but turned her face, And fled away for evermore. He seeing her depart, arose up light, Right saw aggrieved at her sharp reproof, And followed fast. But when he came in sight, he durst not nigh approach, But kept aloof, for dread of her displeasures utmost proof. And evermore, when he did grace entreat, And framered speeches fit for his behoof, Her mortal arrows she at him did threat, And forced him back, with foul dishonour to retreat. At last, when long he followed had in vain, Yet found no ease of grief, nor hope of grace, Unto those woods he turned back again, Full of sad anguish and in heavy case. And finding their fit solitary place for woe for white, Chose out a gloomy glade, where hardly I'm at sea bright heaven's face, For mossy trees which covered all with shade and sad melancholy. There he his cabin made. His wontered warlike weapons all he broke, And threw away with vow to use no more. Nay thenceforth ever strike in battle-stroke, Nay ever word to speak to woman more. But in that wilderness of men for law, And of the wicked world forgotten quite, His hard mishappened dollar to deplore, And waste his wretched days in woeful plight, So on himself to wreak his folly's own despite. And eek his garment, to be there to meet, He willfully did cut and shape anew. And his fair locks, that want with ointment sweet to be embalmed, And sweat out dainty dew, He let to grow and grisly to concrue, Uncombed, uncurled, and carelessly unshared. That in short time his face they overgrew, And oar all his shoulders did disbred, That who he while on was, uneath was to be read. There he continued, in this careful plight, Wretchedly wearing out his youthful years, Through willful penury consumed quite, That like a pioneered ghost he soon appears. For other food than that wild forest bears, Nay other drink there did he ever taste, Than running water tempered with his tears, The more his weakened body so to waste, That out of all men's knowledge he was worn at last. For on a day, by fortune as it fell, His own dear Lord Prince Arthur came that way, Seeking adventures, where he mutt here tell, And as he through the wandering wood did stray, Having aspired this cabin far away, He to it drew, to wheat who there did won, Weaning therein some holy hermit lay, That did resort of sinful people shun, Or else some woodman shrouded there from scorching sun. Arriving there he found this wretched man Spending his days in dollar and dismayer, And through long-fasting walks and pale and won, All overgrown with rude and rugged hair, That albeit his own dear squire he were, Yet he him knew not, Nay advised at all, but like strange white, Whom he had seen nowhere saluting him, Gann into speech to fall, And pity much his plight, That lived like outcast thrall. But to his speech he answered no wit, But stood still mute, as if he had been dumb, Nay sign of sense did show, Nay common wit, as one with grief and anguish overcome, And unto everything did answer mum, And ever when the Prince unto him spake He lauded lowly, as did him become, And humble homage did unto him make, Mid-sorrow showing joyous semblance for his sake. At which his uncouth guise And usage quaint the Prince did wonder much, Yet could not guess the cause Of that his sorrowful constraint, Yet weaned by secret signs of manliness Which close appeared in that rude brutishness, That he while on some gentle swain had been, Trained up in feats of arms and nightliness, Which he observed by that he him had seen To weld his naked sword and try the edge's keen. And eek by that he saw on every tree How he the name of one engraven had, Which likely was his leafest love to be, For whom he now so sorely was bestowed, Which was by him Belfebe rightly read. Yet who was that Belfebe he nay wist? Yet saw he often how he waxed glad When he had heard, and how the ground he kissed, Wherein it written was, And how himself he blissed. Though when he long had marked his demeanour, And saw that all he said and did was vain, Nay ought moat make him change his wanted tenor, Nay ought moat ease or mitigate his pain, He left him there, in languor to remain, Till time for him should remedy provide, And him restore to form a grace again, Which for it is too long here to abide, I will defer the end, until another tide. End of Canto 7 Book 4 The Legend of Campbell and Telemond Book 4 The Legend of Campbell and Telemond This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fairy Queen by Edmund Spencer. Book 4 The Legend of Campbell and Telemond The gentle squire recovers grace, Sklander her guests doth stain, Corflumbo chaseth Placidus, and is by Arthur slain. Well said the wise man, now proved true by this, Which to this gentle squire did happen late, That the displeasure of the mighty Is then death itself more dread and desperate, For not the same may calm nor mitigate, Till time the tempest do thereof delay, With sufferance soft, which rigor can abate, And have the stern remembrance wiped away Of bitter thoughts, which deep therein In fixed lay. Like as it fell to this unhappy boy, Whose tender heart the fair Belfibe had, With one stern look so daunted that no joy In all his life, which afterwards he lad, He ever tasted, but with penance sad, And pensive sorrow pine'd and wore away. Nay ever laughed, nay once shooed countenance glad, But always wept and wail'd night and day, As blasted blossom through heat doth languish and decay. Till on a day, as in his wanted wise, His duel he made, there chanced a turtle dove to come, Where he his dollars did devise, That likewise late had lost her dearest love, Which lost her maid like passion also prove, Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart With dear compassion deeply did him move, That she again moan'd his undeserved smart, And with her doleful accent bear'd with him apart. She, sitting by him as on ground he lay, Her mournful notes full piteously did frame, And thereof made a lamentable lay, So sensibly compiled, that in the same him Seemed oft he heard his own right name, With that he forth would pour so plenteous tears, And beat his breast unworthy of such blame, And knock his head and rend his rugged hears, That could have pierced the hearts of tigers and of bears. Thus long this gentle bird to him did use, Without an dread of peril to repair unto his womb, And with her mournful muse him to rear comfort in his greatest care. That much did ease his mourning and misfare, And every day for Gerdong of her song He part of his small feast to her would share, That at the last of all his woe and wrong, Companion she became in so continued long. Upon a day as she him set beside, By chance he certain minimance forth drew, Which yet with him as relics did abide Of all the bounty which Belfi be threw on him, Whilst goodly grace she did him shoo, Amongst the rest, the jewel rich he found, That was a ruby of right perfect hue, Shaped like a heart yet bleeding of the wound, And with a little golden chain about it bound. The same he took, and with a ribboned new, In which his lady's colors were, Did bind about the turtle's neck, That with a view did greatly solace his ingrieved mind, All unawares the bird, When she did find herself so decked, Her nimble wings displayed and flew away, As lightly as the wind. Which sudden accident he much dismayed, And looking after long did mark which way She strayed. But when as long he looked ahead in vain, Yet sought her forward still to make her flight, His weary eye returned to him again, Full of discomfort and disquiet plight, That both his jewel he had lost so light, And Eek his dear companion of his care, But that sweet bird departing Flew forth right through the wide region Of the wasteful air, until she came, Where wanted his Belfi be fair. There found she her, as then it did be tied, Sitting in covered shade of arbore's sweet, After late weary toil, Which she had tried in salvaged chase, To rest as seen her meat. There she alighting fell before her feet, And gained to her her mournful plight, To make, as was her want, thinking, To let her weep the great tormenting grief, That for her sake her gentle squire Through her displeasure did partake. She, her beholding with attentive eye, At length did mark about her purple breast, That precious jewel which she formerly had known right well, With coloured ribbons dressed. Therewith she rose in haste, And her adressed with ready hand It to have ref'd her way. But the swift bird obeyed not her behest, But swirbed aside, and there again did stay. She followed her, and thought again It to assay. And ever when she nigh approached, The dove would flit a little forward, And then stay, till she drew near, And then again removed, So tempting her still to pursue the prey, And still from her escaping soft away. Till that had lengthened into that forest wide, She drew her far, and led with slow delay. In the end she her unto that place did guide, Whereas that woeful man in Langore did abide. Eft soonce she flew unto his fearless hand, And there a piteous ditty new devised, As if she would have made him understand His sorrows caused to be of her despised, Whom when she saw in wretched weeds disguised, With hairy glib deformed, and meager face, Like a ghost late risen from his grave aggrized, She knew him not, but pitted much his case, And wished it were in her to do him any grace. He, her beholding, at a feet down fell, And kissed the ground on which her soul did tread, And washed the same with water which did well from his moist eyes, And like two streams proceed. Yet spake no word, whereby she might And read what Mr. White he was, or what he meant, But as one daunted with her presence dread, Only few rueful looks unto her scent, As messengers of his true meaning and intent. Yet, neither more his meaning she read, But wondered much at his so Selkuth case, and by his person's secret seemly head, Well weaned that he had been some man of place, Before misfortune did his hue deface, That being moved with Ruth she thus bespeak. Our woeful man, what heavens hard disgrace, Or wrath of cruel White on thee arake, Of self-disliked life, Doth thee thus wretched make. If heaven, then none may it redress or blame, Sith to his power we all are subject born. If wrathful White, Then foul rebuke and shame be theirs, That have so cruel thee forlorn. But if through inward grief, Or willful scorn of life it be, Then better do advise, for his days in willful woe are warm, The grace of his creator doth despise, That will not use his gifts for thankless neigar dies. When so he heard her say, after soons he break his sudden silence, Which he long had pinned, and sighing inly deep, her thus bespeak. Then have they all themselves against me bent, for heaven, First author of my languishment, envying my too great felicity, Did closely with cruel one consent, To cloud my days in doleful misery, And make me loathe this life, still longing for to die. Nay, any but yourself, O dearest dread, Hath done this wrong, to wreak on worthless White your hideous pleasure, Through misdeeming bread, that when your pleasure is to deem a right, Ye may redress, and me restore to light. Which sorry words, her mighty heart did mate with mild regard, To see his rueful plight, that her inburning wrath, She ganna bait, and him received again To former favours state. In which he long time afterwards Did lead and happy life with grace and good accord, Fearless of fortune's charge, are envy's dread, And eager all mindless of his own dear Lord, The noble Prince, who never heard one word of tidings, What did unto him betide, or what a good fortune did to him afford, But through the endless world did wonder wide, Him seeking evermore, yet nowhere him described. Till on a day, as through that wood he rode, He chanced to come where those two ladies late, Amelia and Amorette abode, Both in full sad and sorrowful estate, The one right feeble through the evil rate of food, Which in her duress she had found, The other almost dead and desperate, Through her late hurts, and through that hapless wound, With which the squire in her defence her sore astound, Whom, when the Prince beheld, he began to rue The evil case in which those ladies lay, But most was moved at the piteous view of Amorette, So near unto decay, that her greater donger did him much dismay, Eft soons that precious liquor forth he drew, Which he in store about him kept all way, And with few drops thereof did softly dew her wounds, That unto strength restored her soon anew. Though when they both recovered were right well, He again of them inquire, what evil guide them thither brought, And how their harms befell, to whom they told all, That did them betide, and how from thraldom vile They were untied of that same wicked carol, By Virgin's hand, whose bloody course they shoot him there beside, And eek his cave, in which they both were bond, At which he wondered much, when all those signs he found. And evermore he greatly did desire to know what Virgin Did them since unbind, and oft of them did earnestly inquire, Where was her one, and how he moat her find, But when as not according to his mind he could out-learn, He them from ground did rear, no service loathsome to a gentle kind, And on his war-like beast them both did bear, Himself by them on foot, to succor them from fear. So when that forest they had pass'd well, A little cottage far away they spied, To which they drew ere night upon them fell, And entering in found none therein abide, But one old woman sitting there beside, Upon the ground in ragged rude attire, With filthy locks about her scattered wide, Knoing her nails for felness and for ire, And there out-sucking venom to her parts entire. A foul and lowly creature sure in sight, And in conditions to be loath'd no less, For she was stuffed with rancor and despite, Up to the throat that oft with bitterness It forth would break and gush in great excess, Pouring out streams of poison, and of gall, Against all that truth a virtue do profess, Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall, And wickedly backbite her name men sclonder call. Her nature is all goodness to abuse, And causeless crimes continually to frame, With which she guiltless persons may accuse And steal away the crown of their good name. Nay ever night so bold, nay ever dame so chaste, And loyal lived but she would strive With forgid cause them falsely to defame. Nay ever thing so well was done alive, But she with blame would blot, and of due praise deprive. Her words were not as common words are meant To express the meaning of the inward mind, But a noisome breath and poisonous spirit sent, From inward parts with cankerd malice lined, And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind, Which passing through the ears would pierce the heart, And wound the soul itself with grief unkind, For like the stings of asps that kill with smart, Her spiteful words did prick and wound the inner part. Such was that hag, unmeet to host such guests, Whom greatest prince's court would welcome fame, But need that answers not to all requests, Bad them not look for better entertain, And eek that age despise it niceness vain, Ineured to hardness, into homely fare, Which them to warlike discipline detrain, And manly limbs endured with little care, Against all hard mishaps and fortuneless misfare. Then all that evening welcomed it with cold and cheerless hunger, They together spent, yet found no fault, But that the hag did scold and rail At them with grudgeful discontent, For lodging there without her own consent. Yet they endured all with patience mild, And unto rest themselves all only lent, Regardless of that queen's o' base and wild, To be unjustly blamed and bitterly reviled. Here well I wean when as these rhymes be read With misregard that some rash-witted white, Whose looser thought will lightly be misled, These gentle ladies will misdeem too light, For thus conversing with this noble knight, Sith now of days such temperance is rare, And hard to find, that heat of youthful sprite For ought will from his greedy pleasure spare, More hard for hungry steed to abstain from pleasant lair. But antique age, yet in the infancy of time, Did live then like an innocent, In simple truth and blameless chastity, Nay then of guile had made experiment, But void of vile and treacherous intent, Held virtue for itself in sovereign awe. Then loyal love had royal regiment, And each unto his lust did make a law From all forbidden things his liking to withdraw. The lion there did with a lamb consort, And eek the dove set by the falcon's side, Nay each of other feared it fraud or tort, But it did in safe security abide, Without an peril of the stronger pride, But when the world wokes old, It wokes war old, whereof it height, And having shortly tried the trains of wit, In wickedness wokes bold, and dare it of all sins, The secrets to unfold. Then beauty which was made to represent The great creature's own resemblance bright, Unto abuse of lawless lust was lent, And made the bait of bestial delight. Then fair grew foul, and foul grew fair in sight, And that which was want to vanquish God and man Was made the vassal of the victor's might. Then did her glorious flower wex dead and won, Despised and trodden down of all that overran. And now it is so utterly decayed That any bud thereof doth scarce remain. But if few plants preserved through heavenly aid In Prince's court do have to sprout again, Dueed with her drops of bounty sovereign, Which from that goodly glorious flower proceed Sprung of the ancient stock of Prince's strain, Now the only remnant of that royal breed, Whose noble kind at first was sure of heavenly seed. Though soon his day discovered Heaven's face To sinful men with darkness overdight, This gentle crew again from their eyelids chase The drowsy humor of the dampish night, And did themselves unto their journey-dight. So forth they yow'd, and forward softly paced, That them to view had been an uncouth sight, How all the way the Prince on foot paced traced, The ladies both on horse together fast embraced. Soon as they, since departed, Were a foe, that shameful hag, the slander of her sex, Them followed fast, and them reviled sore, Him calling thief, them whores, That much did vex his noble heart. There too she did annex false crimes and facts, Such as they never meant. That those two ladies much ashamed did vex. The more did she pursue her lewd intent, And rail'd and rage'd till she had all her poison spent. It last when they were pass'd out of sight, Yet she did not her spiteful speechful pair, But after them did bark and still backbite, Though there were none her hateful words to hear, Like as a cur doth fell they bite and tear the stone, Which pass'd strunger at him through, So she them seeing passed the reach of ear, Against the stones in trees did rail anew, Till she had dulled the sting which in her tongues in'd grew. They, passing forth, kept on their ready way, With easy steps so soft as foot could stride, Both for great feebless, which did oft assay fair amoret, That scarcely she could ride, and eek through heavy arms, Which soar anoid the prince on foot, not wanted so to fare, Whose steady hand was feign his steed to guide, And all the way from trotting hard to spare. So was his toil the more, the more that was his care. At length they spied, where towards them with speed A squire came galloping, as he would fly, Bearing a little dwarf before his steed, That all the way full loud for aid did cry, That seemed his shrikes would rind of the brazen sky, Whom after did a mighty man pursue, Riding upon a dromedary on high, Of stature huge and horrible of hue, That would have mazed a man his dreadful face to view. Far from his fearful eyes, two fiery beams, More sharp than points of needles did proceed, Shooting forth far away, two flaming streams, Full of sad power that poisonous bale did breed, To all that on him looked without good heed, And secretly his enemies did slay, Like as the basilisk of serpents cede, From powerful eyes close vinnim doth convey, Into the looker's heart and killeth far away. He all the way did rage at that same squire, And after him full many threatenings threw, With curses vain in his avengeful ire, But none of them so fast away he flew him overtook, Before he came in view. Where when he saw the prince in armor bright, He called to him aloud his case to rue, And rescue him through succor of his might, From that his cruel foe that him pursued in sight. After soons the prince took down, Those ladies twain from lofty steed, And mounting in their stead came to that squire, Yet trembling ever evane, Of whom he again enquire his cause of dread, Who as he again the same to him arreed, Low, hard behind his back his foe was pressed, With dreadful weapon aimed at his head, That unto death had it done him unredressed, Had it not the noble prince his ready stroke repressed. Who thrusting boldly twixed him and the blow, The burden of the deadly brunt did bear, Upon his shield which lightly he did throw over his head, Before the harm came near. Neither lest it fell with so despiteous drear, And heavy sway that hard unto his crown, The shield it drove and did the covering rear, There with both squire and dwarf detumbled down, Unto the earth and lay long while in senseless swoon. Where at the prince full wrath, His strong right hand in full avengement, Heave it up on high in strok the pagan, With his steely brand so sore that to his saddle-bow, Thereby he bowed low, and so a while did lie, And sure had not his messy iron mace betwixt him, And his hurt been happily, It would have cleft him to the girding place. Yet as it was it did astonish him long space. But when he to himself returned again, All full of rage he came to curse and swear, And vowed by Mohun that he should be slain, With that his murderous mace he up did rear, That seemed not the sows thereof could bear, And therewith smooted him with all his might, But ere that it to him approached near, The royal child with ready quick foresight, Did shun the proof thereof, and it avoided light. But ere his hand he could recure again, To ward his body from the baleful sound, He smooted him with all his might and mane, So furiously that ere he whisked, He found his head before him tumbling on the ground. The while's his babbling tongue did yet blaspheme, And curse his God, that it did him so confound, The while's his life ran forth in bloody stream, His soul descended down into the Stygian ream. Which when that squire beheld, He wokes full glad to see his foe breathe out his sprite in vain. But that same dwarf right sorry seemed and sad, And howled aloud to see his lord there slain, And rent his hair and scratched his face for pain. Then gan the prince at leisure to inquire of all the accident, There happened a plane, and what he was, Whose eyes did flame with fire, All which was thus to him declared by that squire. This mighty man, quote he whom you have slain, Of an huge giant as Willow was bred, And by his strength ruled to himself did gain, Of many nations into thraldom led, And mighty kingdoms of his force adred, Whom yet he conquered not by bloody fight, Nay hosts of men with banners brod disbred, But by the power of his infectious sight, With which he killed all that came within his might. Nay was he ever vanquished at a foe, But ever vanquished all with whom he fought. Nay was their man so strong, but he down bore, Nay woman yet so fair, but he her brod unto his bay, In captive it her thought. For most of strength and beauty his desire was spoiled to make, And waste them unto not, by casting secret flakes Of lustful fire from his false eyes, Into their hearts and parts entire. Therefore Corflumbo was he called a right, Though nameless there his body now doth lie, Yet hath he left one daughter at his height, The fair Peana, who seems outwardly so fair, As ever yet saw living eye, And were her virtue like her beauty bright, She were as fair as any under sky. But ah she given is to vain delight, And eek too loose of life, and eek of love too light. So as it fell there was a gentle squire, That loved a lady of high parentage, But for his mean degree might not aspire to match so high, Her friends with counsel sage dissuaded her from such a disparage. But she whose heart to love was wholly lent, Out of his hands could not redeem her gauge, But firmly following her first intent, Resolved with him to wind, against all her friends' consent. So tweaked themselves they pointed time and place, To which wind he, according, did repair, An hard mishap and disaventrous case, him chanced. Instead of his amelia fair, this a giant's son, That lies there on the lair, and headless heap, Him unawares their caught, and all dismayed, Through merciless despair, him wretched thrall, Unto his dungeon brought, where he remains, Of all unsuckered and unsought. This giant's daughter came upon a day, Under the prison, in her joyous glee, To view the thralls, which there in bondage lay, Amongst the rest she chanted there to see, This lovely swain, the squire of low degree, To whom she did her liking lightly cast, And wooed him her paramour to be. From day to day she wooed and prayed him fast, And for his love him promised liberty at last. He, though affide unto a former love, To whom his faith he firmly meant to hold, Yet seeing not how thince he might remove, But by that means, which fortune did unfold, Her granted love but with affection cold, To win her grace his liberty to get. Yet she, him still detains, in captive hold, Fearing least if she should him freely set, He would her shortly leave and former love forget. Yet so much favours she to him hath height, Above the rest, that he sometimes may space, And walk about her gardens of delight, Having a keeper still with him in place, Which keeper is this dwarf, her dearling base, To whom the keys of every prison door, By her committed be, of special grace, And at his will may whom he list restore, And whom he list reserve to be afflicted more. Whereof when tidings came unto mine ear, Full inly sorry for the fervent zeal, Which I to him as to my soul did bear, I thither went where I did long conceal myself, Till that the dwarf did me reveal and told his dame, Her squire of low degree did secretly out of her prison steel. For me he did mistake that squire to be, For never too so like did living creatures see. Then was I taken and before her brought, Who through the likeness of my outward hue, Being likewise beguiled in her thought, Can blame me much for being so untrue, To seek by flight her fellowship to estue, That loved me dear as dearest thing alive. Since she commanded me to prison new, Whereof I glad did not gain say nor strive, But suffered that same dwarf me to her dungeon drive. There did I find my only faithful friend In heavy plight and sad perplexity, Whereof I sorry, yet myself did bend, Him to ren comfort with my company. But him the more aggrieved I found thereby. For all his joy he said in that distress was mine, And his Emilia's liberty. Emilia well he loved, as moat I guess, Yet greater love to me than her he did profess. But I, with better reason him advised, Ensured him how through error, And misthought of our like persons, Eath to be disguised. For his exchange or freedom might be wrought, Where too full loathe was he, Name would for ought consent, That I, who stood all fearless free, Should willfully be enthralled and brought, Till fortune did perforce it so decree. Yet overruled at last he did to me agree. The morrow next, about the wanted hour, The dwarf called at the door of Amias, To come forthwith unto his lady's bower, Instead of whom forth came I placidus, And undeserned forth with him did pass. There with great joyance, and with gladsome glee, A fair piana I receive it was, And oft embraced, as if that I were he, And with kind words achoid, vowing great love to me. Which I, that was not bent to former love, As was my friend, that had her long refused, Did well accept, as well it did behove, And to the present need it wisely used. My former hardness first I fair excused, And after promised large amends to make, With such smooth terms her error I abused, To my friend's good, more than for my own sake, For whoso liberty I love and life did stake. Since forth I found more favour at her hand, That to her dwarf, which had me in his charge, She bade to lighten my two heavy band, And grant more scope to me to walk it large. So on a day as by the flowery march, Of a fresh stream, I with that elf did play, Finding no means how I might us enlarge, But if that dwarf I could with me convey, I lightly snatched him up and with me bore away. Thereet he shrieked aloud that with his cry, The tyrant's self came forth with yelling, Bray, and me pursued, But nay, the more would I forgo the purchase Of my gotten prey, but her perforce him heather brought away. Thus as they talkied, lo, where nigh at hand, Those ladies too, yet doubtful, Through dismay in presence came, Desirous to understand tidings of all, Which there had happened on the land. Where soon as sad, Emilia did aspire, Her captive lover's friend, young Placidus, All mindless of her wanted modesty, She to him ran, and him with straight embrace, Enfolding said, and lives yet Amias? He lives, quote he, and his Emilia loves, Then less, said she, by all the woe I pass, With which my weaker patience fortune proves, But what mishap, thus long, him fro myself removes? Then began he all this story to renew, And tell the course of his captivity, That her dear heart full deeply made to rue, And sigh full sore to hear the misery, In which so long he merciless did lie. Then after many tears and sorrows spent, She dear besought the prince of remedy, Who thereto did with ready-will consent, And well performed, as shall appear by his event. End of Canto 8, Book 4, The Legend of Campbell and Telemond