Arrived there, the litle house they fill,

Ne looke for entertainement, where none was ;
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will:
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
With faire discourse the evening so they pas;
For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store,
And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glas:
He told of saintes and popes, and evermore
He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before.

The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast;
And the sad humor loading their eye-liddes,
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast [biddes.
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes:
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes,
He to his studie goes; and there amiddes
His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes,
He seeks out mightycharmes to trouble sleepy minds.

Then choosing out few words most horrible,
(Let none them read!) thereof did verses frame:
With which, and other spelles like terrible,
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame;
And cursed Heven; and spake reprochful shame
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light.
A bold bad man! that dar'd to call by name
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night;
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd
Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes,
Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd,
Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies:
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;
The one of them he gave a message too,
The other by himselfe staide other worke to doo.

He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and deepe,
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.
Amid the bowels of the Earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, [spred.
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast;
The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory,
The other all with silver overcast ;
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
By them the sprite doth passe in quietly,
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe
In drowsie fit he findes; of nothing he takes keepe.

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft,
A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne.
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes,
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.

The messenger approching to him spake ;
But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine :
So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine,
Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence
breake.

The sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threatned unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecaté: whereat he gan to quake,
And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came.
"Hether," quoth he, "me Archimago sent,
He that the stubborne sprites can wisely tame,
He bids thee to him send for his intent

A fit false Dreame, that can elude the sleepers sent."

The god obayde; and, calling forth straight way
A diverse dreame out of his prison darke,
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke;
Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke.
He, backe returning by the yvorie dore,
Remounted up as light as chearefull larke;
And on his litle winges the Dreame be bore
In hast unto his lord, where he him left afore.

Who all this while, with charmes and hidden artes,
Had made a lady of that other spright,
And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes,
So lively, and so like in all mens sight,
That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight:
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight.
Her all in white he clad, and over it
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit.

Forthwith he runnes with feigned-faithfull hast
Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights
And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast;
Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful frights,
As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,
And to him calls; "Rise, rise, unhappy swaine,
That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights
Have kn't themselves in Venus shameful chaine:
Come, see where your false lady doth her honor
staine."

All in a maze he suddenly up start

With sword in hand, and with the old man went ;
Who soone him brought into a secret part,
Where that false couple were full closely ment
In wanton lust and leud enbracement:
Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire;
The eie of reason was with rage yblent;
And would have slaine them in his furious ire,
But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.

Retourning to his bed in torment great,
And bitter anguish of his guilty sight,

He could not rest; but did his stout heart eat,
And wast his inward gall with deepe despight,
Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night.
At last faire Hesperus in highest skie [light;
Had spent his lampe, and brought forth dawning
Then up be rose, and clad him hastily; [do fly.
The dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away

Now when the rosy-fingred Morning faire,
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,

Had spread her purple robe through deawy aire;
And the high hils Titan discovered;
The royall virgin shooke off drousyhed:
And, rising forth out of her baser bowre,
Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled,
And for her dwarfe, that wont to waite each howre:-
Then gan she wail and weepe to see that woeful

stowre.

And after him she rode with so much speede,
As her slowre beast could make; but all in vaine:
For him so far had borne his light-foot steede,
Pricked with wrath and fiery ferce disdaine,
That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine:
Yet she her weary limbes would never rest;
But every hil and dale, each wood and plaine,
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest,
He so ungently left her, whome she loved best.

But subtill Archimago, when his guests
He saw divided into double parts,
And Una wandring in woods and forrests,
(Th' end of his drift,) he praised his divelish arts,
That had such might over true-meaning harts:
Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make,
How he may worke unto her further smarts:
-For her he hated as the hissing snake,
And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

He then devisde himselfe how to disguise;
For by his mighty science he could take
As many formes and shapes in seeming wise,
As ever Proteus to himselfe could make:
Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake,
Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell;
That of himselfe he ofte for feare would quake,
And oft would flie away. O who can tell [spell!
The hidden powre of herbes, and might of magick

But now seemde best the person to put on
Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:-
In mighty armes he was yclad anon,
And silver shield; upon his coward brest
A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly.
Full Holly knight he seemde, and wel addrest;
And, when he sate uppon his courser free, [to be.
Saint George himselfe ye would have deemed him

But he, the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare,
The true Saint George, was wandred far away,
Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare:
Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray.
At last him chaunst to meete upon the way
A faithlesse Sarazin, all armde to point,
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay
Sans foy; full large of Imbe and every ioint
He was, and cared not for God or man a point.

Hee had a faire companion of his way,

A goodly lady clad in scarlot red,
Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay;
And like a Persian mitre on her hed
Shee wore, with crowns and owches garnished,
The which her lavish lovers to her gave:
Her wanton palfrey all was overspred
With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.

With faire disport, and courting dalliaunce,
She intertainde her lover all the way:
But, when she saw the knight his speare advaunce,
Shee soone left off her mirth and wanton play,
And bad her knight addresse him to the fray;
His foe was nigh at hand. He, prickte with pride,
And hope to winne his ladies hearte that day,
Forth spurred fast; adowne his coursers side [ride.
The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did

The knight of the Redcrosse, when him he spide
Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous,

Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride:
Soone meete they both, both fell and furious,
That, daunted with their forces hideous,
Their steeds doe stagger, and amazed stand;
And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,
Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand,
Doe backe rebutte, and each to other yealdeth land.

As when two rams, stird with ambitious pride,
Fight for the rule of the rich-fleeced flocke,
Their horned fronts so fierce on either side
Doe meete, that, with the terrour of the shocke
Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a blocke,
Forgetfull of the hanging victory:

So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke,
Both staring fierce, and holding idely
The broken reliques of their former cruelty.

The Sarazin, sore daunted with the buffe,
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff:
Each others equall puissannce envies,
And through their iron sides with cruell spies
Does secke to perce; repining courage yields
No foote to foe: the flashing fiër flies,
As from a forge, out of their burning shields;
And streams of purple bloud new die the verdant
fields.

"Curse on that crosse," quoth then the Sarazin, "That keeps thy body from the bitter fitt; Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin, Had not that charme from thee forwarned itt: But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,

And hide thy head." Therewith upon his crest With rigor so outrageous he smitt,

That a large share it hewd out of the rest,

"At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
To meete me wandring; who perforce me led
With him away; but yet could never win
The fort, that ladies hold in soveraigne dread.
There lies he now with foule dishonor dead,
Who, whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy,
The eldest of three brethren; all three bred
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansioy; [sloy.

Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark
Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive;
And, at his haughty helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke, that it the steele did rive,
And cleft his head: be, tumbling downe alive,
With bloudy mouth his mother Earth did kis,
Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive
With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is,
Whether the soules doe fly of men, that live amis.

The lady, when she saw her champion fall,
Like the old ruines of a broken towre,
Staid not to waile his woefull funerall;
But from him fled away with all her powre:
Who after her as hastily gan scowre,
Bidding the dwarfe with him to bring away
The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure:
Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay:
For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.

Shee turning backe, with ruefull countenaunce,
Cride, "Mercy, mercy, sir, vouchsafe to show
On silly dame, subiect to hard mischaunce,
And to your mighty will." Her humblesse low
In so ritch weedes, and seeming glorious show,
Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart;
And said, "Deare dame, your suddein overthrow
Much rueth me; but now put feare apart, [part."
And tel, both who ye be, and who that tooke your

Melting in teares, then gan shee thus lament;
"The wretched woman, whom unhappy how re
Hath now made thrall to your commandement,
Before that angry Heavens list to lowre,
And fortune false betraide me to your powre,
Was, (O what now availeth that I was!)
Borne the sole daughter of an emperour;
He that the wide west under his rule has,

And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth pas.

"He, in the first flowre of my freshest age,
Betrothed me unto the onely haire
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
Was never prince so faithfuil and so faire,
Was never prince so meeke and debonaire!
But, ere my hoped day of spousall shone,
My dearest lord fell from high honors staire
Into the hands of hys accursed fone,

And cruelly was slaine; that shall I ever mone!

"His blessed body, spoild of lively breath,
Was afterward, I know not how, convaid,
And fro me hid; of whose most innocent death
When tidings came to mee unhappy maid,
O, how great sorrow my sad soule assaid!
Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,
And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
A virgin widow; whose deepe-wounded mind
With love long time did languish, as the striken hind,

"In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,
Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,
Craving of you, in pitty of my state,
To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well."
He in great passion all this while did dwell,
More busying his quicke eies, her face to view,
Then his dull eares, to heare what shee did tell;
And said, "Faire lady, hart of flint would rew
The undeserved woes and sorrowes, which ye shew.
"Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend you to aid,
And lost an old foe that did you molest:
Better new friend then an old foe is said."
With chaunge of chear the seeming-simple maid
Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth,
And yeelding soft, in that she nought gainsaid.
So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,
And shee coy lookes: so dainty, they say, maketh
derth.

Long time they thus together traveiled;
Til, weary of their way, they came at last
Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast;
And their greene leaves, trembling with every blast,
Made a calme shadowe far in compasse round:
The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast,
Under them never sat, ne wont there sound

His mery oaten pipe; but shund th' unlucky ground.

But this good knight, soone as he them can spie,
For the coole shade him thither hastly got:
For golden Phoebus, now ymounted hie,
From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
That living creature mote it not abide;
And his new lady it endured not.

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

Faire-seemely pleasaunce each to other makes,
With goodly purposes, there as they sit;
And in his falsed fancy he her takes

To be the fairest wight, that lived yit;
Which to expresse, he bends his gentle wit;
And, thinking of those braunches greene to frame
A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,

He pluckt a bough; out of whose rifte there came
Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the

same.

Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard,
Crying, "O spare with guilty hands to teare
My tender sides in this rough rynd embard;
But fly, ah! fly far hence away, for feare
Least to you hap, that happened to me heare,
And to this wretched lady, my deare love;
O too deare love, love bought with death too deare!"
Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove;
And with that suddein horror could no member move.