"But what could he gainst all them doe alone >
It could not boot; needs mote she die at last!
I onely scapt through great confusione

Of cryes and clamors, which amongst them past,
In dreadfull darknesse, dreadfully aghast;
That better were with them to have bene dead,
Then here to see all desolate and wast,
Despoyled of those ioyes and iollyhead, [lead."
Which with those gentle shepheards here I wont to

When Calidore these ruefull newes had raught,
His bart quite deaded was with anguish great,
And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught,
That he his face, his head, his brest did beat,
And death itselfe unto himselfe did threat;
Oft cursing th' Heavens, that so cruell were
To her, whose name he often did repeat;
And wishing oft, that he were present there [nere.
When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour

But after griefe awhile had had his course,
And spent itselfe in mourning, he at last
Began to mitigate his swelling sourse,
And in his mind with better reason cast
How he might save her life, if life did last ;
Or, if that dead, how he her death might wreake;
Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;
Or, if it to revenge he were too weake,
Then for to die with her, and his lives threed to

[breake.

Tho Coridon he prayd, sith he well knew
The readie way unto that theevish wonne,
To wend with him, and be his conduct trew
Unto the place, to see what should be donne:
But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne,
Would not for ought be drawne to former drede;
But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne:
Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed,
And faire bespoke with words, that he at last agreed.

So forth they goe together (God before)
Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,
And both with shepheards hookes; but Calidore
Had, underneath, him armed privily:
Tho, to the place when they approached nye,
They chaunst, upon an hill not farre away,
Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy;
To whom they both agreed to take their way,
In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best
assay.

There did they find, that which they did not feare,
The self-same flocks the which those theeves had
From Melibee and from themselves why leare; [reft
And certaine of the theeves there by them left,
The which, for want of heards, themselves then kept:
Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe,
And, seeing them, for tender pittie wept: [keepe,
But, when he saw the theeves which did them
His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe.

But Calidore recomforting his griefe, [swade
Though not his feare; for nought may feare dia-
Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe
Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade,
Whom Coridon him counseld to invade
Now all unwares, and take the spoyle away;
But he, that in his mind had closely made
A further purpose, would not so them slay,
But gently waking them gave them the time of day.

Tho, sitting downe by them upon the greene,
Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine,
That he by them might certaine tydings weene
Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine:
Mongst which the theeves them questioned againe,
What mister men, and eke from whence they were.
To whom they answer'd, as did appertaine,
That they were poore heard groomes, the which why-
lere
[elswhere.
Had from their maisters fled, and now sought hyre

Whereof right glad they seem'd, and offer made
To hyre them well if they their flockes would keepe :
For they themselves were evill groomes, they sayd,
Unwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe,
But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe.
Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke
To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe ;
For they for better hyre did shortly looke:
So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke.

Tho, whenas towards darksome night it drew,
Unto their hellish dens those theeves them brought;
Where shortly they in great acquaintauce grew,
And all the secrets of their entrayles sought :
There did they find, contrárie to their thought,
That Pastorell yet liv'd; but all the rest
Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught:
Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,
But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most possest.

At length, when they occasion fittest found,
In dead of night, when all the theeves did rest
After a late forray, and slept full sound,
Sir Calidore him arm'd, as he thought best;
Having of late by diligent inquest
Provided him a sword of meanest sort;
With which he streight went to the captaines nest:
But Coridon durst not with him consort,

Ne durst abide hehind for dread of worse effort.

When to the cave they came, they found it fast:
But Calidore with huge resistlesse might
The dores assayled, and the locks upbrast:
With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light
Unto the entrance ran; where the bold knight
Encountring him with small resistence slew:
The whiles faire Pastorell through great affright
Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new
Some uprore were like that which lately she did vew.

But whenas Calidore was comen in,
And gan aloud for Pastorell to call,
Knowing his voice, although not heard long sin,
She sudden was revived therewithall,
And wondrous ioy felt in her spirits thrall:
Like him that being long in tempest tost,
Looking each houre into Deathes mouth to fall,
At length espyes at hand the happie cost,
On which he safety hopes that earst feard to be lost.

Her gentle hart, that now long season past
Had never ioyance felt nor chearefull thought,
Began some smacke of comfort new to tast,
Like lyfeful heat to nummed senses brought,
And life to feele that long for death had sought:
Ne lesse in hart reioyced Calidore,

When he her found; but, like to one distraught
And robd of reason, towards her him bore;

A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more.

But now by this, with noyse of late uprore,
The hue and cry was raysed all about;
And all the brigants flocking in great store
Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having dout
Of that was doen, and entred in a rout.
But Calidore in th' entry close did stand,
And, entertayning them with courage stout,
Still slew the formost that came first to hand;
So long, till all the entry was with bodies mand.

Tho, when no more could nigh to him approch,
He breath'd his sword, and rested him till day;
Which when he spyde upon the earth t' encroch,
Through the dead carcases he made his way,
Mongst which he found a sword of better say,
With which he forth went into th' open light,
Where all the rest for him did readie stay,
And, fierce assayling him, with all their might
Gan all upon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight.

How many flyes in whottest summers Jay
Do seize upon some beast, whose flesh is bare,
That all the place with swarmes doe overlay,
And with their litle stings right felly fare;
So many theeves about him swarming are,
All which do him assayle on every side,
Aud sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare;
But he doth with his raging brond divide
Their thickest troups, and round about him scattreth
wide.

Like as a lion mongst an heard of dere,
Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray;
So did he fly amongst them here and there,
And all that nere him came did hew and slay,
Till he had strowd with bodies all the way;
That none his daunger daring to abide
Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convay
Into their caves, their heads from death to hide,
Ne any left that victorie to him envide.

Then, backe returning to his dearest deare,
He her gan to recomfort, all he might,
With gladfull speaches and with lovely cheare;
And forth her bringing to the ioyous light,
Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight,
Deviz'd all goodly meanes from her to drive
The sad remembrance of her wretched plight:
So her uneath at last he did revive

That long had lyen dead, and made againe alive.

This doen, into those theevish dens he went,
And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take,
Which they from many long had robd and rent:
But Fortune now the victors meed did make ;
Of which the best he did his love betake;
And also all those flockes, which they before
Had reft from Melibee and from his make,

He did them all to Coridon restore:

CANTO XII.

Fayre Pastorella by great hap Her parents understands. Calidore doth the Blatant Beast Subdew, and bynd in bands.

LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wyde
Directs her course unto one certaine cost,
Is met of many a counter winde and tyde,
With which her winged speed is let and crost,
And she herselfe in stormie surges tost;
Yet, making many a borde and many a bay,
Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost;
Right so it fares with me in this long way,
Whose course is often stayd, yet never is astray.

For all that hetherto hath long delayd
This gentle knight from sewing his first quest,
Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd,
To shew the courtesie by him profest
Even unto the lowest and the least.
But now I come into my course againe,
To his atchievement of the Blatant Beast;
Who all this while at will did range and raine,
Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to re-
straine.

Sir Calidore, when thus he now had raught
Faire Pastorella from those brigants powre,
Unto the castle of Belgard her brought,
Whereof was lord the good sir Bellamoure;
Who whylome was in his youthes freshest flowre,
A lustie knight as ever wielded speare,
And had endured many a dreadfull stoure
In bloudy battell for a ladie deare,
The fayrest ladie then of all that living were:

Her name was Claribell; whose father hight
The lord of many ilands, farre renound
For his great riches and his greater might:
He, through the wealth wherein he did abound,
This daughter thought in wedlocke to have bound
Unto the prince of Picteland, borderin⚫ nere;
But she, whose sides before with secret wound
Of love to Bellamoure empierced were,
By all meanes shund to match with any forreign
fere :

And Bellamour againe so well her pleased
With dayly service and attendance dew,
That of her love he was entyrely seized,
And closely did her wed, but knowne to few:
Which when her father understood, he grew
In so great rage that them in dongeon deepe
Without compassion cruelly he threw ;
Yet did so streightly them asunder keepe,
That neither could to company of th' other creepe.

Nathlesse sir Bellamour, whether through grace
Or secret guifts, so with his keepers wrought,
That to his love sometimes he came in place;
Whereof her wombe unwist to wight was fraught,
And in dew time a mayden child forth brought :
Which she streightway (for dread least if her syre
Should know thereof to slay he would have sought)
Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre

The trustie damzell bearing it abrode
Into the emptie fields, where living wight
Mote not bewray the secret of her lode,
She forth gan lay unto the open light
The litle babe, to take thereof a sight:
Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold,
Upon the litle brest, like christall bright,
She mote perceive a litle purple mold,

That like a rose her silken leaves did faire unfold.

Well she it markt, and pittied the more,
Yet could not remedie her wretched case;
But, closing it againe like as before,
Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in the place;
Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space
Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde,
To weet what mortall hand, or Heavens grace,
Would for the wretched infants helpe provyde;
For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde.

At length a shepheard, which thereby did keepe
His fleecie flocke upon the playnes around,
Led with the infants cry that loud did weepe,
Came to the place; where when he wrapped found
Th' abandond spoyle, he softly it unbound;
And, seeing there that did him pittie sore,
He tooke it up and in his mantle wound
So home unto his honest wife it bore,

Who as her owne it nurst and named evermore.

Thus long continu'd Claribell a thrall,
And Bellamour in bands; till that her syre
Departed life, and left unto them all:
Then all the stormes of Fortunes former yre
Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre.
Thenceforth they ioy'd in happinesse together,
And lived long in peace and love entyre,
Without disquiet or dislike of ether,
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella thether,

Both whom they goodly well did entertaine;
For Bellamour knew Calidore right well,
And loved for his prowesse, sith they twaine
Long since had fought in field: als Claribell
Ne lesse did tender the faire Pastorell,
Seeing her weake and wan through durance long.
There they awhile together thus did dwell
In much delight, and many ioyes among,
Untill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong.

Tho gan sir Calidore him to advize

Of his first quest, which he had long forlore,
Asham'd to thinke how he that enterprize,
The which the Faery queene bad long afore
Bequeath'd to him, forslacked had so sore;
That much he feared least reproachfull blame
With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore;
Besides the losse of so much loos and fame,
As through the world thereby should glorifie his

name.

Therefore, resolving to returne in hast
Unto so great atchievement, he bethought
To leave his love, now perill being past,
With Claribell; whylest he that monster sought
Throughout the world, and to destruction brought.
So taking leave of his faire Pastorell,
Whom to recomfort all the meanes he wrought,
With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,
He went forth on his quest, and did that him befell.

But first, ere I doe his adventures tell
In this exploite, me needeth to declare
What did betide to the faire Pastorell,
During his absence left in heavy care,
Through daily mourning and nightly misfare:
Yet did that auncient matrone all she might,
To cherish her with all things choice and rare;
And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight,
Appointed to attend her dewly day and night.

Who in a morning, when this maiden faire.
Was dighting her, having her snowy brest
As yet not laced, nor her golden haire
Into their comely tresses dewly drest,
Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest
The rosie marke, which she remembred well
That litle infant had, which forth she kest,
The daughter of her lady Claribell,
[dwell.
The which she bore the whiles in prison she did

Which well avizing, streight she gan to cast
In her conceiptfull mynd that this faire mayd
Was that same infant, which so long sith past
She in the open fields had loosely layd
To Fortunes spoile, unable it to ayd:
So, full of ioy, streight forth she ran in hast
Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd,
To tell her, how the Heavens had her graste,
To save her chylde, which in Misfortunes mouth
was plaste.

The sober mother seeing such her mood,
Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine thro,
Askt her, how mote her words be understood,
And what the matter was that mov'd her so.
"My liefe," sayd she, "ye know that long ygo,
Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gave
A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho,
The same againe if now ye list to have,

The same is yonder lady, whom high God did save."

Much was the lady troubled at that speach,
And gan to question streight how she it knew,
"Most certaine markes," sayd she, "do me it teach;
For on her breast I with these eyes did vew
The litle purple rose which thereon grew,
Whereof her name ye then to her did give.
Besides, her countenaunce and her likely hew,
That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet
Matched with equall years, do surely prieve

doth live."

The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire,
But forth in hast ran to the straunger mayd;
Whom catching greedily, for great desire
Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd,
In which that rose she plainely saw displayd:
Then, her embracing twixt her armës twaine,
She long so held, and softly weeping sayd;

And livest thou, my daughter, now againe?
And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long did faine?"

Tho further asking her of sundry things,
And tines comparing with their accidents,
She found at last, by very certaine signes
And speaking markes of passed monuments,
That this young mayd, whom chance to her presents,
I her owne daughter, her owne infant deare.
Tho, wondring long at those so straunge events,
A thousand times she her embraced nere, [teare.
With many a joyfull kisse and many a melting

1

Whoever is the mother of one chylde,

Which having thought long dead she fyndes alive,
Let her by proofe of that which she hath fylde
In her owne breast, this mothers ioy descrive:
For other none such passion can contrive
In perfect forme, as this good lady felt,
When she so faire a daughter saw survive,
As Pastorella was; that nigh she swelt
For passing ioy, which did all into pitty melt.

Thence running forth unto her loved lord,
She unto him recounted all that feil :
Who, joyning ioy with her in one accord,
Acknowledg'd, for his owne, faire Pastorell.
There leave we them in ioy, and let us tell
Of Calidore; who, seeking all this while
That monstrous beast by finall force to quell,
Through every place with restlesse paine and toile
Him follow'd by the tract of his outragious spoile.

Through all estates he found that he had past,
In which he many massacres had left,
And to the clergy now was come at last;
In which such spoile, such havocke, and such theft
He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft,
That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin knight,
Who now no place besides unsought had left,
At length into a monastere did light, [might.
Where he him found despoyling all with maine and

Into their cloysters now he broken had, [there,
Through which the monckes he chaced here and
And them pursu'd into their dortours sad,

And searched all their cels and secrets neare;
In which what filth and ordure did appeare,
Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule beast,
Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare,
And ransacke all their dennes from most to least,
Regarding nought religion nor their holy heast.

From thence into the sacred church he broke,
And robd the chancell, and the deskes downe threw,
And altars fouled, and blasphémy spoke,
And the images, for all their goodly hew,

Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew;
So all confounded and disordered there:
But, seeing Calidore, away he flew,
Knowing his fatall hand by former feare;
But he him fast pursuing soone approached neare.

Him in a narrow place he overtooke,
And fierce assailing forst him turne againe:
Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke
With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine
With open mouth, that seemed to containe
A full good pecke within the utmost brim,
All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine,
That terrifide his foes, and armed him,
Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly grim:

And therein were a thousand tongs empight
Of sundry kindes and sundry quality;
Some were of dogs, that barked day and night;
And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry;
And some of beares, that groynd continually;
And some of tygres, that did seeme to gren
And snar at all that ever passed by:

But most of them were tongues of mortall men, Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor when.

And them amongst were mingled here and there
The tongues of serpents, with three-forked stings,
That spat out poyson, and gore-bloudy gere,
At all that came within his ravenings;
And spake licentious words and hatefull things
Of good and bad alike, of low and hie,
Ne Kesars spared he a whit nor kings;
But either blotted them with infamie,
Or bit them with his banefull teeth of iniury.

But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd,
Rencountred him with so impetuous might,
That th' outrage of his violence he stayd,
And bet abacke threatning in vaine to bite,
And spitting forth the poyson of his spight
That fomed all about his bloody iawes:
Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight,
He rampt upon him with his ravenous pawes,
As if he would have rent him with his cruell clawes:

But be right well aware, his rage to ward, Did cast his shield atweene; and, therewithall Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu'd so hard, That backeward he enforced him to fall; And, being downe, ere he new helpe could call, His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held; Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld, Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld. Full cruelly the beast did rage and rore To be downe held, and maystred so with might, That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore, Striving in vaine to rere himself upright: For still, the more he strove, the more the knight Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew; That made him almost mad for fell despight: He grind, he bit, he scracht, he venim threw, And fared like a feend right horrible in hew; Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they faine After that he had labourd long in vaine That great Alcides whilome overthrew, To crop his thousand heads, the which still new Forth budded, and in greater number grew. Such was the fury of this hellish beast, Whilest Calidore him under him downe threw ; Who nathëmore his heavy load releast, But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his powre in

[creast.

Tho, when the beast saw he mote nought availe
By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply,
And sharpely at him to revile and raile
With bitter termes of shamefull infamy;
Oft interlacing many a forged lie,
Whose like he never once did speake, nor heare,
Nor ever thought thing so unworthily:
Yet did he nought, for all that, him forbeare,
But strained him so streightly that he chokt him

neare.

At last, whenas he found his force to shrincke
And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzle strong
Of surest yron made with many a lincke;
Therewith he mured up his mouth along,
And therein shut up his blasphemous tong,
For never more defaming gentle knight,
'Or unto lovely lady doing wrong:
And thereunto a great long chaine he tight,
With which he drew him forth, even in his ow
despight.