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There lies he now with foul dishonor dead, Who, while he liv'd, was called proud Sansfoy,' The eldest of three brethren; all three bred Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy; 2 And twixt them both was born the bloody bold Sansloy,3

"In this sad plight, friendless, unfortunate, Now miserable I Fidessa dwell, Craving of you, in pity of my state, To do none ill, if please ye not do well." He in great passion all this while did dwell, More busying his quick eyes, her face to view, Than his dull ears, to hear what she did tell; And said, "Fair lady, heart of flint would rue The undeserved woes and sorrows which ye shew.

"Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest, Having both found a new friend you to aid, And lost an old foe that did you molest: Better new friend than an old foe is said." With change of cheer the seeming-simple maid Let fall her eyes, as shamefast, to the earth, And yielding soft, in that she naught gainsay'd. So forth they rode, he feigning seemly mirth, And she coy looks: so dainty, they say, maketh dearth.

Long time they thus together travelled;
Till, weary of their way, they came at last
Where grew two goodly trees, that fair did
spread

Their arms abroad, with gray moss overcast ;
And their green leaves, trembling with every

blast,

Made a calm shadow far in compass round: The fearful shepherd, often there aghast, Under them never sat, ne wont there sound His merry oaten pipe; but shunn'd th' unlucky ground.

But this good Knight, soon as he them gan
spy,

For the cool shade him thither hast❜ly got:
For golden Phoebus, now ymounted high
From fiery wheels of his fair chariot,
Hurléd his beam so scorching cruel hot,
That living creature mote it not abide;
And his new lady it enduréd not.

There they alight, in hope themselves to hide From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.

same.

move.

ous arts

Art thou misshapéd thus, as now I see? He oft finds med'cine who his grief imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing hearts; As raging flames who striveth to suppress." "The author then," said he, " of all my smarts, [edness. Is one Duessa," a false sorceress, That many errant knights hath brought to wretch

"In prime of youthly years, when courage hot The fire of love and joy of chivalry First kindled in my breast, it was my lot To love this gentle lady, whom ye see Now not a lady, but a seeming tree; With whom as once I rode accompanied, Me chancéd of a knight encounter'd be, That had a like fair lady by his side; Like a fair lady, but did foul Duessa hide;

"Whose forgéd beauty he did take in hand
All other dames to have exceeded far;
I in defence of mine did likewise stand,
Mine, that did then shine as the morning star.
So both to battle fierce arrangéd are:
In which his harder fortune was to fall
Under my spear; such is the die of war.
His lady, left as a prize martial,
Did yield her comely person to be at my call.

"So doubly lov'd of ladies unlike fair,
Th' one seeming such, the other such indeed,
One day in doubt I cast for to compare
Whether in beauty's glory did exceed;

A rosy garland was the victor's meed. Both seem'd to win, and both seem'd won to be; So hard the discord was to be agreed. Frælissa was as fair, as fair mote be, And ever false Duessa seem'd as fair as she.

"The wicked witch, now seeing all this while
The doubtful balance equally to sway,
What not by right, she cast to win by guile;
And, by her hellish science, rais'd straightway
A foggy mist that overcast the day,

And a dull blast that breathing on her face
Dimméd her former beauty's shining ray,
And with foul ugly form did her disgrace:
Then was she fair alone, when none was fair in
place.

"Then cried she out, 'Fie, fie, deformed wight, Whose borrow'd beauty now appeareth plain To have before bewitchéd all men's sight: O leave her soon, or let her soon be slain!' Her loathly visage viewing with disdain, Eftsoones I thought her such as she me told, And would have kill'd her; but with feignéd pain The false witch did my wrathful hand withhold: So left her, where she now is turn'd to treën mould.

"Thenceforth I took Duessa for my dame, And in the witch unweeting, joy'd long time; Ne ever wist but that she was the same: Till on a day (that day is every prime, When witches wont do penance for their crime,) I chanc'd to see her in her proper hue, Bathing herself in origane and thyme : A filthy foul old woman I did view, That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rue.

"Her nether parts misshapen, monstruous,
Were hid in water, that I could not see;
But they did seem more foul and hideous,
Than woman's shape man would believe to be.
Thenceforth from her most beastly company
I gan refrain, in mind to slip away,
Soon as appear'd safe opportunity;
For danger great, if not assur'd decay,

I saw before mine eyes, if I were known to stray.

"The devilish hag, by changes of my cheer, Perceiv'd my thought; and, drown'd in sleepy night,

With wicked herbs and ointments did besmear My body, all through charms and magic might, That all my senses were bereavéd quite: Then brought she me into this desert waste, And by my wretched lover's side me pight; Where now enclos'd in wooden walls full fast, Banish'd from living wights, our weary days we waste."

"But how long time," said then the Elfin Knight, Are you in this misformed house to dwell?" "We may not change," quoth he, "this evil Till we be bathéd in a living well: [plight, That is the term prescribéd by the spell." "O how," said he, "mote I that well out find, That may restore you to your wonted well?" 3 "Time and suffiséd fates to former kind [bind." Shall us restore; none else from hence may us un

I, whether lately through her brightness blind, Or through allegiance, and fast fealty, Which I do owe unto all womankind, Feel my heart peerst with so great agony, When such I see, that all for pity I could die.

And now it is empassionéd so deep,

For fairest Una's sake, of whom I sing, That my frail eyes these lines with tears do steep, To think how she through guileful handeling, Though true as touch, though daughter of a king, Though fair as ever living wight was fair, Though nor in word nor deed ill meriting, Is from her Knight divorcéd in despair, And her due loves deriv'd to that vile witch's share.

From her fair head her fillet she undight, And laid her stole aside: her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven, shinéd bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place; Did never mortal eye behold such heav'nly grace.

It fortunéd, out of the thickest wood A ramping lion rushéd suddenly, Hunting full greedy after salvage blood: Soon as the royal virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have at once devour'd her tender corse: But to the prey when as he drew more nigh, His bloody rage assuagéd with remorse, And, with the sight amaz'd, forgat his furious force.

Instead thereof he kist her weary feet,

And lickt her lily hands with fawning tongue; As he her wrongéd innocence did weet. O how can beauty master the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! Whose yielded pride and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her heart gan melt in great compassion; And drizz'ling tears did shed for pure affection.

"The lion, lord of every beast in field," Quoth she, "his princely puissance doth abate, And mighty proud to humble weak does yield, Forgetful of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pity of my sad estate :But he, my lion, and my noble lord, How does he find in cruel heart to hate Her, that him lov'd, and ever most ador'd As the god of my life? why hath he me abhorr'd?"

Redounding tears did choke th' end of her plaint,

Which softly echo'd from the neighbor wood;
And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;
With pity calm'd, down fell his angry mood.
At last, in close heart shutting up her pain,
Arose the virgin born of heav'nly brood,
And to her snowy palfrey got again,
To seek her strayéd champion if she might attain.

The lion would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong guard
Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and

ward;

To whom approaching she to her gan call,
To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand;
But the rude wench her answer'd naught at all;
She could not hear, nor speak, nor understand:
Till, seeing by her side the lion stand,
With sudden fear her pitcher down she threw,
And fled away: for never in that land
Face of fair lady she before did view,

And that dread lion's look her cast in deadly hue.

Full fast she fled, ne ever look'd behind,
As if her life upon the wager lay;

And home she came, whereas her mother blind Sat in eternal night; naught could she say; But, sudden catching hold, did her dismay With quaking hands, and other signs of fear: Who, full of ghastly fright and cold affray, Gan shut the door. By this arrivéd there Dame Una, weary dame, and entrance did requere:

Which when none yielded, her unruly page
With his rude claws the wicket open rent,
And let her in; where, of his cruel rage
Nigh dead with fear, and faint astonishment,
She found them both in darksome corner pent;
Where that old woman day and night did pray
Upon her beads, devoutly penitent:
Nine hundred Pater nosters every day,
And thrice nine hundred Aves, she was wont to
say.

And, to augment her painful penance more,
Thrice every week in ashes she did sit,
And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth

wore,

And thrice-three times did fast from any bit: And now for fear her beads she did forget. Whose needless dread for to remove away, Fair Una framéd words and count'nance fit: Which hardly done, at length she gan them

pray,

That in their cottage small that night she rest her may.

The day is spent; and cometh drowsy night, When every creature shrouded is in sleep Sad Una down her lays in weary plight, And at her feet the lion watch doth keep: In stead of rest, she does lament, and weep, For the late loss of her dear-lovéd Knight, And sighs, and groans, and evermore does steep Her tender breast in bitter tears all night; All night she thinks too long, and often looks for light.

Now when Aldéboran was mounted high
Above the shiny Cassiopeia's chair,

And all in deadly sleep did drowned lie,
One knocked at the door, and in would fare;
He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware,
That ready entrance was not at his call;
For on his back a heavy load he bare
Of nightly stealths, and pillage several,
Which he had got abroad by purchase criminal

He was, to weet, a stout and sturdy thief, Wont to rob churches of their ornaments, And poor men's boxes of their due relief, Which given was to them for good intents:

The holy saints of their rich vestiments He did disrobe, when all men careless slept; And spoil'd the priests of their habiliments; Whiles none the holy things in safety kept, Then he by cunning sleights in at the window crept.

And all, that he by right or wrong could find, Unto this house he brought, and did bestow Upon the daughter of this woman blind, Abessa,' daughter of Corceca slow,

With whom he whoredom us'd that few did know,

And fed her fat with feast of offerings, And plenty, which in all the land did grow; Ne sparéd he to give her gold and rings: And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

Thus, long the door with rage and threats he bett; 3

Yet of those fearful women none durst rise, (The lion frayéd them,) him in to let; He would no longer stay him to advise, But open breaks the door in furious wise, And ent'ring is; when that disdainful beast, Encount'ring fierce, him sudden doth surprise; And, seizing cruel claws on trembling breast, Under his lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

Him booteth not resist, nor succor call, His bleeding heart is in the venger's hand; Who straight him rent in thousand pieces small, And quite dismember'd hath: the thirsty land Drank up his life; his corse left on the strand. His fearful friends wear out the woeful night, Ne dare to weep, nor seem to understand The heavy hap, which on them is alight; Affray'd, lest to themselves the like mishappen might.

Now when broad day the world discover'd has,
Up Una rose, up rose the lion eke;

And on their former journey forward pass,
In ways unknown, her wand'ring Knight to seek,
With pains far-passing that long - wand'ring
Greek,4

That for his love refuséd deity:

Such were the labors of this Lady meek, Still seeking him, that from her still did fly; Then farthest from her hope, when most she weenéd nigh.

Soon as she parted thence, the fearful twain, That blind old woman, and her daughter dear, Came forth; and, finding Kirkrapine there slain, For anguish great they gan to rend their hair, And beat their breasts, and naked flesh to tear: And when they both had wept and wail'd their fill,

Then forth they ran, like two amazéd deer, Half mad through malice and revenging will, To follow her, that was the causer of their ill:"

Whom overtaking, they gan loudly bray,
With hollow howling, and lamenting cry;
Shamefully at her railing all the way,
And her accusing of dishonesty,

1 Ignorance. 2 Superstition. 3 Beat. ♦ Ulysses.

That was the flow'r of faith and chastity: And still, amidst her railing she did pray That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery, Might fall on her, and follow all the way; And that in endless error she might ever stray. But, when she saw her prayers naught prevail,

She back returnéd with some labor lost; And in the way, as she did weep and wail, A knight her met in mighty arms embost, Yet knight was not, for all his bragging boast; But subtle Archimag, that Una sought By trains into new troubles to have tost: Of that old woman tidings he besought, If that of such a lady she could tellen aught.

Therewith she gan her passion to renew, And cry, and curse, and rail, and rend her hair,

Saying, that harlot she too lately knew, That caus'd her shed so many a bitter tear; And so forth told the story of her fear. Much seeméd he to moan her hapless chance, And after for that Lady did inquere ; Which being taught, he forward gan advance His fair enchanted steed, and eke his charméd lance.

Ere long he came where Una travell'd slow, And that wild champion waiting her beside; Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show Himself too nigh at hand, but turnéd wide Unto an hill; from whence when she him spied,

By his like-seeming shield, her Knight by name She ween'd it was, and towards him gan ride: Approaching nigh she wist it was the same; And with fair fearful humbless towards him she

came:

And weeping said, "Ah my long-lackéd lord, Where have ye been thus long out of my sight? Much fearéd I to have been quite abhorr'd, Or aught have done, that ye displeasen might; That should as death unto my dear heart light: For since mine eye your joyous sight did miss,

My cheerful day is turn'd to cheerless night, And eke my night of death the shadow is : But welcome now, my light, and shining lamp of bliss!"

He thereto meeting said, "My dearest dame,
Far be it from your thought, and from my will,
To think that knighthood I so much should
shame,

As you to leave that have me lovéd still,
And chose in Faery court, of mere goodwill,
Where noblest knights were to be found on

earth.

The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill To bring forth fruit, and make eternal dearth, Than I leave you, my life, yborn of heavenly birth.

"And sooth to say, why I left you so long,
Was for to seek adventure in strange place;
Where, Archimago said, a felon strong
To many knights did daily work disgrace;

But knight he now shall never more deface: Good cause of mine excuse that mote ye please Well to accept, and evermore embrace My faithful service, that by land and seas Have vow'd you to defend: now then your plaint appease."

His lovely words her seem'd due recompence Of all her passéd pains: one loving hour For many years of sorrow can dispense; A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sour. She has forgot how many a woeful stowre For him she late endur'd; she speaks no more Of past: true is, that true love hath no pow'r To looken back; his eyes be fixt before. Before her stands her Knight, for whom she toil'd

so sore.

Much like, as when the beaten marinere,
That long hath wander'd in the ocean wide,
Oft sous'd in swelling Tethys' saltish tear;
And long time having tann'd his tawny hide
With blust'ring breath of heaven, that none can
bide,

And scorching flames of fierce Orion's hound;
Soon as the port from far he has espied,
His cheerful whistle merrily doth sound,
And Nereus crowns with cups; his mates him
pledge around.

Such joy made Una, when her Knight she found; And eke th' enchanter joyous seem'd no less Than the glad merchant, that does view from ground

His ship far come from wat'ry wilderness; He hurls out vows, and Neptune oft doth bless. So forth they pass; and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadful late distress, In which he ask'd her, what the lion meant; Who told, her all that fell in journey, as she went.

They had not ridden far, when they might see One pricking towards them with hasty heat, Full strongly arm'd, and on a courser free, That through his fierceness foaméd all with sweat,

And the sharp iron did for anger eat, When his hot rider spurr'd his chaféd side; His look was stern, and seeméd still to threat Cruel revenge, which he in heart did hide: And on his shield Sans loy in bloody lines was dy'd.

When nigh he drew unto this gentle pair, And saw the red cross, which the knight did bear,

He burnt in ire; and gan eftsoones prepare Himself to battle with his couchéd spear. Loth was that other, and did faint through fear, To taste th' untriéd dint of deadly steel: But yet his Lady did so well him cheer, That hope of new good hap he gan to feel; So bent his spear, and spurr'd his horse with iron heel.

But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce And full of wrath, that, with his sharp-headspear, [pierce; Through vainly crosséd shield he quite did And, had his staggering steed not shrunk for fear,

Through shield and body eke he should him bear:

Yet, so great was the puissance of his push, That from his saddle quite he did him bear: He tumbling rudely down to ground did rush, And from his goréd wound a well of blood did gush.

Dismounting lightly from his lofty steed, He to him leapt, in mind to reave his life," And proudly said; "Lo, there the worthy meed Of him, that slew Sansfoy with bloody knife: Henceforth his ghost, freed from repining strite, In peace may passen over Lethe lake; When mourning altars, purg'd with enemy's life, The black infernal Furies do aslake: Life from Sansfoy thou took'st, Sansloy shall from thee take."

Therewith in haste his helmet gan unlace, Till Una cried, "O hold that heavy hand, Dear sir, what ever that thou be in place: Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand Now at thy mercy; mercy not withstand; For he is one the truest knight alive,

Though conquer'd now he lie on lowly land; And, whilst him fortune favor'd, fair did thrive In bloody field; therefore of life him not deprive.”

Her piteous words might not abate his rage; But, rudely rending up his helmet, would Have slain him straight: but when he sees his age,

And hoary head of Archimago old, His hasty hand he doth amazed hold, And, half ashamed, wonder'd at the sight: For that old man well knew he, though untold, In charms and magic to have wondrous might; Ne ever wont in field, ne in round lists, to fight:

And said, "Why Archimago, luckless sire, What do I see? what hard mishap is this, That hath thee hither brought to taste mine ire? Or thine the fault, or mine the error is, Instead of foe to wound my friend amiss?" He answer'd naught, but in a trance did lay, And on those guileful dazéd eyes of his The cloud of death did sit; which done away, He left him lying so, ne would no longer stay:

But to the virgin comes; who all this while Amazéd stands, herself so mock'd to see By him, who has the guerdon of his guile, For so misfeigning her true Knight to be: Yet is she now in more perplexity,

Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold, From whom her booteth not at all to fly: Who, by her cleanly garment catching hold, Her from her palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold.

But her fierce servant, full of kingly awe And high disdain, whenas his sov'reign dame So rudely handled by her foe he saw, With gaping jaws full greedy at him came, And, ramping on his shield, did ween the same Have reft away with his sharp rending claws: But he was stout, and lust did now inflame His courage more, that from his griping paws He hath his shield redeem'd; and forth his sword

he draws.