THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Or ought more hard, then thinke to reckon
right.
But well I wote that these, which I descry,
Were present at this great solemnity:
And there, amongst the rest, the mother was
Of luckelesse Marinell, Cymodocè;
Which, for my Muse her selfe now tyred has,
Unto an other Canto I will overpas.
Marin for love of Florimell
In languor wastes his life:
The Nymph, his mother, getteth her
And gives to him for wife.
O! WHAT an endlesse worke have I in hand,
To count the seas abundant progeny,
Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in
land,
And also those which wonne in th' azure sky:
For much more eath to tell the starres on by,
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation,
Then to recount the Seas posterity:
So fertile be the flouds in generation,
So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse
their nation.
Under the hanging of an hideous clieffe
That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,
He heard the lamentable voice of one,
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone:
Which never she before disclosd to none,
So feelingly her case she did complaine,
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone,
And made it seeme to feele her grievous paine,
And oft to grone with billowes beating from
the maine:
And count my cares when none is nigh to
Though vaine, I see, my sorrowes to unfold,
heare,
Yet, hoping griefe may lessen being told,
I will them tell though unto no man neare:
For heaven, that unto all lends equall eare,
Is farre from hearing of my heavy plight;
And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare,
Therefore the antique wisards well invented That Venus of the fomy sea was bred, For that the seas by her are most augmented: Witnesse th' exceeding fry which there are fed. And wondrous sholes which may of none be red. Then, blame me not if I have err'd in count Of Gods, of Nymphs, of rivers, yet unred; For though their numbers do much more sur-Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight; Yet all those same were there which erst I did re[count. And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life delight.
All those were there, and many other more,
Whose names and nations were too long to tell,
That Proteus house they fild even to the dore;
Yet were they all in order, as befell,
According their degrees disposed well.
Amongst the rest was faire Cymodocė,
The mother of unlucky Marinell,
Who thither with her came, to learne and see
The manner of the Gods when they at banquet
be.
But for he was halfe mortall, being bred
Of mortall sire, though of immortall wombe,
He might not with immortall food be fed,
Ne with th' eternall Gods to bancket come;
But walkt abrode, and round about did rome
To view the building of that uncouth place,
That seem'd unlike unto his earthly home:
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,
There unto him betid a disaventrous case.
'Yet loe! the seas, I see, by often beating
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating
Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he
heares,
Is hardned more with my aboundant teares:
Yet will I never of my love repent,
Yet though he never list to me relent,
But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,
But joy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.
And, after she had wept and wail'd a space,
She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.
'Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all
Have care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,
By one or other way me, woefull thrall,
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong,
In which I daily dying am too long:
And if ye deeme me death for loving one
That loves not me, then doe it not prolong,
But let me die and end my daies attone,
And let him live unlov'd, or love him selfe
alone.
But if that life ye unto me decree,
Then let mee live as lovers ought to do,
And of my lifes deare love beloved be:
And if he should through pride your doome
undo,
Then did he cast to steale her thence away, And with him beare where none of her might know:
Do you by duresse him compell thereto,
And in this prison put him here with me;
One prison tittest is to hold us two.
So had I rather to be thrall then free:
Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely For all about that rocke the sea did flow:
But all in vaine, for-why he found no way
To enter in, or issue forth below;
And though unto his will she given were,
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row,
He wist not how her thence away to bere,
And daunger well he wist long to continue
there.
At last, when as no meanes he could invent,
Backe to him selfe he gan returne the blame,
That was the author of her punishment;
And with vile curses and reprochfull shame
To damne him selfe by every evil name,
And deeme unworthy or of love or life,
That had despisde so chast and faire a dame,
Which him had sought through trouble and
long strife,
[to wife.
Yet had refusde a God that her had sought
All which complaint when Marinell had heard,
And understood the cause of all her care
To come of him for using her so hard,
His stubborne heart, that never felt misfare, In this sad plight he walked here and there,
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare. And romed round about the rocke in vaine,
That even for griefe of minde he oft did grone,, As he had lost him selfe he wist not where;
And inly wish that in his powre it weare
Her to redresse: but since he meanes found
He could no more but her great misery bemone.
Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide, Dame Venus sonne, that tameth stubborne
With iron bit, and maketh him abide
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe.
And still bemoning her unworthy paine.
Like as an Hynde, whose calfe is falne unwares
Into some pit, where she him heares complaine,
An hundred times about the pit side fares
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved cares.
And now by this the feast was throughly ended.
And every one gan homeward to resort:
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended
That his departure thence should be so short,
And leave his love in that sea-walled fort.
Yet durst he not his mother disobay,
But her attending in full seemly sort,
Did march amongst the many all the way,
And all the way did inly mourne, like one
astray.
Being returned to his mothers bowre,
In solitary silence, far from wight,
He gan record the lamentable stowre,
In which his wretched love lay day and night
For his deare sake, that ill deserv'd that plight:
The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe,
That of no worldly thing he tooke delight;
Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe,
But pyn'd, and mourn'd, and languisht, and
alone did weepe
Therefore to Tryphon she againe doth hast,
And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent.
That fayld the trust which she in him had plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent,
of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
Who now was falne into new languishment
So backe he came unto her patient;
Where searching every part, her well assured
That it was no old sore which his new paine
procured;
But that it was some other maladie,
Or grief unknowne, which he could not dis-
Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and
So left he her withouten remedie.
And inly troubled was the truth to learne.
Now with faire speches, now with threatnings
Unto himselfe she came, and him besought,
That in short space his wonted chearefull hew
Gan fade, and lively spirits deaded quight:
His cheeke bones raw, and eie-pits hollow,
And brawney armes had lost their knowen It to reveale; who still her answered, there
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought,
That nothing like himselfe he seem'd in sight.
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of love
He woxe, that lenger he note stand upright,
But to his bed was brought, and layd above,
Like ruefull ghost, unable once to stirre or
Nought could she read the roote of his disease.
Ne weene what mister maladie it is,
Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.
Most did she thinke, but most she thought
amis,
That that same former fatall wound of his
Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly
healed,
But closely rankled under th' orifis:
Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide;
But leaving watry gods, as booting nought,
And thence Apollo, King of Leaches, brought.
Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide,
Apollo came; who, soone as he had sought
That he did languish of some inward thought,
Through his disease, did by and by out find
The which afflicted his engrieved mind;
Which love he red to be, that leads each living
kind.
Which when he had unto his mother told,
She gan thereat to fret and greatly grieve;
And, comming to her sonne, gan first to
scold
And chyde at him that made her misbelieve:
But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieve,
Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did
And wooe with fair intreatie, to disclose
For sure she weend it was some one of those,
Which he had lately seene, that for his love
Now lesse she feared that same fatall read,
That warned him of womens love beware,
Least did she thinke, that which he most con- Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,
cealed,
That love it was, which in his hart lay uure-
[vealed For love of Nymphes she thought she need not
care,
But promist him, what ever wight she weare, It to replevie, and my sonne reprive,
That she her love to him would shortly So shall you by one gift save all us three
So he her told: but soone as she did heare
That Florimell it was which wrought his paine, She gan afresh to chafe, and grieve in every vaine.
To Proteus selfe to sew she thought it Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand,
Who was the root and worker of her woe,
Nor unto any meaner to complaine;
But unto great king Neptune selfe did goe,
And, on her knee before him falling lowe,
Made humble suit unto his Majestie
To graunt to her her sonnes life, which his
foe,
A cruell Tyrant, had presumpteouslie
By wicked doome condemn'd a wretched death
to die.
But unto her delivered Florimell:
Whom she receiving by the lilly hand,
Admyr'd her beautie much, as she mote well,
For she all living creatures did excell;
And was right joyous that she gotten had
So faire a wife for her sonne Marinell.
So home with her she streight the virgin lad,
And shewed her to him, then being sore le-
stad.
Right so himselfe did Marinell upreare,
When he in place his dearest love did spy:
And though his limbs could not his bodie
beare,
Ne former strength returne so suddenly,
Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly.
Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected,
But that she masked it with modestie,
For feare she should of lightnesse be detected:
Which to another place I leave to be per-
fected.
For that which all men then did vertue call, Is now cald vice; and that which vice was hight,
So oft as I with state of present time
The image of the antique world compare,
When as mans age was in his freshest prime,
And the first blossome of faire vertue bare;
Is now hight vertue, and so us'd of all:
Such oddes I finde twixt those, and these Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is
As that, through long continuance of his course, As all things else in time are chaunged quight:
Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square Ne wonder; for the heavens revolution
From the first point of his appointed sourse; Is wandred farre from where it first was
And being once amisse growes daily wourse
and wourse:
For from the golden age, that first was
named,
It's now at earst become a stonie one;
And men themselves, the which at first were
framed
Of earthly mould, and form'd of flesh and bone,
Are now transformed into hardest stone;
Such as behind their backs (so backward
bred)
Were throwne by Pyrrha and Deucalione:
And if then those may any worse be red,
They into that ere long will be degendered.
Let none then blame me, if in discipline
Of vertue and of civill uses lore,
I doe not forme them to the common line
Of present dayes, which are corrupted sore, ́
But to the antique use which was of yore,
When good was onely for it selfe desyred,
And all men sought their owne, and none no
When Justice was not for most meed out-hyred, But simple Truth did rayne, and was of all admyred.
And so doe make contrarie constitution
Of all this lower world, toward his dissolu-
tion.
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