Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave, Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine,
And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere Where plain none might her see, nor she see

he gave.

XII

XVII

any plaine. 'Be well aware,' quoth then that Ladie milde, Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd, he lept 'Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke: As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray,

The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept Breedes dreadfull doubts. Oft fire is without From turning backe, and forced her to stay: smoke, Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, And perill without show: therefore your stroke, And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst, Sir Knight, with-hold, till further tryall made.' Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay; 'Ah Ladie,' (sayd he) 'shame were to revoke Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand enThe forward footing for an hidden shade: haunst: [der glaunst.

Vertue gives her selfe light through darknesse The stroke down from her head unto her shoulfor to wade.'

XIII

XVIII

Much daunted with that dint her sence was dazd;

'Yea but' (quoth she) 'the perill of this place
I better wot then you: though nowe too late
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round,
Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, With doubled forces high above the ground:
And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd,
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine
Therefore I read beware.' 'Fly, fly!' (quoth then All suddenly about his body wound,
The fearefull Dwarfe) ' this is no place for living

men.'

And, as she lay upon the durtie ground,
Her huge long taile her den all overspred,
Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound,
Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred
A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed,
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs; each one
Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored:

That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine. God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine!

Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw,
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him
slacke

[backe.

Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone, His grasping hold, and from her turne him Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were Her vomit full of bookes and papers was,

gone.

XVI

Their dam upstart out of her den effraide,
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile
About her cursed head; whose folds displaid
Were stretcht now forth at length without en-
traile.

She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle,
Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,

With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did

lacke,

And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled has.

XXI

As when old father Nilus gins to swell With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale, His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell, And overflow each plaine and Jowly dale:

The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast;

That such a cursed creature lives so long a And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes, space.'

Lo! there before his face his Ladie is,
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke;
And as halfe blushing offred him to kis,
With gentle blandishment and lovely looke,
Most like that virgin true which for her
knight him took.

L

All cleaue dismayd to see so uncouth sight,
And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,
He thought have slaine her in his fierce des-
pight;

But hastie heat tempring with sufferance wise,
He stayde his hand; and gan himselfe advise
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned truth.
Wringing her hands, in wemens pitteous wise,
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth
Both for her noble blood, and for her tender
youth.

LI

'Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground; For all so deare as life is to my hart, I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound: And sayd, 'Ah Sir, my liege Lord, and my Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate, [love, smart, And mightie causes wrought in heaven above, Or the blind God that doth me thus amate, For hoped love to winne me certaine hate? Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die. Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state, You, whom my hard avenging destinie Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.

LII

'Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave
My fathers kingdom'-There she stopt with|
teares;

Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave,
And then againe begonne; My weaker yeares,
Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares,
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde:
Let me not die in languor and long teares.'
'Why, Dame,' (quoth he,) 'what hath ye thus
dismayd?

Where cause is none; but to your rest depart.'
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
And fed with words that could not chose but
please:
[ease.
So, slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her

LV

Long after lay he musing at her mood,
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so
light,

For whose defence he was to shed his blood.
At last, dull wearines of former fight
Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,
That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his
braine

With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare de-
light:

But, when he saw his labour all was vaine, What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me With that misformed spright he backe returnd affrayd?'

againe.