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So th' one for wrong, the other strives for right:
As when a gryfon, seized of his prey,
A dragon fierce encount'reth in his flight,
Through widest air making his idle way,
That would his rightful ravine rend away:
With hideous horror both together smite,
And souce so sore, that they the heavens af-
fray:

The wise soothsayer, seeing so sad sight,
Th' amazed vulgar tells of wars and mortal fight.

So th' one for wrong, the other strives for right; And each to deadly shame would drive his foe: The cruel steel so greedily doth bite

In tender flesh, that streams of blood down flow;

With which the arms, that erst so bright did show,

Into a pure vermilion now are dy'd.

Great ruth in all the gazers' hearts did grow, Seeing the goréd wounds to gape so wide, That victory they dare not wish to either side.

At last the Paynim chanc'd to cast his eye,
His sudden eye, flaming with wrathful fire,
Upon his brother's shield, which hung thereby :
Therewith redoubled was his raging ire,
And said; "Ah! wretched son of woeful sire,
Dost thou sit wailing by black Stygian lake,
Whilst here thy shield is hang'd for victor's
hire?

And, sluggish german, dost thy forces slake To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?

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Soon as the Faerie heard his lady speak,
Out of his swooning dream he gan awake;
And quick'ning faith, that erst was waxen
weak,

The creeping deadly cold away did shake: Then mov'd with wrath, and shame, and lady's sake,

Of all at once he cast aveng'd to be,
And with so' exceeding fury at him strake,
That forced him to stoop upon his knee:
Had he not stoopéd so, he should have cloven be.

And to him said;
"Go now, proud miscreant,
Thyself thy message do to german dear;
Alone he, wand'ring, thee too long doth want:
Go, say, his foe thy shield with his doth bear."
Therewith his heavy hand he high gan rear,
Him to have slain; when lo! a darksome
cloud

Upon him fell; he nowhere doth appear,
But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls aloud,
But answer none receives; the darkness him does
shroud.

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Not all so satisfied, with greedy eye
He sought, all round about, his thirsty blade
To bathe in blood of faithless enemy;
Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:
He stands amazed how he thence should fade.
At last the trumpets triumph sound on high;
And running heralds humble homage made,
Greeting him goodly with new victory;
And to him brought the shield, the cause of en-
mity.

Wherewith he goeth to that sovereign queen;
And, falling her before on lowly knee,
To her makes present of his service seen :
Which she accepts with thanks and goodly

gree,

Greatly advancing his gay chivalry:

So marcheth home, and by her takes the Knight, Whom all the people follow with great glee, Shouting, and clapping all their hands on hight, That all the air it fills, and flies to heaven bright.

Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed: Where many skilful leeches him abide To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled. In wine and oil they wash his woundës wide, And softly gan embalm on every side. And all the while most heavenly melody About the bed sweet music did divide, Him to beguile of grief and agony: And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.

As when a weary traveller, that strays By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile, Unweeting of the perilous wand'ring ways, Doth meet a cruel crafty crocodile, Which, in false grief hiding his harmful guile, Doth weep full sore, and sheddeth tender tears; The foolish man, that pities all this while His mournful plight, is swallow'd up unwares; Forgetful of his own, that minds another's cares.

So wept Duessa until eventide,

That shining lamps in Jove's high house were

light:

Then forth she rose, ne longer would abide; But comes unto the place, where th' heathen

knight,

In slumb'ring swound nigh void of vital sprite, Lay cover'd with enchanted cloud all day: Whom when she found, as she him left in plight, To wail his woeful case she would not stay, But to the eastern coast of heav'n makes speedy way:

Where griesly Night, with visage deadly sad,
That Phoebus' cheerful face durst never view,
And in a foul black pitchy mantle clad,
She finds forth coming from her darksome mew;

Where she all day did hide her hated hue.
Before the door her iron chariot stood,
Already harnesséd for journey new,

And coal-black steeds yborn of hellish brood, That on their rusty bits did champ, as they were wood.

Who when she saw Duessa, sunny bright, Adorn'd with gold and jewels shining clear, She greatly grew amazed at the sight, And th' unacquainted light began to fear; (For never did such brightness there appear;) And would have back retiréd to her cave, Until the witch's speech she gan to hear, Saying; "Yet, O thou dreaded dame, I crave Abide, till I have told the message which I have."

She stay'd; and forth Duessa gan proceed; "O thou, most ancient grandmother of all, More old than Jove, whom thou at first didst breed,

Or that great house of gods celestial; Which wast begot in Dæmogorgon's hall, And saw'st the secrets of the world unmade; Why suffred'st thou thy nephews dear to fall With Elfin sword, most shamefully betray'd? Lo, where the stout Sansjoy doth sleep in deadly shade!

"And, him before, I saw with bitter eyes
The bold Sansfoy shrink underneath his spear;
And now the prey of fowls in field he lies,
Nor wail'd of friends, nor laid on groaning bier,
That whilome was to me too dearly dear.
O! what of gods then boots it to be born,
If old Aveugle's1 sons so evil hear??

Or who shall not great Nightës children scorn, When two of three her nephews are so foul for. lorn?

"Up, then; up, dreary dame, of darkness

queen;

Go, gather up the reliques of thy race;
Or else go, them avenge; and let be seen
That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,
And can the children of fair Light deface."
Her feeling speeches some compassion mov'd
In heart, and change in that great mother's
face:

Yet pity in her heart was never prov'd
Till then; for evermore she hated, never lov'd:

And said, "Dear daughter, rightly may I rue, The fall of famous children born of me, And good successes, which their foes ensue : But who can turn the stream of destiny, Or break the chain of strong necessity, Which fast is tied to Jove's eternal seat? The sons of Day he favoreth, I see, And by my ruins thinks to make them great: To make one great by others' loss is bad excheat.

"Yet shall they not escape so freely all; For some shall pay the price of others' guilt: And he, the man that made Sansfoy to fall, Shall with his own blood price that he hath spilt.

Blind, a name for Night. 3 Descendants.

4

2 Are so ill spoken of 4 Pay for.

But what art thou, that tell'st of nephews kilt?" "I, that do seem not I, Duessa am," Quoth she, "how ever now, in garments gilt And gorgeous gold array'd, I to thee came; Duessa I, the daughter of Deceit and Shame."

Then, bowing down her aged back, she kist The wicked witch, saying; "In that fair face The false resemblance of Deceit, I wist, Did closely lurk; yet so true-seeming grace It carried, that I scarce in darksome place Could it discern; though I the mother be Of Falsehood, and root of Duessa's race. O welcome, child, whom I have long'd to see, And now have seen unwares! Lo, now I go with thee."

Then to her iron waggon she betakes,

And with her bears the foul well favor'd witch: Through mirksome air her ready way she makes. Her twofold team (of which two black as pitch, And two were brown, yet each to each unlich,) Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp [twitch; Unless she chanc'd their stubborn mouths to Then, foaming tar, their bridles they would champ, [ramp. And trampling the fine element would fiercely

So well they sped, that they be come at length Unto the place, whereas the Paynim lay Devoid of outward sense and native strength, Cover'd with charméd cloud from view of day And sight of men, since his late luckless fray. His cruel wounds with cruddy blood congeal'd They binden up so wisely as they may, And handle softly, till they can be heal'd: So lay him in her chariot, close in night conceal'd.

And, all the while she stood upon the ground, The wakeful dogs did never cease to bay; As giving warning of th' unwonted sound, With which her iron wheels did them affray, And her dark griesly look them much dismay. The messenger of death, the ghastly owl, With dreary shrieks did also her bewray; And hungry wolves continually did howl At her abhorréd face, so filthy and so foul.

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Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was,

That wont in chariot chase the foaming boar: He all his peers in beauty did surpass; But ladies' love, as loss of time, forbore: His wanton stepdame lovéd him the more; But, when she saw her offer'd sweets refus'd, Her love she turn'd to hate, and him before His father fierce of treason false accus'd, And with her jealous terms his open ears abus'd;

Who, all in rage, his sea-god sire besought
Some curséd vengeance on his son to cast;
From surging gulf two monsters straight were
brought;

With dread whereof his chasing steeds aghast
Both chariot swift and huntsman overcast.
His goodly corps on ragged cliffs yrent,
Was quite dismember'd, and his members
chaste

Scatter'd on every mountain as he went,
That of Hippolytus was left no monument.

His cruel stepdame, seeing what was done, Her wicked days with wretched knife did end, In death avowing th' innocence of her son. Which hearing, his rash sire began to rend

Snarl. 2 Night. 3 Rest. 4 Engine of punishment.

His hair, and hasty tongue that did offend : Then, gathering up the reliques of his smart, By Diane's means who was Hippolyt's friend, Them brought to Esculape, that by his art Did heal them all again, and joinéd every part.

Such wondrous science in man's wit to reign When Jove aviz'd, that could the dead revive, And fates expiréd could renew again, Of endless life he might him not deprive; But unto hell did thrust him down alive, With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore: Where, long remaining, he did always strive Himself with salves to health for to restore, And slake the heavenly fire that ragéd evermore.

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To dare the thing, which daily yet I rue; And the old cause of my continued pain With like attempt to like end to renew. Is not enough, that, thrust from heaven due, Here endless penance for one fault I pay; But that redoubled crime with vengeance new, Thou biddest me to eke? can Night defray The wrath of thund'ring Jove, that rules both Night and Day?"

"Not so," quoth she; "but, sith that heaven's king

From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quite, Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for

thing;

And fearest not that more thee hurten might, Now in the power of everlasting Night? Go to, then, O thou far renowned son Of great Apollo, show thy famous might In medicine, that else 5 hath to thee won Great pains, and greater praise, both never to be done."

Her words prevail'd: and then the learned leech

His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay, And all things else, the which his art did teach: Which having seen, from thence arose away The Mother of dread darkness, and let stay Aveugle's son there in the leech's cure; And, back returning, took her wonted way To run her timely race, whilst Phoebus pure In western waves his weary waggon did recure.

The false Duessa, leaving noyous Night, Return'd to stately palace of Dame Pride: Where when she came, she found the Faery Knight

Departed thence; albë (his woundës wide

6 Already.

Not throughly heal'd) unready were to ride. Good cause he had to hasten thence away; For on a day his wary Dwarf had spied Where, in a dungeon deep, huge numbers lay Of captive wretched thralls, that wailéd night and day;

(A rueful sight as could be seen with eye;) Of whom he learnéd had in secret wise The hidden cause of their captivity; How mortgaging their lives to Covetise, Through wasteful pride and wanton riotise, They were by law of that proud tyranness, Provok'd with Wrath and Envy's false surmise, Condemned to that dungeon merciless, Where they should live in woe, and die in wretchedness.

There was that great proud king of Babylon,
That would compel all nations to adore,
And him, as only God, to call upon;
Till, through celestial doom thrown out of door,
Into an ox he was transform'd of yore.
There also was king Croesus, that enhaunc'd
His heart too high through his great riches'
store;

And proud Antiochus, the which advanc'd His cursed hand 'gainst God, and on his altars danc'd.

And, them long time before, great Nimrod was, That first the world with sword and fire warAnd after him old Ninus far did pass [ray'd; In princely pomp, of all the world obey'd. There also was that mighty monarch 1 laid Low under all, yet above all in pride, That name of native sire did foul upbraid, And would as Ammon's son be magnified; Till, scorn'd of God and man, a shameful death he died.

All these together in one heap were thrown, Like carcases of beasts in butcher's stall. And, in another corner, wide were strown The antique ruins of the Romans' fall: Great Romulus, the grandsire of them all; Proud Tarquin; and too lordly Lentulus; Stout Scipio; and stubborn Hannibal; Ambitious Sylla; and stern Marius; High Cæsar; great Pompey; and fierce Antonius.

Amongst these mighty men were women mixt, Proud women, vain, forgetful of their yoke: The bold Semiramis, whose sides transfixt With son's own blade her foul reproaches spoke :

Fair Sthenoboa, that herself did choke With wilful cord, for wanting of her will; High-minded Cleopatra, that with stroke Of aspës sting, herself did stoutly kill: And thousands more the like, that did that dungeon fill.

Besides the endless routs of wretched thralls, Which thither were assembled, day by day, From all the world, after their woeful falls Through wicked pride and wasted wealth's decay.

Alexander the Great.

But most, of all which in that dungeon lay, Fell from high princes' courts, or ladies' bowers;

Where they in idle pomp, or wanton play, Consuméd had their goods and thriftless hours, And lastly thrown themselves into these heavy

stowres.

Whose case whenas the careful Dwarf had told, And made ensample of their mournful sight Unto his master; he no longer would There dwell in peril of like painful plight, But early rose; and, ere that dawning light Discover'd had the world to heaven wide, He by a privy postern took his flight, That of no envious eyes he mote be spied: For, doubtless, death ensu'd if any him descried.

Scarce could he footing find in that foul way,
For many corses, like a great lay-stall 2
Of murder'd men, which therein strewéd lay
Without remorse or decent funeral;
Which, all through that great Princess Pride,
did fall,

And came to shameful end: and them beside,
Forth riding underneath the castle wall,
A dunghill of dead carcases he spied;
The dreadful spectacle of that sad House of Pride.

CANTO VI.

From lawless lust by wondrous grace
Fair Una is releast:

Whom salvage nation does adore,
And learns her wise beheast.

As when a ship, that flies fair under sail, An hidden rock escapéd hath unwares, That lay in wait her wreck for to bewail; 3 The mariner yet half amazéd stares At peril past, and yet in doubt ne dares To joy at his foolhappy oversight: So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares The dreadless courage of this Elfin Knight, Having escapt so sad ensamples in his sight.

Yet sad he was,, that his too hasty speed The fair Duess' had forc'd him leave behind; And yet more sad, that Una, his dear dreed,4 Her truth had stain'd with treason so unkind; Yet crime in her could never creature find; But for his love, and for her own self sake, She wandred had from one to other Ind, Him for to seek, ne ever would forsake; Till her unwares the fierce Sansloy did overtake:

Who, after Archimago's foul defeat, Led her away into a forest wild; And, turning wrathful fire to lustful heat, With beastly sin thought her to have defil'd, And made the vassal of his pleasures vilde. Yet first he cast by treaty, and by traines, Her to persuade that stubborn fort to yield: For greater conquest of hard love he gains, That works it to his will, than he that it constrains.

2 A place to put rubbish in. 3 To select her for wreck. 4Object of reverence.

With fawning words he courted her a while;
And, looking lovely and oft sighing sore,
Her constant heart did tempt with diverse
guile :

But words, and looks, and sighs she did abhor;
As rock of diamond stedfast evermore.
Yet, for to feed his fiery lustful eye,

He snatcht the veil that hung her face before: Then gan her beauty shine as brightest sky, And burnt his beastly heart t' enforce her chastity.

So when he saw his flatt'ring arts to fail, And subtle engines bett1 from battery; With greedy force he gan the fort assail, Whereof he ween'd possessed soon to be, And win rich spoil of ransackt chastity. Ah heavens! that do this hideous act behold, And heavenly virgin thus outragéd see, How can ye vengeance just so long withhold, And hurl not flashing flames upon that Paynim bold?

The piteous maiden, careful, comfortless, Does throw out thrilling shrieks, and shrieking cries;

(The last vain help of women's great distress,) And with loud plaints impórtuneth the skies; That molten stars do drop like weeping eyes; And Phoebus, flying so most shameful sight, His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes, And hides for shame. What wit of mortal wight Can now devise to quit a thrall from such a plight?

Eternal Providence, exceeding thought, Where none appears can make her self a way, A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought, From lion's claws to pluck the gripéd prey. Her shrill outeries and shrieks so loud did bray, That all the woods and forests did resound: A troop of Fauns and Satyrs far away Within the wood were dancing in a round, Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arbor sound:

Who, when they heard that piteous strainéd voice,

In haste forsook their rural merriment,
And ran towards the far rebounded noise,
To weet what wight so loudly did lament.
Unto the place they come incontinent:
Whom when the raging Saracen espied,
A rude, misshapen, monstrous rabblement,
Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide;
But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride.

The wild wood-gods, arrivéd in the place,
There find the virgin, doleful, desolate,
With ruffled raiments, and fair blubber'd face,
As her outrageous foe had left her late;
And trembling yet through fear of former hate:
All stand amazed at so úncouth sight,
And gin to pity her unhappy state;
All stand astonied at her beauty bright,

In their rude eyes unworthy of so woeful plight.

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The wood-born people fall before her flat, And worship her as goddess of the wood; And old Sylvanus self bethinks not, what To think of wight so fair; but gazing stood In doubt to deem her born of earthly brood: Sometimes dame Venus self he seems to see; But Venus never had so sober mood: Sometimes Diana he her takes to be; [knee. But misseth bow and shafts, and buskins to her

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