XLV
Her seeming dead he found with feigned feare, As all unweeting of that well she knew, And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew 400 And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew At last she up gan lift: with trembling cheare Her up he tooke, too simple and too trew, And oft her kist. At length all passed feare,° He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare. 405
* * * * *
CANTO III
Forsaken Truth long seekes her love, and makes the Lyon mylde, Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals in hand of leachour vylde.
I
Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse, That moves more deare compassion of mind, Then beautie brought t' unworthy wretchednesse Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind. I, whether lately through her brightnesse blind, 5 Or through alleageance and fast fealtie, Which I do owe unto all woman kind, Feele my hart perst with so great agonie, When such I see, that all for pittie I could die.
II
And now it is empassioned so deepe, 10 For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing, That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe, To thinke how she through guilefull handeling, Though true as touch,° though daughter of a king, Though faire as ever living wight was faire, 15 Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, Is from her knight divorced in despaire, And her due loves° deriv'd to that vile witches share.
III
Yet she most faithfull Ladie all this while Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd 20 Far from all peoples prease, as in exile, In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd, To seeke her knight; who subtilly betrayd Through that late vision, which th' Enchaunter wrought, Had her abandond. She of nought affrayd, 25 Through woods and wastnesse wide him daily sought; Yet wished tydings° none of him unto her brought.
IV
One day nigh wearie of the yrkesome way, From her unhastie beast she did alight, And on the grasse her daintie limbes did lay 30 In secret shadow, farre from all mens sight: From her faire head her fillet she undight, And laid her stole aside. Her angels face As the great eye of heaven° shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shadie place; 35 Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.
V
It fortuned out of the thickest wood A ramping Lyon° rushed suddainly, Hunting full greedy after salvage blood; Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, 40 With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have attonce devourd her tender corse: But to the pray when as he drew more ny, His bloody rage asswaged with remorse, And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 45
VI
In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet, And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong, As he her wronged innocence did weet. O how can beautie maister the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong? 50 Whose yeelded pride° and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compassion, And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.
VII
The Lyon Lord of every beast in field, 55 Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: But he my Lyon, and my noble Lord, 60 How does he find in cruell hart to hate, Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord, As the God of my life? why hath he me abhord?
VIII
Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint, Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; 65 And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. At last in close hart shutting up her paine, Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, 70 And to her snowy Palfrey got againe, To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine.
IX
The Lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along, as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate 75 Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,° And when she wakt, he waited diligent, With humble service to her will prepard: From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement, 80 And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.
X
Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde, By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas, Yet never shew of living wight espyde; Till that at length she found the troden gras, 85 In which the tract of peoples footing was, Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore; The same she followes, till at last she has A damzell spyde° slow footing her before, That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore. 90
XI
To whom approching she to her gan call, To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand; But the rude wench her answerd nought at all; She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand; Till seeing by her side the Lyon stand, 95 With suddaine feare her pitcher downe she threw, And fled away: for never in that land Face of faire Ladie she before did vew, And that dread Lyons looke her cast in deadly hew.°
XII
Full fast she fled, ne never lookt behynd, 100 As if her life upon the wager lay,° And home she came, whereas her mother blynd° Sate in eternall night: nought could she say, But suddaine catching hold, did her dismay With quaking hands, and other signes of feare; 105 Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray, Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere.
XIII
Which when none yeelded, her unruly Page° With his rude claws the wicket open rent, 110 And let her in; where of his cruell rage Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment, She found them both in darkesome corner pent; Where that old woman day and night did pray Upon her beads devoutly penitent; 115 Nine hundred _Pater nosters_° every day, And thrise nine hundred _Aves_ she was wont to say.
XIV
And to augment her painefull pennance more, Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit, And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore, 120 And thrise three times did fast from any bit: But now for feare her beads she did forget. Whose needlesse dread for to remove away, Faire Una framed words and count'nance fit: Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray, 125 That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.
XV
The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night, When every creature shrowded is in sleepe; Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight, And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe: 130 In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe For the late losse of her deare loved knight, And sighes, and grones, and ever more does steepe Her tender brest in bitter teares all night, All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light. 135
XVI
Now when Aldeboran° was mounted hie Above the shynie Cassiopeias chaire,° And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie, One knocked at the dore,° and in would fare; He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware, 140 That readie entrance was not at his call: For on his backe a heavy load he bare Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall, Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall.
XVII
He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe, 145 Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments, And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe, Which given was to them for good intents; The holy Saints of their rich vestiments He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, 150 And spoild the Priests of their habiliments, Whiles none the holy things in safety kept; Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept.
XVIII
And all that he by right or wrong could find, Unto this house he brought, and did bestow 155 Upon the daughter of this woman blind, Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow, With whom he whoredome usd, that few did know, And fed her fat with feast of offerings, And plentie, which in all the land did grow; 160 Ne spared he to give her gold and rings: And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.