VIII
Deare dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparkes awake,° Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow, 65 Ne ever will their fervent fury slake, Till living moysture into smoke do flow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low. Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But told° it flames, and hidden it does glow; 70 I will revele what ye so much desire: Ah Love, lay down thy bow, the whiles I may respire.
IX
It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares, When courage first does creepe in manly chest, Then first the coale of kindly heat appeares 75 To kindle love in every living brest; But me had warnd old Timons wise behest, Those creeping flames by reason to subdew, Before their rage grew to so great unrest, As miserable lovers use to rew, 80 Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new.
X
That idle name of love, and lovers life, As losse of time, and vertues enimy, I ever scornd, and joyd to stirre up strife, In middest of their mournfull Tragedy, 85 Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry, And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent: Their God himselfe, griev'd at my libertie, Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent, But I them warded all with wary government. 90
XI
But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong, Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound, But will at last be wonne with battrie long, Or unawares at disadvantage found: Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground: 95 And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might, And boasts in beauties chaine not to be bound, Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight, And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours most despight.
XII
Ensample make° of him your haplesse joy, 100 And of my selfe now mated, as ye see; Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy Did soone pluck downe and curbd my libertie. For on a day, prickt forth with jollitie Of looser life, and heat of hardiment, 105 Raunging the forest wide on courser free, The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine intent.
XIII
For-wearied with my sports, I did alight From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd; 110 The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight, And pillow was my helmet faire displayd: Whiles every sence° the humour sweet embayd, And slombring soft my hart did steale away, Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd 115 Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay: So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day.
XIV
Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment She to me made, and bad me love her deare; For dearely sure her love was to me bent, 120 As when just time expired should appeare. But whether dreames delude, or true it were, Was never hart so ravisht with delight, Ne living man like words did ever heare, As she to me delivered all that night; 125 And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight.
XV
When I awoke, and found her place devoyd, And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen, I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd, And washed all her place with watry eyen. 130 From that day forth I lov'd that face divine; From that day forth I cast in carefull mind To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne, And never vowd to rest till her I find, Nine monethes I seeke in vain, yet ni'll that vow unbind. 135
XVI
Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale, And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray; Yet still he strove to cloke his inward bale, And hide the smoke that did his fire display, Till gentle Una thus to him gan say; 140 O happy Queene of Faeries, that has found Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound: True Loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground.
XVII
Thine, O then, said the gentle Recrosse knight, 145 Next to that Ladies love,° shal be the place, O fairest virgin, full of heavenly light, Whose wondrous faith exceeding earthly race, Was firmest fixt° in mine extremest case. And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life, 150 Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace: For onely worthy you through prowes priefe, Yf living man mote worthie be, to be her liefe.
XVIII
So diversly discoursing of their loves, The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew, 155 And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoves With fresh desire his voyage to pursew; Als Una earnd her traveill to renew. Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bynd, And love establish each to other trew, 160 Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd, And eke the pledges firme, right hands together joynd.
XIX
Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond sure, Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament, Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure, 165 Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent, That any wound could heale incontinent: Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave A booke,° wherein his Saveours testament Was writ with golden letters rich and brave; 170 A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to save.
XX
Thus beene they parted, Arthur on his way To seeke his love, and th' other for to fight With Unaes foe, that all her realme did pray. But she now weighing the decayed plight, 175 And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight, Would not a while her forward course pursew, Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight, Till he recovered had his former hew: For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew. 180
XXI
So as they traveild, lo they gan espy An armed knight° towards them gallop fast, That seemed from some feared foe to fly, Or other griesly thing, that him aghast. Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast, 185 As if his feare still followed him behind; Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast, And with his winged heeles did tread the wind, As he had beene a fole of Pegasus° his kind.
XXII
Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head 190 To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares Upstaring stiffe, dismayd with uncouth dread; Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire degree, 195 About his neck an hempen rope he weares, That with his glistring armes does ill agree; But he of rope or armes has now no memoree.
XXIII
The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast, To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd: 200 There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast, That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd; Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd, Till he these wordes to him deliver might; Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd, 205 And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight: For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.
XXIV
He answerd nought at all, but adding new Feare to his first amazment, staring wide With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew, 210 Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide Infernall furies, with their chaines untide. Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake The gentle knight; who nought to him replide, But trembling every joint did inly quake, 215 And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake.
XXV
For Gods deare love, Sir knight, do me not stay; For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee. Eft looking back would faine have runne away; But he him forst to stay, and tellen free 220 The secret cause of his perplexitie: Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee, But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach, Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach. 225
XXVI
And am I now in safetie sure (quoth he) From him, that would have forced me to dye? And is the point of death now turnd fro mee, That I may tell this haplesse history? Feare nought: (quoth he) no daunger now is nye. 230 Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace, (Said he) the which with this unlucky eye I late beheld, and had not greater grace° Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.