But Tristram, then despoyling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the fayre sight
Of the bright mettall shyning like sunne rayes,
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes;
And, after having them upon him dight,
He tooke that ladie, and her up did rayse
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight:
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.
There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore;
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile,
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore
Another knight in his despiteous pryde;
There he that knight found lying on the flore
With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill dyde:
And there beside him sate upon the ground
His wofull ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most unluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew,
With heavie eyne from teares uneath refrayning,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.
Then, speaking to the ladie, thus he said;
Ye dolefull dame, let not your griefe empeach
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight unarm'd with so unknightly breach
Of armes, that, if I yet him nigh may reach
I may avenge him of so foule despight."
The ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heavie words forth sigh't,
In which she shew'd, how that discourteous knight
Whom Tristram slew, them in that shadow found
Ioying together in unblam'd delight;
And him unarm'd, as now he lay on ground,
Charg'd with his speare, and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
From him, to whom she was for ever bound:
Yet, when she fled into that covert greave,
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leave.
When Calidore this ruefull storie had
Well understood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
She then, like as she best could understand,
Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A ladie on rough waves row'd in a sommer barge.
Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streightway,
By many signes which she described had,
That this was he whom Tristram earst did slay,
And to her said; "Dame, be no longer sad;
For he, that hath your knight so ill bestad,
Is now himselfe in much more wretched plight;
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to yourselfe he wrought and to your loved knight.
"Therefore, faire ladie, lay aside this griefe,
Which ye have gathered to your gentle hart
For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
Were best devise for this your lovers smart :
And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Convay to be recur'd." She thankt him deare,
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did beare
Both to her love and to herselfe in that sad dreare.
Yet could she not devise by any wit,
How thence she might convay him to some place;
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case:
And him to beare, she thought it thing too base
Which whenas he perceiv'd he thus bespake;
"Faire lady, let it not you seeme disgrace
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
Myselfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe."
So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
And powring balme, which he had long purvayd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne:
Thence they him carried to a castle neare,
In which a worthy auncient knight did wonne :
Where what ensu'd shall in next canto be begonne.
Calidore brings Priscilla home;
Pursues the blatant beast;
Saves Sérena, whilest Calepine
By Turpine is opprest.
TRUE is, that whilome that good poet sayd,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd
As by his manners; in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne:
For seldome seene a trotting stalion get
An ambling colt, that is his proper owne:
So seldome seene that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew with curteous manners met.
But evermore contráry hath bene tryde,
That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;
As well may be in Calidore descryde,
By late ensample of that courteous deed
Done to that wounded knight in his great need,
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought
Unto the castle where they had decreed:
There of the knight, the which that castle ought,
To make abode that night he greatly was besought,
He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,
That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
And borne great sway in armes among his peares!
But now weake age had dimd his candlelight:
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,
And loved all that did to armes incline;
And was the father of that wounded knight,
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine;
And Aldus was his name; and his sonnes, Aladine.
Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beare
By a faire lady and a straunger knight,
Was inly touched with compassion deare,
And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,
That he these words burst forth; "Ah! sory boy!
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aie me! is this the timely ioy,
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy P
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