But Calidore himself would not retain
Nor land nor fee for hire of his good deed, But gave them straight unto that squire again, Whom from her seneschal he lately freed, And to his damsel, as their rightful meed For recompense of all their former wrong: There he remain'd with them right well agreed, Till of his wounds he waxed whole and strong; Expedi- And then to his first quest1 he passed forth along.
Calidore sees young Tristram slay
A proud discourteous knight:
He makes him squire, and of him learns
His state and present plight.
WHAT virtue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a lady whom a knight should love,
As Courtesy; to bear themselves aright
To all of each degree as should behove?
For whether they be placed high above
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know
Their good; that none them rightly may reprove
Of rudeness for not yielding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.
Thereto great help Dame Nature self doth lend:
For some so goodly gracious are by kind,2
That every action doth them much commend,
And in the eyes of men great liking find;
Which others that have greater skill in mind,
Though they enforce themselves, cannot attain:
For every thing, to which one is inclin❜d,
Doth best become and greatest grace doth gain: Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes1 enforc'd with pain.2
That well in courteous Calidore appears;
Whose every act and deed, that he did say,
Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes
And both the ears did steal the heart away.
He now again is on his former way
To follow his first quest, whenas he spied
A tall young man, from thence not far away,
Fighting on foot, as well he him descried,
Against an armed knight that did on horseback ride.
And them beside a lady fair he saw
Standing alone on foot in foul array;
To whom himself he hastily did draw
To weet1 the cause of so uncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may :
But, ere he came in place, that youth had kill'd
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
Which when he saw, his heart was inly chill'd
With great amazement, and his thought with wonder
fill'd.
Him stedfastly he mark'd, and saw to be
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see
Yet seventeen years, but tall and fair of face,
That sure he deem'd him born of noble race:
All in a woodman's jacket he was clad
Of Lincoln green, belaid with silver lace;
And on his head an hood with aglets1 sprad,2 And by his side his hunter's horn he hanging had.
Buskins he wore of costliest cordwain,3
Pink'd upon gold, and paled part per part,*
As then the guise was for each gentle swain:
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
And in his left he held a sharp boar-spear,
With which he wont to launch the savage heart
Of many a lion and of many a bear,
That first unto his hand in chase did happen near.
Whom Calidore awhile well having viewed,
Atlength bespake; 'What means this, gentle swain!
Why hath thy hand too bold itself imbrued
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slain,
By thee no knight; which arms impugneth 5 plain!'
Certes,' said he, 'loath were I to have broken
The law of arms; yet break it should again,
Rather then let myself of wight be stroken,
7 Avenged. So long as these two arms were able to be wroken.7
'For not I him, as this his lady here
May witness well, did offer first to wrong,
Ne surely thus unarm'd I likely were;
But he me first through pride and puissance strong
Assail'd, not knowing what to arms doth long.'8
'Perdie9 great blame,' then said Sir Calidore,
For armed knight a wight unarm'd to wrong:
But then aread,10 thou gentle child, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and stern uproar.'
* 'Pink'd upon gold,' &c.: adorned with golden points, or eyelets, and intersected with stripes.
'That shall I sooth,'1 said he, 'to you declare.
I, whose unriper years are yet unfit
For thing of weight or work of greater care,
Do spend my days and bend my careless wit
To savage chase, where I thereon may hit
In all this forest and wild woody reign:
Where, as this day I was enranging it,
I chanc'd to meet this knight who there lies slain,
Together with this lady, passing on the plain.
'The knight, as ye did see, on horseback was,
And this his lady, that him ill became,
On her fair feet by his horse-side did pass
Through thick and thin, unfit for any dame :
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
Whenso she lagged, as she needs must so,
He with his spear (that was to him great blame)
Would thump her forward and enforce to go,
Weeping to him in vain and making piteous woe.
"Which when I saw, as they me passed by,
Much was I moved in indignant mind,
And gan to blame him for such cruelty
Towards a lady, whom with usage kind
He rather should have taken up behind.
Wherewith he wroth and full of proud disdain
Took in foul scorn that I such fault did find,
And me in lieu thereof revil'd again,
Threat'ning to chastise me, as doth t' a child pertain.
"Which I no less disdaining, back returned His scornful taunts unto his teeth again,
That he straightway with haughty choler burned,
And with his spear struck me one stroke or twain;
Which I, enforc'd to bear though to my pain,
Cast to requite; and with a slender dart,
Fellow of this I bear, thrown not in vain,
Struck him, as seemeth, underneath the heart,
That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart.'
Much did Sir Calidore admire his speech
Temper'd so well, but more admir'd the stroke
That through the mails had made so strong a
Into his heart, and had so sternly wroke [breach
His wrath on him that first occasion broke:
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
Of that same lady, whether what he spoke
Were soothly 1 so, and that th' unrighteous ire Of her own knight had given him his own due hire.
Of all which whenas she could nought deny,
But clear'd that stripling of th' imputed blame;
Said then Sir Calidore; Neither will I
Him charge with guilt, but rather do quitclaim:2
For, what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame;
And what he did, he did himself to save:
Against both which that knight wrought knight-
less3 shame:
For knights and all men this by nature have,
Towards all womenkind, them kindly to behave.
'But, sith that he is gone irrevocable,
Please it you, Lady, to us to aread4
What cause could make him so dishonourable
To drive you so on foot, unfit to tread
And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead.'
'Certes, Sir Knight,' said she, 'full loath I were
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