12 Soone as the Faerie heard his lady speake,
Out of his swowning dreame he gan awake;
And quickning faith, that earst was woxen weake,
The creeping deadly cold away did shake;

Tho mov'd with wrath, and shame, and ladies sake,
Of all attonce he cast aveng'd to be,

And with so' exceeding furie at him strake,
That forced him to stoupe upon his knee:

Had he not stouped so, he should have cloven bee.

13 And to him said, Goe now proud miscreant,
Thyselfe thy message do to german deare;
Alone he wandring thee too long doth want:
Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth beare.
Therewith his heavie hand he high gan reare,
Him to have slaine; when lo a darkesome clowd
Upon him fell; he no where doth appeare,

But vanisht is. The elfe him calls alowd,

But answer none receives: the darknes him does shrowd.

14 In haste Duessa from her place arose,

And to him running said, prowest knight,
That ever ladie to her love did chose,
Let now abate the terror of your might,
And quench the flame of furious despight
And bloudie vengeance; lo th' infernall powres,
Covering your foe with cloud of deadly night,

Have borne him hence to Plutoes balefull bowres. The conquest yours, I yours, the shield and glory yours.

15 Not all so satisfide, with greedie eye

He sought, all round about, his thirstie blade
To bathe in bloud of faithlesse enemy;
Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:
He standes amazed how he thence should fade.
At last the trumpets triumph sound on hie
And running heralds humble homage made,
Greeting him goodly with new victorie;

And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmitie.

16 Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine Queene;
And falling her before on lowly knee,

To her makes present of his service seene;
Which she accepts with thankes and goodly gree,
Greatly advauncing his great chevalree.

So marcheth home, and by her takes the knight,
Whom all the people follow with great glee,
Shouting, and clapping all their hands on hight,
That all the aire it fils, and flyes to heaven bright.

17 Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed:
Where many skilfull leaches him abide,

To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled..
In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide,
And softly gan embalme on everie side.
And all the while most heavenly melody
About the bed sweet musicke did divide,
Him to beguile of griefe and agony:
And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.

18 As when a wearie traveller that strayes
By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,
Unweeting of the perillous wandring wayes,
Doth meete a cruell craftie crocodile,

Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile,
Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender teares;
The foolish man, that pitties all this while

His mournefull plight, is swallowed up unwares, Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares.

19 So wept Duessa untill eventide,

That shyning lampes in Joves high house were light:
Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide;
But comes unto the place, where th' hethen knight,
In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright,
Lay cover'd with inchaunted cloud all day:
Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,
To wayle his wofull case she would not stay,

But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way.

20 Where griesly night, with visage deadly sad,
That Phoebus chearefull face durst never vew,
And in a foule blacke pitchy mantle clad,

She findes forth comming from her darksome mew,
Where she all day did hide her hated hew.
Before the dore her yron charet stood,

Already harnessed for journey new,

And cole blacke steedes yborne of hellish brood, That on their rusty bits did champ, as they were wood.

21 Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,
Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,
She greatly grew amazed at the sight,
And th' unacquainted light began to feare;
(For never did such brightnes there appeare ;)
And would have backe retyred to her cave,
Untill the witches speech she gan to heare,
Saying, Yet, O thou dreaded dame, I crave
Abide, till I have told the message which I have.

22 She stayd, and foorth Duessa gan proceede,

O thou most auncient grandmother of all,

More old then Jove, whom thou at first didst breede,

Or that great house of gods cælestiall;

Which wast begot in Daemogorgons hall,

And sawst the secrets of the world unmade,

Why suffredst thou thy nephewes deare to fall
With elfin sword most shamefully betrade?

Lo where the stout Sans joy doth sleepe in deadly shade.

23 And him before, I saw with bitter eyes

The bold Sans foy shrinke underneath his speare;
And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,
Nor wayld of friends, nor layd on groning beare,
That whylome was to me too dearely deare.
O what of Gods then boots it to be borne,

If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare?

Or who shall not great nightes children scorne,

When two of three her nephews are so fowle forlorne ?

24 Up then, up dreary dame, of darknesse Queene;
Go gather up the reliques of thy race;

Or else goe them avenge, and let be seene
That dreaded night in brightest day hath place,
And can the children of faire light deface.
Her feeling speeches some compassion mov'd
In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face:
Yet pitty in her hart was never prov'd

Till then for evermore she hated, never lov'd:

25 And said, Deare daughter, rightly may I rew
The fall of famous children borne of mee,
And good successes, which their foes ensew:
But who can turne the streame of destinee,
Or breake the chayne of strong necessitee,
Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat?
The sonnes of day he favoureth, I see,

And by my ruines thinkes to make them great:
To make one great by others losse is bad excheat.

26 Yet shall they not escape so freely all;

For some shall pay the price of others guilt:
And he, the man that made Sans foy to fall,
Shall with his owne bloud price that he has spilt.
But what art thou, that telst of nephews kilt?
I that do seeme not I, Duessa am,

(Quoth she) how ever now in garments gilt

And gorgeous gold arayd I to thee came;
Duessa I, the daughter of deceipt and shame.

27 Then bowing downe her aged backe, she kist
The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face
The false resemblance of deceipt I wist
Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace
It carried, that I scarse in darkesome place
Could it discerne, though I the mother bee
Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race.

O welcome, child, whom I have longd to see,

And now have seene unwares. Lo now I goe with thee.

28 Then to her yron wagon she betakes,

And with her beares the fowle welfavourd witch:
Through mirkesome aire her ready way she makes.
Her twyfold teme, of which two blacke as pitch,
And two were browne, yet each to each unlich,
Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp,

Unlesse she chaunst their stubborne mouths to twitch; Then foming tarre, their bridles they would champ, And trampling the fine element would fiercely ramp.

29 So well they sped, that they be come at length
Unto the place, whereas the paynim lay
Devoid of outward sense, and native strength,
Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of day
And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray.
His cruell wounds with cruddy bloud congeald
They binden up so wisely as they may,

And handle softly, till they can be heald:
So lay him in her charet, close in night conceald.

30 And, all the while she stood upon the ground
The wakefull dogs did never cease to bay,
As giving warning of th' unwonted sound,
With which her yron wheeles did them affray,
And her darke griesly looke them much dismay:
The messenger of death, the ghastly owle,
With drery shriekes did also her bewray;
And hungry wolves continually did howle
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle.

31 Thence turning backe in silence soft they stole,
And brought the heavy corse with easy pace
To yawning gulfe of deepe Avernus hole :
By that same hole an entrance dark and bace,
With smoake and sulphur hiding all the place,
Descends to hell: there creature never past,
That backe returned without heavenly grace;
But dreadfull Furies, which their chaines have brast,
And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast.