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    Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

    Page 46
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    And to her homage made, with humble grace:

      Whom when the knights beheld, they gan dispose

      Themselves to court, and each a damzell chose. 320

      The Prince by chaunce did on a lady light,

      That was right faire and fresh as morning rose,

      But somwhat sad and solemne eke in sight,

      As if some pensive thought constraind her gentle spright.

      XXXVII

      In a long purple pall, whose skirt with gold 325

      Was fretted all about, she was arayd;

      And in her hand a poplar braunch did hold:

      To whom the Prince in courteous maner sayd:

      ‘Gentle madame, why beene ye thus dismayd,

      And your faire beautie doe with sadnes spill? 330

      Lives any, that you hath thus ill apayd?

      Or doen you love, or doen you lack your will?

      What ever bee the cause, it sure beseemes you ill.’

      XXXVIII

      ‘Fayre sir,’ said she, halfe in disdainefull wise,

      ‘How is it, that this word in me ye blame, 335

      And in your selfe doe not the same advise?

      Him ill beseemes, anothers fault to name,

      That may unwares bee blotted with the same:

      Pensive I yeeld I am, and sad in mind,

      Through great desire of glory and of fame; 340

      Ne ought I weene are ye therein behynd,

      That have twelve moneths sought one, yet no where can her find.’

      XXXIX

      The Prince was inly moved at her speach,

      Well weeting trew what she had rashly told,

      Yet with faire semblaunt sought to hyde the breach, 345

      Which chaunge of colour did perfoce unfold,

      Now seeming flaming whott, now stony cold.

      Tho, turning soft aside, he did inquyre

      What wight she was, that poplar braunch did hold:

      It answered was, her name was Praysdesire, 350

      That by well doing sought to honour to aspyre.

      XL

      The whyles, the Faery knight did entertayne

      Another damsell of that gentle crew,

      That was right fayre, and modest of demayne,

      But that too oft she chaung’d her native hew: 355

      Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment blew,

      Close rownd about her tuckt with many a plight:

      Upon her fist the bird, which shonneth vew

      And keepes in coverts close from living wight,

      Did sitt, as yet ashamd, how rude Pan did her dight. 360

      XLI

      So long as Guyon with her commoned,

      Unto the grownd she cast her modest eye,

      And ever and anone with rosy red

      The bashfull blood her snowy cheekes did dye,

      That her became, as polisht yvory 365

      Which cunning craftesman hand hath overlayd

      With fayre vermilion or pure castory.

      Great wonder had the knight, to see the mayd

      So straungely passioned, and to her gently said:

      XLII

      ‘Fayre damzell, seemeth by your troubled cheare, 370

      That either me too bold ye weene, this wise

      You to molest, or other ill to feare

      That in the secret of your hart close lyes,

      From whence it doth, as cloud from sea, aryse.

      If it be I, of pardon I you pray; 375

      But if ought else that I mote not devyse,

      I will, if please you it discure, assay

      To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I may.’

      XLIII

      She answerd nought, but more abasht for shame,

      Held downe her head, the whiles her lovely face 380

      The flashing blood with blushing did inflame,

      And the strong passion mard her modest grace,

      That Guyon mervayld at her uncouth cace;

      Till Alma him bespake: ‘Why wonder yee,

      Faire sir, at that which ye so much embrace? 385

      She is the fountaine of your modestee;

      You shamefast are, but Shamefastnes it selfe is shee.’

      XLIV

      Thereat the Elfe did blush in privitee,

      And turnd his face away; but she the same

      Dissembled faire, and faynd to oversee. 390

      Thus they awhile with court and goodly game

      Themselves did solace each one with his dame,

      Till that great lady thence away them sought,

      To vew her castles other wondrous frame.

      Up to a stately turret she them brought, 395

      Ascending by ten steps of alablaster wrought.

      XLV

      That turrets frame most admirable was,

      Like highest heaven compassed around,

      And lifted high above this earthly masse,

      Which it survewd, as hils doen lower ground: 400

      But not on ground mote like to this be found;

      Not that, which antique Cadmus whylome built

      In Thebes, which Alexander did confound;

      Nor that proud towre of Troy, though richly guilt,

      From which young Hectors blood by cruell Greekes was spilt. 405

      XLVI

      The roofe hereof was arched over head,

      And deckt with flowers and herbars daintily:

      Two goodly beacons, set in watches stead,

      Therein gave light, and flamd continually;

      For they of living fire most subtilly 410

      Were made, and set in silver sockets bright,

      Cover’d with lids deviz’d of substance sly,

      That readily they shut and open might.

      O who can tell the prayses of that makers might?

      XLVII

      Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell 415

      This parts great workemanship and wondrous powre,

      That all this other worldes worke doth excell,

      And likest is unto that heavenly towre,

      That God hath built for his owne blessed bowre.

      Therein were divers rowmes, and divers stages, 420

      But three the chiefest, and of greatest powre,

      In which there dwelt three honorable sages,

      The wisest men, I weene, that lived in their ages.

      XLVIII

      Not he, whom Greece, the nourse of all good arts,

      By Phæbus doome, the wisest thought alive, 425

      Might be compar’d to these by many parts:

      Nor that sage Pylian syre, which did survive

      Three ages, such as mortall men contrive,

      By whose advise old Priams cittie fell,

      With these in praise of pollicies mote strive. 430

      These three in these three rowmes did sondry dwell,

      And counselled faire Alma, how to governe well.

      XLIX

      The first of them could things to come foresee;

      The next could of thinges present best advize;

      The third things past could keepe in memoree: 435

      So that no time nor reason could arize,

      But that the same could one of these comprize.

      Forthy the first did in the forepart sit,

      That nought mote hinder his quicke prejudize:

      He had a sharpe foresight, and working wit, 440

      That never idle was, ne once would rest a whit.

      L

      His chamber was dispainted all with in

      With sondry colours, in the which were writ

      Infinite shapes of thinges dispersed thin;

      Some such as in the world were never yit, 445

      Ne can devized be of mortall wit;

      Some daily seene, and knowen by their names,

      Such as in idle fantasies doe flit:

      Infernall hags, centaurs, feendes, hippodames,

      Apes, lyons, aegles, owles, fooles, lovers, children, dames. 450

      LI

      And all the chamber filled was with flyes,

      Which buz
    zed all about, and made such sound,

      That they encombred all mens eares and eyes,

      Like many swarmes of bees assembled round,

      After their hives with honny do abound: 455

      All those were idle thoughtes and fantasies,

      Devices, dreames, opinions unsound,

      Shewes, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophesies;

      And all that fained is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

      LII

      Emongst them all sate he which wonned there, 460

      That hight Phantastes by his nature trew,

      A man of yeares yet fresh, as mote appere,

      Of swarth complexion, and of crabbed hew,

      That him full of melancholy did shew;

      Bent hollow beetle browes, sharpe staring eyes, 465

      That mad or foolish seemd: one by his vew

      Mote deeme him borne with ill-disposed skyes,

      When oblique Saturne sate in the house of agonyes.

      LIII

      Whom Alma having shewed to her guestes,

      Thence brought them to the second rowme, whose wals 470

      Were painted faire with memorable gestes

      Of famous wisards, and with picturals

      Of magistrates, of courts, of tribunals,

      Of commen wealthes, of states, of pollicy,

      Of lawes, of judgementes, and of decretals; 475

      All artes, all science, all philosophy,

      And all that in the world was ay thought wittily.

      LIV

      Of those that rowme was full, and them among

      There sate a man of ripe and perfect age,

      Who did them meditate all his life long, 480

      That through continuall practise and usage,

      He now was growne right wise and wondrous sage.

      Great pleasure had those straunger knightes, to see

      His goodly reason and grave personage,

      That his disciples both desyrd to bee; 485

      But Alma thence them led to th’ hindmost rowme of three.

      LV

      That chamber seemed ruinous and old,

      And therefore was removed far behind,

      Yet were the wals, that did the same uphold,

      Right firme and strong, though somwhat they declind; 490

      And therein sat an old old man, halfe blind,

      And all decrepit in his feeble corse,

      Yet lively vigour rested in his mind,

      And recompenst him with a better scorse:

      Weake body well is chang’d for minds redoubled forse. 495

      LVI

      This man of infinite remembraunce was,

      And things foregone through many ages held,

      Which he recorded still, as they did pas,

      Ne suffred them to perish through long eld,

      As all things els, the which this world doth weld, 500

      But laid them up in his immortall scrine,

      Where they for ever incorrupted dweld:

      The warres he well remembred of King Nine,

      Of old Assaracus, and Inachus divine.

      LVII

      The yeares of Nestor nothing were to his, 505

      Ne yet Mathusalem, though longest liv’d;

      For he remembred both their infancis:

      Ne wonder then, if that he were depriv’d

      Of native strength now that he them surviv’d.

      His chamber all was hangd about with rolls, 510

      And old records from auncient times derivd,

      Some made in books, some in long parchment scrolls,

      That were all worm-eaten and full of canker holes.

      LVIII

      Amidst them all he in a chaire was sett,

      Tossing and turning them withouten end; 515

      But for he was unhable them to fett,

      A litle boy did on him still attend,

      To reach, when ever he for ought did send;

      And oft when thinges were lost, or laid amis,

      That boy them sought and unto him did lend: 520

      Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is,

      And that old man Eumnestes, by their propertis.

      LIX

      The knightes, there entring, did him reverence dew,

      And wondred at his endlesse exercise.

      Then as they gan his library to vew, 525

      And antique regesters for to avise,

      There chaunced to the Princes hand to rize

      An auncient booke, hight Briton Moniments,

      That of this lands first conquest did devize,

      And old division into regiments, 530

      Till it reduced was to one mans governements.

      LX

      Sir Guyon chaunst eke on another booke,

      That hight Antiquitee of Faery Lond:

      In which whenas he greedily did looke,

      Th’ ofspring of Elves and Faryes there he fond, 535

      As it delivered was from hond to hond.

      Whereat they, burning both with fervent fire

      Their countreys auncestry to understond,

      Crav’d leave of Alma and that aged sire,

      To read those bookes; who gladly graunted their desire. 540

      Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents

      Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’

      Canto X

      A chronicle of Briton kings,

      From Brute to Uthers rayne;

      And rolls of Elfin emperours,

      Till time of Gloriane.

      I

      WHO now shall give unto me words and sound,

      Equall unto this haughty enterprise?

      Or who shall lend me wings, with which from ground

      My lowly verse may loftily arise,

      And lift it selfe unto the highest skyes? 5

      More ample spirit, then hetherto was wount,

      Here needes me, whiles the famous auncestryes

      Of my most dreaded Soveraigne I recount,

      By which all earthly princes she doth far surmount.

      II

      Ne under sunne, that shines so wide and faire, 10

      Whence all that lives does borrow life and light,

      Lives ought that to her linage may compaire,

      Which, though from earth it be derived right,

      Yet doth it selfe stretch forth to hevens hight,

      And all the world with wonder overspred; 15

      A labor huge, exceeding far my might:

      How shall fraile pen, with feare disparaged,

      Conceive such soveraine glory, and great bountyhed?

      III

      Argument worthy of Mœonian quill,

      Or rather worthy of great Phoebus rote, 20

      Whereon the ruines of great Ossa hill,

      And triumphes of Phlegræan Jove, he wrote,

      That all the gods admird his lofty note.

      But, if some relish of that hevenly lay

      His learned daughters would to me report, 25

      To decke my song withall, I would assay

      Thy name, O soveraine Queene, to blazon far away.

      IV

      Thy name, O soveraine Queene, thy realme, and race,

      From this renowmed Prince derived arre,

      Who mightily upheld that royall mace, 30

      Which now thou bear’st, to thee descended farre

      From mighty kings and conquerours in warre,

      Thy fathers and great grandfathers of old,

      Whose noble deeds above the northern starre

      Immortall Fame for ever hath enrold; 35

      As in that old mans booke they were in order told.

      V

      The land, which warlike Britons now possesse,

      And therein have their mighty empire raysd,

      In antique times was salvage wildernesse,

      Unpeopled, unmannurd, unprovd, unpraysd; 40

      Ne was it island then, ne was it paysd

      Amid the ocean waves, ne was it sought

      Of merchaunts farre, for profits therein praysd;

      But was all desolate, a
    nd of some thought

      By sea to have bene from the Celticke mayn-land brought. 45

      VI

      Ne did it then deserve a name to have,

      Till that the venturous mariner that way,

      Learning his ship from those white rocks to save,

      Which all along the southerne sea-coast lay,

      Threatning unheedy wrecke and rash decay, 50

      For safeties sake that same his sea-marke made,

      And namd it ALBION. But later day,

      Finding in it fit ports for fishers trade,

      Gan more the same frequent, and further to invade.

      VII

      But far in land a salvage nation dwelt 55

      Of hideous giaunts, and halfe beastly men,

      That never tasted grace, nor goodnes felt,

      But like wild beastes lurking in loathsome den,

      And flying fast as roebucke through the fen,

      All naked without shame or care of cold, 60

      By hunting and by spoiling liveden;

      Of stature huge, and eke of corage bold,

      That sonnes of men amazd their sternesse to behold.

      VIII

      But whence they sprong, or how they were begott,

      Uneath is to assure; uneath to wene 65

      That monstrous error, which doth some assott,

      That Dioclesians fifty daughters shene

      Into this land by chaunce have driven bene,

      Where companing with feends and filthy sprights

      Through vaine illusion of their lust unclene, 70

      They brought forth geaunts, and such dreadful wights

      As far exceeded men in their immeasurd mights.

      IX

      They held this land, and with their filthinesse

      Polluted this same gentle soyle long time:

      That their owne mother loathd their beastlinesse, 75

      And gan abhorre her broods unkindly crime,

      All were they borne of her owne native slime:

      Until that Brutus, anciently deriv’d

      From roiall stocke of old Assaracs line,

      Driven by fatall error, here arriv’d, 80

      And them of their unjust possession depriv’d.

      X

      But ere he had established his throne,

      And spred his empire to the utmost shore,

      He fought great batteils with his salvage fone;

      In which he them defeated evermore, 85

      And many giaunts left on groning flore,

      That well can witnes yet unto this day

      The westerne Hogh, besprincled with the gore

      Of mighty Goëmot, whome in stout fray

      Corineus conquered, and cruelly did slay. 90

      XI

      And eke that ample pitt, yet far renownd

      For the large leape which Debon did compell

      Coulin to make, being eight lugs of grownd,

      Into the which retourning backe he fell:

      But those three monstrous stones doe most excell 95

     


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