1596)

Books I to III

THE FAERIE

QVEENE.

Disposed into twelue books,

Fashioning XII. Morall vertues.

LONDON Printed for William Ponsonbie. 1590.

The Faerie Queene. Book I.

The first Booke of

the Faerie Queene.

Contayning

The Legend of the Knight

of the Red Crosse,

OR

Of Holinesse.

Lo I the man, whose Muse whylome did maske, Marmionp193As time her taught, in lowly Shephards weeds, Am now enforst a farre vnfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds: And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds, Whose praises hauing slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loues shall moralize my song.

Helpe then, O holy virgin chiefe of nyne, Thy weaker Nouice to performe thy will, Lay forth out of thine euerlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,

Of Faerie knights and fayrest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his vndeserued wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.

And thou most dreaded impe of highest Ioue, Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst roue, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart, Lay now thy deadly Heben bowe apart, And with thy mother mylde come to mine ayde: Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart, In loues and gentle iollities arraid, After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie rage allayd.

And with them eke, O Goddesse heauenly bright, Mirrour of grace and Maiestie diuine, Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light Like Phœbus lampe throughout the world doth shine, Shed thy faire beames into mine feeble eyne, And raise my thoughtes too humble and too vile, To thinke of that true glorious type of thine, The argument of mine afflicted stile: The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dread a while.

Book I, Canto I

Canto I.

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in mightie armes and siluer shielde, Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine, The cruell markes of many' a bloody fielde; Yet armes till that time did he neuer wield: His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, As much disdayning to the curbe to yield: Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

And on his brest a bloodie Crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead as liuing euer him ador'd: Vpon his shield the like was also scor'd, For soueraine hope, which in his helpe he had: Right faithfull true he was in deede and word, But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but euer was ydrad.

Vpon a great aduenture he was bond, That greatest Gloriana to him gaue, That greatest Glorious Queene of Faery lond, To winne him worshippe, and her grace to haue,

Which of all earthly thinges he most did craue; And euer as he rode his hart did earne, To proue his puissance in battell braue Vpon his foe, and his new force to learne; Vpon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.

A louely Ladie rode him faire beside, Vpon a lowly Asse more white then snow, Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide Vnder a vele, that wimpled was full low, And ouer all a blacke stole shee did throw, As one that inly mournd: so was she sad, And heauie sate vpon her palfrey slow: Seemed in heart some hidden care she had; And by her in a line a milkewhite lambe she lad.

So pure and innocent, as that same lambe, She was in life and euery vertuous lore, And by descent from Royall lynage came Of ancient Kinges and Queenes, that had of yore Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore, And all the world in their subiection held, Till that infernall feend with foule vprore Forwasted all their land, and them expeld: Whom to auenge, she had this Knight from far cōpeld.

Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag, That lasie seemd in being euer last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, The day with cloudes was suddeine ouercast, And angry Ioue an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast, That euerie wight to shrowd it did constrain, And this faire couple eke to shroud thēselues were fain.

Enforst to seeke some couert nigh at hand, A shadie groue not farr away they spide, That promist ayde the tempest to withstand: Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride, Did spred so broad, that heauens light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starr: And all within were pathes and alleies wide, With footing worne, and leading inward farr: Faire harbour that them seemes, so in they entred ar.

And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, Ioying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy, The sayling Pine, the Cedar proud and tall, The vine-propp Elme, the Poplar neuer dry, The builder Oake, sole king of forrests all, The Aspine good for staues, the Cypresse funerall.

The Laurell, meed of mightie Conquerours And Poets sage, the Firre that weepeth still, The Willow worne of forlorne Paramours, The Eugh obedient to the benders will, The Birch for shaftes, the Sallow for the mill, The Mirrhe sweete bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill, The fruitfull Oliue, and the Platane round, The caruer Holme, the Maple seeldom inward sound.

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, Vntill the blustring storme is ouerblowne; When weening to returne, whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path, which first was showne,

But wander too and fro in waies vnknowne, Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes thē doubt, their wits be not their owne: So many pathes, so many turnings seene, That which of them to take, in diuerse doubt they been.

At last resoluing forward still to fare, Till that some end they finde or in or out, That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare, And like to lead the labyrinth about; Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, At length it brought them to a hollowe caue, Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout Eftsoones dismounted from his courser braue, And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere he gaue.

Be well aware, quoth then that Ladie milde, Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash prouoke: The danger hid, the place vnknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: therefore your hardy stroke Sir knight with-hold, till further tryall made. Ah Ladie (sayd he) shame were to reuoke, The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertue giues her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade.

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 wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then The fearefull Dwarfe:) this is no place for liuing men.

But full of fire and greedy hardiment, The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide, But forth vnto the darksom hole he went, And looked in: his glistring armor made A litle glooming light, much like a shade, By which he saw the vgly monster plaine, Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, But th' other halfe did womans shape retaine, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine.

And as she lay vpon the durtie ground, Her huge long taile her den all ouerspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes vpwound, Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred, A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed, Sucking vpon her poisnous dugs, eachone Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill fauored: Soone as that vncouth light vpon them shone, Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone.

Their dam vpstart, 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 entraile, She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe; For light she hated as the deadly bale, Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine.

Which when the valiant Elfe perceiu'd, he lept As Lyon fierce vpon the flying pray, And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept From turning backe, and forced her to stay:

Therewith enrag'd, she loudly gan to bray, And turning fierce, her speckled taile aduaunst, Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay: Who nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst: The stroke down frō her head vnto her shoulder glaunst

Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd, Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round, And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd With doubled forces high aboue the ground: Tho wrapping vp her wrethed sterne arownd, Lept fierce vpon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stirr he stroue in vaine: God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine.

His Lady sad to see his sore constraint, Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee Add faith vnto your force, and be not faint: Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee. That when he heard, in great perplexitie, His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine, And knitting all his force got one hand free, Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, That soone to loose her wicked bands did her cōstraine.

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,' His grasping hold, and ftom her turne him backe: Her vomit full of bookes and papers was, 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.

As when old father Nilus gins to swell With timely pride aboue the Aegyptian vale, His fattie waues doe fertile slime outwell, And ouerflow each plaine and lowly dale: But when his later ebbe gins t'auale, Huge heapes of mudd he leaues, wherin there breed Ten thousand kindes of creatures partly male And partly femall of his fruitful seed; Such vgly monstrous shapes elswher may no man reed.

The same so sore annoyed has the knight, That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight. Whose corage when the feend perceiud to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke, Which swarming all about his legs did crall, And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.

As gentle Shepheard in sweete euentide, When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best, A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, All striuing to infixe their feeble stinges, That from their noyance he no where can rest, But with his clownish hands their tender wings, He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame, Then of the certeine perill he stood in, Halfe furious vnto his foe he came, Resolud in minde all suddenly to win,

Or soone to lose, before he once would lin; And stroke at her with more then manly force, That from her body full of filthie sin He raft her hatefull heade without remorse; A streame of cole black blood forth gushed frō her corse

Her scattred brood, soone as their Parent deare They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare, Gathred themselues about her body round, Weening their wonted entrance to haue found At her wide mouth: but being there withstood They flocked all about her bleeding wound, And sucked vp their dying mothers bloud, Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.

That detestable sight him much amazde, To see th'vnkindly Impes of heauen accurst, Deuoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd, Hauing all satisfide their bloudy thurst, Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst, And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst; Now needeth him no lenger labour spend, His foes haue slaine themselues, with whom he should contend.

His Lady seeing all, that chaunst, from farre Approcht in hast to greet his victorie, And saide, Faire knight, borne vnder happie starre, Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye: Well worthie be you of that Armory, Wherein ye haue great glory wonne this day, And proou'd your strength on a strong enimie, Your first aduenture: many such I pray, And henceforth euer wish, that like succeed it may.

Then mounted he vpon his Steede againe, And with the Lady backward sought to wend; That path he kept, which beaten was most plaine, Ne euer would to any byway bend, But still did follow one vnto the end, The which at last out of the wood them brought. So forward on his way (with God to frend) He passed forth, and new aduenture sought, Long way he traueiled, before he heard of ought.

At length they chaunst to meet vpon the way An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray, And by his belt his booke he hanging had; Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad, And all the way he prayed as he went, And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.

He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as that courteous was: And after asked him, if he did know Of straunge aduentures, which abroad did pas. Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas, Silly old man, that liues in hidden cell, Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell? With holy father sits not with such thinges to mell.

But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell, And homebred deuil ye desire to heare, Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, That wasteth all this countrie farre and neare.

Of such (saide he) I chiefly doe inquere, And shall thee well rewarde to shew the place, In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare: For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, That such a cursed creature liues so long a space.

Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse His dwelling is, by which no liuing wight May euer passe, but thorough great distresse. Now (saide the Ladie) draweth toward night, And well I wote, that of your later fight, Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong, But wanting rest will also want of might? The Sunne that measures heauen all day long, At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waues emong.

Then with the Sunne take Sir, your timely rest, And with new day new worke at once begin: Vntroubled night they say giues counsell best. Right well Sir knight ye haue aduised bin, Quoth then that aged man; the way to win Is wisely to aduise: now day is spent; Therefore with me ye may take vp your In For this same night. The knight was well content: So with that godly father to his home they went.

Cornwallp81A litle lowly Hermitage it was, Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, Far from resort of people, that did pas In traueill to and froe: a litle wyde There was an holy chappell edifyde, Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say His holy thinges each morne and euentyde: Thereby a christall streame did gently play, Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.

Arriued there the litle house they fill, Ne looke for entertainement, where none was. Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will; The noblest mind the best contentment has. With faire discourse the euening so they pas: For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store, And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas, He told of Saintes and Popes, and euermore He strowd an Aue-Mary after and before.

The drouping Night thus creepeth on them fast, And the sad humor loading their eye liddes, As messenger of Morpheus on them cast Sweet slōbring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes: Vnto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to his studie goes, and there amiddes His magick bookes and artes of sundrie kindes, He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy minds.

Then choosing out few words most horrible, (Let none them read) thereof did verses frame, With which and other spelles like terrible, He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame, And cursed heuen, and spake reprochful shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light, A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night, At which Cocytus quakes and Styx is put to flight.

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd Legions of Sprights, the which like litle flyes Fluttring about his euerdamned hedd, A waite whereto their seruice he applyes,

To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies: Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; The one of them he gaue a message too, The other by himselfe staide other worke to doo.

He making speedy way through spersed ayre, And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire, Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawning day doth neuer peepe, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth euer wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In siluer deaw his euer drouping hed, Whiles sad Night ouer him her mātle black doth spred.

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast, The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yuory, The other all with siluer ouercast; And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye, Watching to banish Care their enimy, Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly, And vnto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe.

And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe And euery drizling raine vpon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne: No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.

The Messenger approching to him spake, But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine: So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine, Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine Is tost with troubled sighes and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake.

The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake, And threatned vnto him the dreaded name Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake, And lifting vp his lompish head, with blame Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. Hether (quoth he) me Archimago sent, He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame, He bids thee to him send for his intent A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.

The God obayde, and calling forth straight way A diuerse dreame out of his prison darke, Deliuered it to him, and downe did lay His heauie head, deuoide of careful carke, Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke. He backe returning by the Yuorie dore, Remounted vp as light as chearefull Larke, And on his litle winges the dreame he bore, In hast vnto his Lord, where he him left afore.

Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes, Had made a Lady of that other Spright, And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes So liuely and so like in all mens sight,

That weaker sence it could haue rauisht quight: The maker selfe for all his wondrous witt, Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight: Her all in white he clad, and ouer it Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Vna fit.

Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought, Vnto that Elfin knight he bad him fly, Where he slept soundly void of euil thought, And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, In sort as he him schooled priuily: And that new creature borne without her dew, Full of the makers guyle with vsage sly He taught to imitate that Lady trew, Whose semblance she did carrie vnder feigned hew.

Thus well instructed, to their worke they haste, And comming where the knight in slomber lay, The one vpon his hardie head him plaste, And made him dreame of loues and lustfull play, That nigh his manly hart did melt away, Bathed in wanton blis and wicked ioy: Then seemed him his Lady by him lay, And to him playnd, how that false winged boy, Her chaste hart had subdewd, to learne Dame pleasures toy.

And she her selfe of beautie soueraigne Queene, Fayre Venus seemde vnto his bed to bring Her, whom he waking euermore did weene, To bee the chastest flowre, that aye did spring On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king, Now a loose Leman to vile seruice bound: And eke the Graces seemed all to sing, Hymen iö Hymen, dauncing all around, Whylst freshest Flora her with Yuie girlond crownd.

In this great passion of vnwonted lust, Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, He starteth vp, as seeming to mistrust, Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his: Lo there before his face his Ladie is, Vnder blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke, And as halfe blushing offred him to kis, With gentle blandishment and louely looke, Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took

All cleane dismayd to see so vncouth sight, And halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise, He thought haue slaine her in his fierce despight, But hastie heat tempring with sufferance wise, He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe aduise To proue his sense, and tempt her faigned truth. Wringing her hands in wemens pitteous wise, Tho can she weepe, to stirre vp gentle ruth, Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth.

And sayd, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my loue, Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate, And mightie causes wrought in heauen aboue, Or the blind God, that doth me thus amate, For hoped loue 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 auenging destinie Hath made iudge of my life or death indifferently.

Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leaue My Fathers kingdom, There she stopt with teares; Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereaue, And then againe begonne, My weaker yeares

Captiu'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? What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?

Loue of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie night In secret anguish and vnpittied plaint, Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight. Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight Suspect her truth: yet since no'vntruth he knew, Her fawning loue with foule disdainefull spight He would not shend, but said, Deare dame I rew, That for my sake vnknowne such griefe vnto you grew.

Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground; For all so deare as life is to my hart, I deeme your loue, and hold me to you bound; Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart, 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, So slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease.

Long after lay he musing at her mood, Much grieu'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light, For whose defence he was to shed his blood. At last dull wearines of former fight Hauing yrockt a sleepe his irkesome spright, That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine, With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare delight: But when he saw his labour all was vaine, With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.

Book I, Canto II

Cant. II.

By this the Northerne wagoner had set His seuenfold teme behind the stedfast starre, That was in Ocean waues yet neuer wet, Bur firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre To al, that in the wide deepe wandring arre: And chearefull Chaunticlere with his note shrill Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre, In hast was climbing vp the Easterne hill, Full enuious that night so long his roome did fill.

When those accursed messengers of hell, That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged Spright Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night: Who all in rage to see his skilfull might Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright. But when he saw his threatning was but vaine, He cast about, and searcht his baleful bokes againe.

Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire, And that false other Spright, on whom he spred A seeming body of the subtile aire, Like a young Squire, in loues and lusty hed

His wanton daies that euer loosely led, Without regard of armes and dreaded fight: Those twoo he tooke, and in a secrete bed, Couered with darkenes and misdeeming night, Them both together laid, to ioy in vaine delight.

Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast Vnto his guest, who after troublous sights And dreames gan now to take more sound repast, Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful frights, As one aghast with feends or damned sprights, And to him cals, Rise rise vnhappy Swaine, That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights Haue knit themselues in Venus shameful chaine; Come see, where your false Lady doth her honor staine.

All in amaze he suddenly vp start With sword in hand, and with the old man went; Who soone him brought into a secret part, Where that false couple were full closely ment In wanton lust and leud enbracement: Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire, The eie of reason was with rage yblent, And would haue slaine them in his furious ire, But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.

Retourning to his bed in torment great, And bitter anguish of his guilty sight, He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat, And wast his inward gall with deepe despight, Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night. At last faire Hesperus in highest skie Had spent his lāpe, and brought forth dawning light, Then vp he rose, and clad him hastily; The dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away do fly.

Now when the rosy fingred Morning faire, Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed, Had spred her purple robe through deawy aire, And the high hils Titan discouered, The royall virgin shooke of drousy hed, And rising forth out of her baser bowre, Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled, And for her dwarfe, that wont to wait each howre; Then gan she wail and weepe, to see that woeful stowre.

And after him she rode with so much speede, As her slowe beast could make; but all in vaine: For him so far had borne his light-foot steede, Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine, That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine; Yet she her weary limbes would neuer rest, But euery hil and dale, each wood and plaine Did search, sore grieued in her gentle brest, He so vngently left her, whome she loued best.

But subtill Archimago when his guests He saw diuided into double parts, And Vna wandring in woods and forrests, Th'end of his drift, he praisd his diuelish arts, That had such might ouer true meaning harts: Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make, How he may worke vnto her further smarts: For her he hated as the hissing snake, And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

He then deuisde himselfe how to disguise; For by his mighty science he could take As many formes and shapes in seeming wise, As euer Proteus to himselfe could make: