And, turning to herself his fell intent,
Unwares it struck into her snowy chest,
That little drops empurpled her fair breast.
Exceeding wroth therewith the Virgin grew,
Albë1 the wound were nothing deep imprest,
And fiercely forth her mortal blade she drew,
To give him the reward for such vile outrage due.
So mightily she smote him, that to ground [slain,
He fell half dead; next stroke, him should have
Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound,
Dernly 2 unto her called to abstain
From doing him to die; for else her pain
Should be remédiless; sith none but he
Which wrought it could the same recure again.
Therewith she stay'd her hand, loth stay'd to be;
For life she him envý'd, and long'd revenge to see:
And to him said; Thou wicked man, whose mced
For so huge mischief and vile villany
Is death, or if that aught do death exceed;
Be sure that naught may save thee from to die
But if that thou this Dame do presently
Restore unto her health and former state;
This do, and live; else die undoubtedly.'
He, glad of life, that look'd for death but late,
Did yield himself right willing to prolong his date:
And rising up gan straight to over-look
Those curséd leaves, his charms back to reverse:
Full dreadful things out of that baleful book
He read, and measur'd many a sad verse,
That horror gan the Virgin's heart to perse,
And her fair locks up staréd stiff on end,
Hearing him those same bloody lines rehearse;
And, all the while he read, she did extend
Her sword high over him, if aught he did offend.
Anon she gan perceive the house to quake,
And all the doors to rattle round about;
Yet all that did not her dismayéd make,
Nor slack her threatful hand for danger's doubt,
But still with steadfast eye and courage stout
Abode, to weet1 what end would come of all:
At last that mighty chain, which round about
Her tender waist was wound, adown gan fall,
And that great brazen pillar broke in picces small.
The cruel steel, which thrill'd her dying heart,
Fell softly forth, as of his own accord;
And the wide wound, which lately did dispart
Her bleeding breast and riven bowels gor'd,
Was closed up, as it had not been sor'd;2
And every part to safety full sound,
As she were never hurt, was soon restor':
Then, when she felt herself to be unbound
And perfect whole, prostrate she fell unto the ground;
Before fair Britomart she fell prostráte,
Saying; Ah! noble Knight, what worthy meed
Can wretched Lady, quit from woful state,
Yield you in lieu of this your gracious deed?
Your virtue self her own reward shall breed,
Even immortal praise and glory wide,
Which I your vassal, by your prowess freed,
Shall through the world make to be notified,
And goodly well advance that goodly well was tried.'
But Britomart, uprearing her from ground,
Said; Gentle Dame, reward enough I ween,
For many labours more than I have found,
This, that in safety now I have you seen,
And inean1 of your deliverance have been:
Henceforth, fair Lady, comfort to you take,
And put away remembrance of late teen;2
Instead thereof, know that your loving make3
Hath no less grief enduréd for your gentle sake.'
She much was cheer'd to hear him mention'd,
Whom of all living wights she loved best.
Then laid the noble championess strong hond
Upon th' enchanter which had her distrest
So sore, and with foul outrages opprest:
With that great chain, wherewith not long ago
He bound that piteous Lady now releast,
Himself she bound, more worthy to be so,
And captive with her led to wretchedness and woe.
Returning back, those goodly rooms, which erst1
She saw so rich and royally array'd,
Now vanish'd utterly and clean subverst
She found, and all their glory quite decay'd;
That sight of such a change her much dismay'd.
Thence forth descending to that per❜lous porch,
Those dreadful flames she also found delay'd5
And quenchéd quite like a consuméd torch,
That erst all ent'rers wont so cruelly to scorch.
More easy issue now than entrance late
She found; for now that feignéd-dreadful flame,
Which chok'd the porch of that enchanted gate
And passage barr'd to all that thither came,
Was vanish'd quite, as it were not the same,
And gave her leave at pleasure forth to pass.
Th' enchanter self, which all that fraud did frame
To have efforc'd the love of that fair lass,
Seeing his work now wasted, deep engrievéd was.
But when the victoress arrivéd there
Where late she left the pensive Scudamore
With her own trusty squire, both full of fear,
Neither of them she found where she them lore:1
Thereat her noble heart was 'stonish'd sore;
But most fair Amoret, whose gentle sprite
Now gan to feed on hope, which she before
Conceived had, to see her own dear Knight,
Being thereof beguil'd, was fill'd with new affright.
But he, sad man, when he had long in dread
Awaited there for Britomart's return,
Yet saw her not, nor sign of her good speed,
His expectation to despair did turn,
Misdeeming sure that her those flames did burn;
And therefore gan advise with her old squire,
Who her dear nursling's loss no less did mourn,
Thence to depart for farther aid t' inquire:
Where let them wond3 at will, whilst here I do
respire.
THE LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TRIAMOND, OR OF
FRIENDSHIP.
THE rugged forehead,* that with grave foresight
Wields kingdoms' causes and affairs of state,
My looser rhymes, I wote, doth sharply wite1
For praising love as I have done of late,
And magnifying lovers' dear debate;
By which frail youth is oft to folly led,
Through false allurement of that pleasing bait,
That better were in virtues discipled,2
Than with vain poems' weeds to have their fancies
Such ones ill judge of love, that cannot love,
Ne in their frozen hearts feel kindly flame:
Forthy they ought not thing unknown reprove,
Ne natural affection faultless blame
For fault of few that have abus'd the same:
For it of honour and all virtue is
The root, and brings forth glorious flowers of fame,
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