Much did he marvell at her uncouth speach, Whose hidden drift he could not well perceive; And gan to doubt least she him sought t' appeach
Of treason, or some guilefull traine did weave, From seeking favour where it doth abound; Through which she might his wretched life be- Which if I might by your good office get, [her: I to your selfe should rest for ever bound, Both which to barre he with this answere met And readie to deserve what grace I found.' 'Faire Damzell, that with ruth (as I perceave) She feeling him thus bite upon the bayt, Of my mishaps art mov'd to wish me better, For such your kind regard I can but rest your detter.
Yet doubting least his hold was but unsound And not well fastened, would not strike him strayt,
But drew him on with hope fit leasure to awayt.
But, foolish Mayd! whyles heedlesse of the hooke
'Yet, weet ye well, that to a courage great
It is no lesse beseeming well to beare
The storme of fortunes frowne or heavens threat,
Then in the sunshine of her countenance cleare She thus oft times was beating off and on,
Timely to joy and carrie comely cheare: Through slipperie footing fell into the brooke,
For though this cloud have now me overcast, And there was caught to her confusion :
Yet doe I not of better times despeyre; For, seeking thus to salve the Amazon,
And though (unlike) they should for ever last, She wounded was with her deceipts owne dart,
Yet in my truthes assurance I rest fixed fast.' | And gan thenceforth to cast affection,
I will a while with his first folly beare,
Conceived close in her beguiled hart,
To Artegall, through pittie of his causelesse Till thou have tride againe, and tempted him
Yet durst she not disclose her fancies wound, Ne to himselfe, for doubt of being sdayned, Ne yet to any other wight on ground,
'Say and do all that may thereto prevaile; Leave nought unpromist that may him perswade,
For feare her mistresse shold have knowledge Life, freedome, grace, and gifts of great availe,
But to her selfe it secretly retayned [gayned; With which the Gods themselves are mylder
Within the closet of her covert brest,
The more thereby her tender hart was payned;
Yet to awayt fit time she weened best,
And fairely did dissemble her sad thoughts un-
rest.
Thereto adde art, even womens witty trade,
The art of mightie words that men can charme;
With which in case thou canst him not invade,
Let him feele hardnesse of thy heavie arme :
Who will not stoupe with good shall be made
stoupe with harme.
As a bad Nurse, which, fayning to receive
In her owne mouth the food ment for her chyld,
Withholdes it to her selfe, and doeth deceive
The infant, so for want of nourture spoyld;
Even so Clarinda her owne Dame beguyld,
And turn'd the trust which was in her affyde,
To feeding of her private fire, which boyld
Her inward brest, and in her entrayles fryde,
The more that she it sought to cover and to
hyde.
Promist, if she would free him from that case, He wold, by all good means he might, deserve such grace.
So daily he faire semblant did her shew, Yet never meant he in his noble mind
For, comming to this knight, she purpose. To his owne absent love to be untrew:
Ne ever did deceiptfull Clarin find
In her false hart his bondage to unbind,
But rather how she mote him faster tye.
Therefore unto her mistresse most unkind
She daily told her love he did defye;
And him she told her Dame his freedome did
denye.
How earnest suit she earst for him had made
Unto her Queene, his freedome to have gayned,
But by no meanes could her thereto perswade:
But that instead thereof she sternely bade
His miserie to be augmented more,
And many yron bands on him to lade:
All which nathlesse she for his love forbore;
So praying him t'accept her service evermore.
And, more then that, she promist that she
would,
In case she might finde favour in his eye,
Devize how to enlarge him out of hould.
The Fayrie, glad to gaine his libertie,
Can yeeld great thankes for such her curtesie;
And with faire words, fit for the time and
place,
To feede the humour of her maladie,
Yet thus much friendship she to him did show,
That his scarse diet somewhat was amended,
And his worke lessened, that his love mote
grow:
Yet to her Dame him still she discommended,
That she with him mote be the more offended.
Thus he long while in thraldome there re-
mayned,
Of both beloved well, but litle frended,
Untill his owne true love his freedome gayned:
Which in an other Canto will be best con-
tayned.
One while she blam'd her selfe; another
whyle
She him condemn'd as trustlesse and untrew;
And then, her griefe with errour to beguyle,
She fayn'd to count the time againe anew,
As if before she had not counted trew:
Even in the dore him meeting, she begun :
And where is he thy Lord, and how far hence?
Declare at once: and bath he lost or wun?'
The yron man, albe he wanted sence
And sorrowes feeling, yet, with conscience
Of his ill newes, did inly chill and quake,
And stood still mute, as one in great suspence;
As if that by his silence he would make
Her rather reade his meaning then him selfe
it spake.
Till she againe thus sayd: Talus, be bold, For houres, but dayes; for weekes that passed And tell what ever it be, good or bad, [hold.' [more few; That from thy tongue thy hearts intent doth She told but moneths, to make them seeme To whom he thus at length: "The tidings sad, Yet when she reckned them, still drawing neare, That I would hide, will needs, I see, be rad. Each hour did seeme a moneth, and every My Lord, your love, by hard mishap doth lie moneth a yeare.
In wretched bondage, wofully bestad.'
'Ay me,' (quoth she) what wicked destinie!
And is he vanquisht by his tyrant enemy?'
But by a Tyrannesse,' (he then replide)
'Not by that Tyrant, his intended foe,
That him captived hath in haplesse woe.'
Cease, thou bad newes-man! badly doest
Thy maisters shame, in harlots bondage tide:
The rest my selfe too readily can spell.'
With that in rage she turn'd from him aside,
Forcing in vaine the rest to her to tell;
And to her chamber went like solitary cell.
There she began to make her monefull plaint
Against her Knight for being so untrew;
And him to touch with falshoods fowle attaint,
That all his other honour overthrew.
Oft did she blame her selfe, and often rew,
For yeelding to a straungers love so light,
Whose life and manners straunge she never
knew ;
And evermore she did him sharpely twight
For breach of faith to her, which he had firmely
plight.
And then she in her wrathfull will did cast
How to revenge that blot of honour blent,
To fight with him, and goodly die her last.
And then againe she did her selfe torment,
Inflicting on her selfe his punishment. [threw
A while she walkt, and chauft; a while she
Her selfe uppon her bed, and did lament:
Yet did she not lament with loude alew,
As women wont, but with deepe sighes and
singults few
'Which had her Lord in her base prison pent, Like as a wayward childe, whose sounder And so great honour with so fowle reproch had
Is broken with some fearefull dreames affright, With froward will doth set him selfe to weepe, So as she thus melancholieke did ride, Ne can be stild for all his nurses might, Chawing the cud of griefe and inward paine, But kicks, and squals, and shriekes for fell She chaunst to meete, toward the even-tide, despight; [using, A Knight that softly paced on the plaine, Now scratching her, and her loose locks mis- As if him selfe to solace he were faine: Now seeking darkenesse, and now seeking light. Well shot in yeares he seem'd, and rather bent Then craving sucke, and then the sucke re- To peace then needlesse trouble to constraine, fusing: [accusing. As well by view of that his vestiment, Such was this Ladies fit in her loves fond As by his modest semblant that no evill ment.
|