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"To take defiaunce at a ladies word," Quoth he, "I hold it no indignity;

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But were he here, that would it with his sword Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby." "Cowherd," quoth she, "were not that thou wouldst Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place." "If I doe so," sayd he, "then liberty I leave to you for aye me to disgrace [deface." With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to

With that a dwarfe she cald to her in hast,
And taking from her hand a ring of gould
(A privy token which betweene them past)
Bad him to fie with all the speed he could
To Crudor; and desire him that he would
Vouchsafe to reskue her against a knight,
Who through strong powre had now herself in hould
Having late slaine her seneschall in fight,
And all her people murdred with outragious might:

The dwarfe his way did hast, and went all night:
But Calidore did with her there abyde
The comming of that so much threatned knight;
Where that discourteous dame with scornfull pryde
And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,
That yron heart it hardly could sustaine :
Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,
Did well endure her womanish disdaine,

And did himselfe from fraile impatience refraine.

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Nathlesse at length himselfe he did apreare
In lustlesse wise; as if against his will,
Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,
And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill
Of his late fall, awhile he rested still:
But, when he saw his foe before in vew,
He shooke off luskishnesse; and, courage chill
Kindling afresh, gan battell to renew, [sew.
To prove if better foote then horsebacke would en-

There then began a fearefull cruell fray
Betwixt them two for maystery of might:
For both were wondrous practicke in that play,
And passing well expert in single fight,
And both inflam'd with furious despight;
Which as it still encreast, so still increast
Their cruell strokes and terrible affright;
Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,
Ne once to breath awhile their angers tempest ceast.

Thus long they trac'd and traverst to and fro,
And tryde all waies how each mote entrance make
Into the life of his malignant foe;

They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder brake,
As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake
Their greedy vengeaunces but goary blood;
That at the last like to a purple lake
Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood,
Which from their riven sides forth gushed like a flood.

At length it chaunst that both their hands on hie
At once did heave with all their powre and might,
Thinking the utmost of their force to trie,
And prove the finall fortune of the fight;
But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight
And nimbler-handed then his enemie,
Prevented him before his stroke could light,
And on the helmet smote him formerlie, [militie:
That made him stoupe to ground with meeke hu-

And, ere he could recover foote againe,
He following that faire advantage fast
His stroke redoubled with such might and maine,
That him upon the ground he groveling cast;
And leaping to him light would have unlast
His helme, to make unto his vengeance way:
Who, seeing in what daunger he was plast,
Cryde out; " Ah mercie, sir! doe me not slay,
But save my life, which lot before your foot doth
lay."

With that his mortall hand awhile he stayd;
And, having somewhat calm'd his wrathfull heat
With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd;
"And is the boast of that proud ladies threat,
That menaced me from the field to beat,
Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne
Strangers no more so rudely to entreat;
But put away proud looke and usage sterne,
The which shal nought to you but foule dishonour
yearne.

"For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,
That cout'sie doth as well as armes professe,
However strong and fortunate in fight,
Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse:
In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,
Who hath not learnd himselfe first to subdew:
All flesh is frayle and full of ficklenesse,
Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new ;
What haps to day to me to morrow may to you,

"Who will not mercie unto others shew,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?
To pay each with his owne is right and dew:
Yet since ye mercie now doe need to crave,
I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to save,
With these conditions which I will propound:
First, that ye better shall yourselfe behave
Unto all errant knights, whereso on ground;
Next, that ye ladies ayde in every stead and stound."

The wretched man, that all this while did dwell
In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare,
And promist to performe his precept well,
And whatsoever else he would requere.
So, suffring him to rise, he made him sweare
By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,
To take Briana for his loving fere
Withouten dowre or composition;
But to release his former foule condition.

All which accepting, and with faithfull oth
Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay,
He up arose, however liefe or loth,
And swore to him true fealtie for aye.
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay
The sad Briana which all this beheld;
Who comming forth yet full of late affray
Sir Calidore upcheard, and to her teld

All this accord to which he Crudor had compeld.

Whereof she now more glad then sory earst,
All overcome with infinite affect
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
Before his feet herselfe she did proiect;
And him adoring as her lives deare lord,
With all due thankes and dutifull respect,
Herselfe acknowledg'd bound for that accord,
By which he had to her both life and love restord.

So all returning to the castle glad,
Most joyfully she them did entertaine;
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine,
By all the meanes she mote it best explaine:
And, after all, unto sir Calidore

She freely gave that castle for his paine,
And herselfe bound to him for evermore ;

So wondrously now chaung'd from that she was afore.

But Calidore himselfe would not retaine
Nor land nor fee for hyre of his good deede,
But gave them streight unto that squire againe,
Whom from her seneschall he lately freed,
And to his damzell, as their rightfull meed
For recompence of all their former wrong:
There he remaind with them right well agreed,
Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong;
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.

VOL. III.

CANTO II.

Calidore sees young Tristram slay

A proud discourteous knight: He makes him squire, and of him learnes His state and present plight.

WHAT vertue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a ladie whom a knight should love,
As curtesie; to beare themselves aright
To all of each degree as doth 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 rudenesse for not yeelding what they owe:
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.

Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe doth lend:
For some so goodly gratious are by kind,
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 attaine:
For everie thing, to which one is inclin'd,
Doth best become and greatest grace doth gaine:
Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes enforst with
paine.

That well in courteous Calidore appeares;
Whose every act and deed, that he did say,
Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes
And both the eares did steale the hart away.
He now againe is on his former way
To follow his first quest, whenas he spyde
A tall young man, from thence not farre away,
Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,
Against an armed knight that did on horsebacke
ryde.

And them beside a ladie faire he saw
Standing alone on foote in foule array;
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may:
But, ere he came in place, that youth had kild
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;
Which when he saw, his hart was inly child
With great amazement, and his thought with won-
der fild.

Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee
A goodly youth of amiable grace,

Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see
Yet seventeene yeares, but tall and faire of face,
That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race:
All in a woodmans jacket he was clad
Of Lincolne greene, belayd with silver lace;
And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had.

Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part,
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne:
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;
And in his left he held a sharpe bore-speare,
With which he wont to launch the salvage hart
Of many a lyon and of many a beare,

That first unto his hand in chase did happen neare.

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Whom Calidore awhile well having vewed, [swaine! | Of all which whenas she could nought deny,

At length bespake; "What meanes this, gentle
Why hath thy hand too bold itselfe embrewed
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine,
By thee no knight: which armes impugneth plaine!"
"Certes," said he, "loth were I to have broken
The law of armes; yet breake it should againe,
Rather then let myselfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be wroken.

"For not I him, as this his ladie here May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong, Ne surely thus unarm'd I likely were; But be me first through pride and puissance strong Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long." "Perdie great blame," then said sir Calidore, "For armed knight a wight unarm'd to wrong: But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne uprore."

"That shall I sooth," said he, "to you declare.
I, whose unryper yeares are yet unfit
For thing of weight or worke of greater care,
Doe spend my dayes and bend my carelesse wit
To salvage chace, where I thereon may hit
In all this forrest and wyld woodie raine:
Where, as this day I was enraunging it,

I chaunst to meete this knight who there lyes slaine,
Together with this ladie, passing on the plaine.

"The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,
And this his ladie, that him ill became,
On her faire feet by his horse-side did pas
Through thicke and thin, unfit for any dame:
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
Whenso she lagged, as she needs mote so,
He with his speare (that was to him great blame)
Would thumpe her forward and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine 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 ladie, whom with usage kind
He rather should have taken up behind.
Wherewith he wroth and full of proud disdaine
Tooke in foule scorne that I such fault did find, -
And me in lieu thereof revil'd againe,
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a chyld pertaine.

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But cleard that stripling of th' imputed blame;
Sayd then sir Calidore; "Neither will I
Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame:
For, what he spake, for you he spake it, dame;
And what he did, he did himselfe to save: [shame:
Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse
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, ladie, to us to aread
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," sayd she, “fuli loth I were
To rayse a lyving blame against the dead:
But, since it me concernes myselfe to clere,
I will the truth discover as it chaunst whylere.

"This day, as he and I together roade
Upon our way to which we weren bent,
We chaunst to come foreby a covert glade
Within a wood, whereas a ladie gent
Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment

Of their franke loves, free from all gealous spyes:
Faire was the ladie sure, that mote content
An hart not carried with too curious eyes,
And unto him did shew all lovely courtesyes.

"Whom when my knight did see so lovely faire, He inly gan her lover to envy,

And wish that he part of his spoyle might share:
Whereto whenas my presence he did spy
To be a let, he bad me by and by

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[sayd.

"Unarm'd all was the knight, as then more meete
For ladies service and for loves delight,
Then fearing any foeman there to meete:
Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight
Himselfe to yeeld his love or else to fight:
Whereat the other starting up dismayd,
Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might,
To leave his love he should be ill apayd,
In which he had good right gaynst all that it gaine
"Yet since he was not presently in plight
Her to defend, or his to iustifie,
He him requested, as he was a knight,
To lend him day his better right to trie,
Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,
Might lightly fetch: but he was fierce and whot,
Ne time would give, nor any termes aby,
But at him flew, and with his speare him smot;
From which to thinke to save himselfe it booted not.

"Meane while his ladie, which this outrage saw,
Whilest they together for the quarrey strove,
Into the covert did herselfe withdraw,
And closely hid herselfe within the grove.
My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger drove
And left sore wounded: but, when her he mist,
He woxe halfe mad; and in that rage gan rove
And range through all the wood, whereso he wist
She hidden was, and sought her so long as him list.

"But, whenas her he by no meanes could find,
After long search and chauff he turned backe
Unto the place where me he left behind:
There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke
Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke
To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong:
Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe
Strove to appease him, and perswaded long;
But still his passion grew more violent and strong.

"Then, as it were t' avenge his wrath on mee,,
When forward we should fare, he flat refused
To take me up (as this young man did see)
Upon his steed, for no iust cause accused,
But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,
Pounching me with the butt-end of his speare,
In vaine complayning to be so abused;

For he regarded neither playnt nor teare, [heare.
But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to

"So passed we, till this young man us met;
And being moov'd with pittie of my plight
Spake, as was meete, for ease of my regret:
Whereof befell what now is in your sight."
"Now sure," then said sir Calidore," and right
Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault:
Whoever thinkes through confidence of might,
Or through support of count'nance proud and hault,
To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault."

Then turning backe unto that gentle boy,
Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit;
Seeing his face so lovely sterne and coy,
And hearing th' answeres of his pregnant wit,
He praysd it much, and much admyred it;
That sure he weened him born of noble blood,
With whom those graces did so goodly fit:
And, when he long had him beholding stood,
He burst into these wordes, as to him seemed good;

"Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,
That in these woods amongst the nymphs dost wonne,
Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,
As they are wont unto Latonaes sonne
After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne;
Well may I certes such an one thee read,
As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,
Or surely borne of some heroicke sead,

That in thy face appeares and gratious goodlyhead.

"But, should it not displease thee it to tell,
(Unlesse thou in these woods thyselfe conceale
For love amongst the woodie gods to dwell,)
I would thyselfe require thee to reveale;
For deare affection and unfayned zeale
Which to thy noble personage I beare,
And wish thee grow in worship and great weale:
For, since the day that armes I first did reare,
I never saw in any greater hope appeare."

To whom then thus the noble youth; "May be,
Sir Knight, that, by discovering my estate,
Harme may arise unweeting unto me;
Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,
To you I will not feare it to relate.
Then wote ye that I am♣ Briton borne,
Sonne of a king, (however thorough fate
Or fortune I my countrie have forlone,

"And Tristram is my name; the onely heire
Of good king Meliogras which did rayne
In Cornewale, till that he through lives despeire
Untimely dyde, before I did attaine

Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine:
After whose death his brother, seeing mee
An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,
Upon him tooke the roiall high degree,

And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee.

"The widow queene my mother, which then hight
Faire Emiline, conceiving then great feare
Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might
Of him that did the kingly scepter beare,
Whose gealous dread induring not a peare
Is wont to cut off all that doubt may breed;
Thought best away me to remove somewhere
Into some forrein land, whereas no need
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humor feed.

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So, taking counsell of a wise man red,
She was by him adviz'd to send me quight
Out of the countrie wherein I was bred,
The which the Fertile Lionesse is hight,
Into the land of Faerie, where no wight
Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong:
To whose wise read she hearkning sent me streight
Into this land, where I have wond thus long [strong.
Since I was ten yeares old, now grown to stature

"All which my daies I have not lewdly spent,
Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares
In ydlesse; but, as was convenient,
Have trayned bene with many noble feres
In gentle thewes and such like seemly leres:
Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been
To hunt the salvage chace, amongst my peres,
Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene,
Of which none is to me unknowne that ev'r was seene.

"Ne is there hauke which mantleth her on pearch,
Whether high towring or accoasting low,
But I the measure of her flight doe search,
And all her pray and all her diet know:
Such be our joyes which in these forrests grow:
Onely the use of armes, which most I ioy,
And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,
I have not tasted yet; yet past a boy,
And being now high time these strong ioynts to

[imploy.

"Therefore, good sir, sith now occasion fit
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may,
Let me this crave, unworthy though of it,
That ye will make me squire without delay,
That from henceforth in batteilous array

I may beare armes, and learne to use them right;
The rather, since that fortune hath this day
Given to me the spoile of this dead knight,
These goodly gilden armes which I have won in
fight."

All which when well sir Calidore had heard,
Him much more now, then earst, he gan admire
For the rare hope which in his yeares appear'd,
And thus replide; "Faire chyld, the high desire
To love of armes, which in you doth aspire,
I may not certes without blame denie;
But rather wish that some more noble hire

And lost the crowne which should my head by right (Though none more noble then is chevalrie)

adorne,)

I had, you to reward with greater dignitie."

There him he causd to kneele, and made to sweare | Then, speaking to the ladie, thus he said;

Faith to his knight, and truth to ladies all,
And never to be recreant for feare

Of perill, or of ought that might befall:

So he him dubbed, and his squire did call.

Full glad and ioyous then young Tristram grew;
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaves small
Long shut up in the bud from Heavens vew,

"Ye dolefull dame, let not your griefe empeach
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight unarm'd with so unknightly breach
Of armes, that, if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may avenge him of so foule despight."
The ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,

At length breaks forth, and brode displayes his And from her sory hart few heavie words forth sigh't: smyling hew.

Thus when they long had treated to and fro,
And Calidore betooke him to depart,
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him might goe
On his adventure, vowing not to start,
But wayt on him in every place and part:
Whereat sir Calidore did much delight,
And greatly ioy'd at his so noble hart,

In hope he sure would prove a doughtie knight:
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight;

"Glad would I surely be, thou courteous squire,
To have thy presence in my present quest,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest:
But I am bound by vow, which I profest
To my dread soveraine, when I it assayd,
That in atchievement of her high behest
I should no creature ioyne unto mine ayde;
Forthy I may not graunt that ye so greatly prayde.

"But since this ladie is all desolate,
And needeth safegard now upon her way,
Ye may doe well in this her needfull state
To succour her from daunger of dismay,
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay."
The noble ympe, of such new service fayne,
It gladly did accept, as he did say:

So taking courteous leave they parted twayne;
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.

But Tristram, then despoyling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight
Of the bright mettall shyning like Sunne rayes;
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes:
And, after having them upon him dight,
He tooke that ladie, and her up did rayse
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight:
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.

There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turne we backe to good sir Calidore;
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile,
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore
Another knight in his despiteous pryde;
There he that knight found lying on the flore
With many wounds full perilous and wyde, [dyde:
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill

And there beside him sate upon the ground
His wofull ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most unluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning:
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew,
Wtih heavie eyne from teares uneath refrayning,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.

In which she shew'd, how that discourteous knight,
Whom Tristram slew, them in that shadow found
loying together in unblam'd delight;
And him unarm'd, as now he lay on ground,
Charg'd with his speare, and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
From him, to whom she was for ever bound:
Yet, when she fled into that covert greave, [leave.
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did

When Calidore this ruefull storie had
Well understood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand,
She then, like as she best could understand,
Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A ladie on rough waves row'd in a sommer barge.

Then gan sir Calidore to ghesse streightway,
By many signes which she described had,
That this was he whom Tristram earst did slay,
And to her said; "Dame, be no longer sad;
For he, that hath your knight so ill bestad,
Is now himselfe in much more wretched plight;
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight, [knight.
Which to yourselfe he wrought and to your loved

"Therefore, faire lady, lay aside this griefe,
Which ye have gathered to your gentle hart
For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe
Were best devise for this your lovers smart;
And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Convay to be recur'd." She thankt him deare,
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did beare
Both to her love and to herselfe in that sad dreare.

Yet could she not devise by any wit,
How thence she might convay him to some place;
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case;
And him to beare, she thought it thing too base.
Which whenas he perceiv'd he thus bespake;
"Faire lady, let it not you seeme disgrace
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
Myselfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe."
So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
And powring balme, which he had long purvayd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne:
Thence they him carried to a castle neare,
In which a worthy auncient knight did wonne:
Where what ensu'd shall in next canto be be-

goune.

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