For him the father of all forms they call; Therefore needs mote1 he live, that living gives
There now he liveth in eternal bliss,
Joying his goddess, and of her enjoy'd;
Ne feareth he henceforth that foe of his,
Which with his cruel tusk him deadly cloy'd:2
For that wild boar, the which him once annoy'd,
She firmly hath imprisonéd for aye,
(That her sweet love his malice might avoid,)
In a strong rocky cave, which is, they say,
Hewn underneath that mount, that none him loosen
There now he lives in everlasting joy,
With many of the gods in company
Which thither haunt, and with the winged boy,
Sporting himself in safe felicity:
Who when he hath with spoils and cruelty Ransack'd the world, and in the woful hearts Of many wretches set his triumphs high, Thither resorts, and, laying his sad darts Aside, with fair Adonis plays his wanton parts.
And his true love, fair Psyche, with him plays,
Fair Psyche to him lately reconcil'd,
After long troubles and unmeet upbrays,3
With which his mother Venus her revil'd,
And eke himself her cruelly exil'd:
But now in steadfast love and happy state
She with him lives, and hath him borne a child,
Pleasure, that doth both gods and men aggrate,4
Pleasure, the daughter of Cupid and Psyche late.
Hither great Venus brought this infant fair,
The younger daughter of Chrysogonee,
And unto Psyche with great trust and care
Committed her, yfosteréd to be
And trainéd up in true feminitee:1
Who no less carefully her tendered
Than her own daughter Pleasure, to whom she
Made her companion, and her lessoned 2
In all the lore of love and goodly womanhead.
In which when she to perfect ripeness grew,
Of
grace
and beauty noble paragone,3
She brought her forth into the worldës view,
To be th' ensample of true love alone,
And lodestar of all chaste affection
To all fair ladies that do live on ground.
To Faery Court she came; where many one
Admir'd her goodly haveour, and found [wound.
His feeble heart wide launched5 with love's cruel
But she to none of them her love did cast,
Save to the noble knight, Sir Scudamore,
To whom her loving heart she linked fast
In faithful love, t' abide for evermore;
And for his dearest sake endured sore
Sore trouble of an heinous enemy,
Who her would forced have to have forlore
Her former love and steadfast loyalty;
As ye may elsewhere read that rueful history.
But well I ween ye first desire to learn
What end unto that fearful damosel,
Which fled so fast from that same foster7 stern
Whom with his brethren Timias slew, befell:
That was, to weet,1 the goodly Florimell;
Who wand'ring for to seek her lover dear,
Her lover dear, her dearest Marinell,
Into misfortune fell, as ye did hear,
And from Prince Arthur fled with wings of idle2
The witch's son loves Florimell:
She flies; he feigns to die.
Satyrane saves the Squire of Dames
From giant's tyranny.
LIKE as an hind forth singled from the heard,
That hath escaped from a ravenous beast,
Yet flies away of her own feet afeard;
And every leaf, that shaketh with the least
Murmur of wind, her terror hath increast:
So fled fair Florimell from her vain fear,
Long after she from peril was releast:
Each shade she saw, and each noise she did hear,
Did seem to be the same which she escap'd whilere. Shortly
All that same evening she in flying spent,
And all that night her course continued:
Ne did she let dull sleep once to relent5
Nor weariness to slack her haste, but fled
Ever alike, as if her former dread
Were hard behind, her ready to arrest:
And her white palfrey, having conquered
The mast'ring reins out of her weary wrest,
Perforce her carried wherever he thought best.
5 Lying
beneath. 6 Overhung.
So long as breath and able puissance
Did native courage unto him supply,
His pace he freshly forward did advance,
And carried her beyond all jeopardy;
But naught that wanteth rest can long abye:1
He, having through incessant travel spent
His force, at last perforce adown did lie,
Ne foot could farther move: the lady gent2
Thereat was sudden struck with great astonishment;
And, forc'd t' alight, on foot must algates3 fare,
A traveller unwonted to such way;
Need teacheth her this lesson hard and rare,
That Fortune all in equal launce1 doth sway,
And mortal miseries doth make her play.
So long she travell'd, till at length she came
To an hill's side, which did to her bewray
A little valley subject to the same,
All cover'd with thick woods that quite it overcame.*
Through th' tops of the high trees she did descry
A little smoke, whose vapour thin and light
Reeking aloft uprolléd to the sky:
Which cheerful sign did send unto her sight
That in the same did wonne some living wight.
Eftsoons her steps she thereunto applied,
And came at last in weary wretched plight
Unto the place, to which her hope did guide
To find some refuge there, and rest her weary side.
There in a gloomy hollow glen she found
A little cottage, built of sticks and reeds
In homely wise, and wall'd with sods around;
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weeds1
And wilful want, all careless of her needs;
So choosing solitary to abide
Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds
And hellish arts from people she might hide,
And hurt far off unknown whomever she envíed.
The damsel there arriving enter'd in;
Where sitting on the floor the hag she found
Busy (as seem'd) about some wicked gin:2
Who, soon as she beheld that sudden stound,s
Lightly upstarted from the dusty ground,
And with fell look and hollow deadly gaze
Staréd on her awhile, as one astound,
Ne had one word to speak for great amaze;
But show'd by outward signs that dread her sense
did daze.4
At last, turning her fear to foolish wrath,
She ask'd, What devil had her thither brought,
And who she was, and what unwonted path
Had guided her, unwelcoméd, unsought?
To which the damsel full of doubtful thought
Her mildly answer'd; Beldame,5 be not wroth
With silly virgin, by adventure brought
Unto your dwelling, ignorant and loth,
That crave but room to rest while tempest overblo'th.'
With that adown out of her crystall eyne
Few trickling tears she softly forth let fall,
That like two orient pearls did purely shine
Upon her snowy cheek; and therewithal
She sighed soft, that none so bestial
Nor savage heart but ruth of her sad plight
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