Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599). The Complete Poetical Works. 1908.

The Faerie Queene

Book III. The Legend of Britomartis. Canto VI

WELL may I weene, faire ladies, all this while

Ye wonder how this noble damozell

So great perfections did in her compile,

Sith that in salvage forests she did dwell,

So farre from court and royall citadell,

The great schoolmaistresse of all courtesy:

Seemeth that such wilde woodes should far expell

All civile usage and gentility,

And gentle sprite deforme with rude rusticity.

But to this faire Belphœbe in her berth

The hevens so favorable were and free,

Looking with myld aspect upon the earth

In th’ horoscope of her nativitee,

That all the gifts of grace and chastitee

On her they poured forth of plenteous horne;

Jove laught on Venus from his soverayne see,

And Phœbus with faire beames did her adorne,

And all the Graces rockt her cradle being borne.

Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew,

And her conception of the joyous prime,

And all her whole creation did her shew

Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime,

That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.

So was this virgin borne, so was she bred,

So was she trayned up from time to time

In all chaste vertue and true bounti-hed,

Till to her dew perfection she was ripened.

Her mother was the faire Chrysogonee,

The daughter of Amphisa, who by race

A Faerie was, yborne of high degree:

She bore Belphæbe, she bore in like cace

Fayre Amoretta in the second place:

These two were twinnes, and twixt them two did share

The heritage of all celestiall grace;

That all the rest it seemd they robbed bare

Of bounty, and of beautie, and all vertues rare.

It were a goodly storie to declare

By what straunge accident faire Chrysogone

Conceiv’d these infants, and how them she bare,

In this wilde forrest wandring all alone,

After she had nine moneths fulfild and gone:

For not as other wemens commune brood

They were enwombed in the sacred throne

Of her chaste bodie, nor with commune food,

As other wemens babes, they sucked vitall blood.

But wondrously they were begot and bred,

Through influence of th’ hevens fruitfull ray,

As it in antique bookes is mentioned.

It was upon a sommers shinie day,

When Titan faire his beames did display,

In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew,

She bath’d her brest, the boyling heat t’ allay;

She bath’d with roses red and violets blew,

And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew:

Till, faint through yrkesome wearines, adowne

Upon the grassy ground her selfe she layd

To sleepe, the whiles a gentle slombring swowne

Upon her fell all naked bare displayd:

The sunbeames bright upon her body playd,

Being through former bathing mollifide,

And pierst into her wombe, where they embayd

With so sweet sence and secret power unspide,

That in her pregnant flesh they shortly fructifide.

Miraculous may seeme to him that reades

So straunge ensample of conception;

But reason teacheth that the fruitfull seades

Of all things living, through impression

Of the sunbeames in moyst complexion,

Doe life conceive and quickned are by kynd:

So, after Nilus inundation,

Infinite shapes of creatures men doe fynd,

Informed in the mud, on which the sunne hath shynd.

Great father he of generation

Is rightly cald, th’ authour of life and light;

And his faire sister for creation

Ministreth matter fit, which, tempred right

With heate and humour, breedes the living wight.

So sprong these twinnes in womb of Chrysogone;

Yet wist she nought thereof, but, sore affright,

Wondred to see her belly so upblone,

Which still increast, till she her terme had full outgone.

Whereof conceiving shame and foule disgrace,

Albe her guiltlesse conscience her cleard,

She fled into the wildernesse a space,

Till that unweeldy burden she had reard,

And shund dishonor, which as death she feard:

Where, wearie of long traveill, downe to rest

Her selfe she set, and comfortably cheard;

There a sad cloud of sleepe her overkest,

And seized every sence with sorrow sore opprest.

It fortuned, faire Venus having lost

Her little sonne, the winged God of Love,

Who for some light displeasure, which him crost,

Was from her fled, as flit as ayery dove,

And left her blisfull bowre of joy above;

(So from her often he had fled away,

When she for ought him sharpely did reprove,

And wandred in the world in straunge aray,

Disguiz’d in thousand shapes, that none might him bewray;)

Him for to seeke, she left her heavenly hous,

The house of goodly formes and faire aspects,

Whence all the world derives the glorious

Features of beautie, and all shapes select,

With which High God his workmanship hath deckt;

And searched everie way through which his wings

Had borne him, or his tract she mote detect:

She promist kisses sweet, and sweeter things,

Unto the man that of him tydings to her brings.

First she him sought in court, where most he us’d

Whylome to haunt, but there she found him not;

But many there she found, which sore accus’d

His falshood, and with fowle infamous blot

His cruell deedes and wicked wyles did spot:

Ladies and lordes she every where mote heare

Complayning, how with his empoysned shot

Their wofull harts he wounded had whyleare,

And so had left them languishing twixt hope and feare.

She then the cities sought from gate to gate,

And everie one did aske, did he him see?

And everie one her answerd, that too late

He had him seene, and felt the crueltee

Of his sharpe dartes and whot artilleree;

And every one threw forth reproches rife

Of his mischievous deedes, and sayd that hee

Was the disturber of all civill life,

The enimy of peace, and authour of all strife.

Then in the countrey she abroad him sought,

And in the rurall cottages inquir’d,

Where also many plaintes to her were brought,

How he their heedelesse harts with love had fir’d,

And his false venim through their veines inspir’d;

And eke the gentle shepheard swaynes, which sat

Keeping their fleecy flockes, as they were hyr’d,

She sweetly heard complaine both how and what

Her sonne had to them doen; yet she did smile thereat.

But when in none of all these she him got,

She gan avize where els he mote him hyde:

At last she her bethought, that she had not

Yet sought the salvage woods and forests wyde,

In which full many lovely nymphes abyde,

Mongst whom might be that he did closely lye,

Or that the love of some of them him tyde:

Forthy she thether cast her course t’ apply,

To search the secret haunts of Dianes company.

Shortly unto the wastefull woods she came,

Whereas she found the goddesse with her crew,

After late chace of their embrewed game,

Sitting beside a fountaine in a rew;

Some of them washing with the liquid dew

From of their dainty limbs the dusty sweat

And soyle, which did deforme their lively hew;

Others lay shaded from the scorching heat;

The rest upon her person gave attendance great.

She, having hong upon a bough on high

Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste

Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh,

And her lanck loynes ungirt, and brests unbraste,

After her heat the breathing cold to taste;

Her golden lockes, that late in tresses bright

Embreaded were for hindring of her haste,

Now loose about her shoulders hong undight,

And were with sweet ambrosia all besprinckled light.

Soone as she Venus saw behinde her backe,

She was asham’d to be so loose surpriz’d,

And woxe halfe wroth against her damzels slacke,

That had not her thereof before aviz’d,

But suffred her so carelesly disguiz’d

Be overtaken. Soone her garments loose

Upgath’ring, in her bosome she compriz’d,

Well as she might, and to the goddesse rose,

Whiles all her nymphes did like a girlond her enclose.

Goodly she gan faire Cytherea greet,

And shortly asked her, what cause her brought

Into that wildernesse for her unmeet,

From her sweete bowres, and beds with pleasures fraught:

That suddein chaung the straung adventure thought.

To whom halfe weeping she thus answered:

That she her dearest sonne Cupido sought,

Who in his frowardnes from her was fled;

That she repented sore to have him angered.

Thereat Diana gan to smile, in scorne

Of her vaine playnt, and to her scoffing sayd:

‘Great pitty sure that ye be so forlorne

Of your gay sonne, that gives ye so good ayd

To your disports: ill mote ye bene apayd!’

But she was more engrieved, and replide:

‘Faire sister, ill beseemes it to upbrayd

A dolefull heart with so disdainfull pride;

The like that mine, may be your paine another tide.

‘As you in woods and wanton wildernesse

Your glory sett, to chace the salvage beasts,

So my delight is all in joyfulnesse,

In beds, in bowres, in banckets, and in feasts:

And ill becomes you, with your lofty creasts,

To scorne the joy that Jove is glad to seeke;

We both are bownd to follow heavens beheasts,

And tend our charges with obeisaunce meeke:

Spare, gentle sister, with reproch my paine to eeke.

‘And tell me if that ye my sonne have heard

To lurke emongst your nimphes in secret wize,

Or keepe their cabins: much I am affeard,

Least he like one of them him selfe disguize,

And turne his arrowes to their exercize:

So may he long him selfe full easie hide:

For he is faire, and fresh in face and guize,

As any nimphe (let not it be envide.)’

So saying, every nimph full narrowly shee eide.

But Phœbe therewith sore was angered,

And sharply saide: ‘Goe, dame; goe, seeke your boy,

Where you him lately lefte, in Mars his bed:

He comes not here; we scorne his foolish joy,

Ne lend we leisure to his idle toy:

But if I catch him in this company,

By Stygian lake I vow, whose sad annoy

The gods doe dread, he dearly shall abye:

Ile clip his wanton wings, that he no more shall flye.’

Whom whenas Venus saw so sore displeasd,

Shee inly sory was, and gan relent

What shee had said: so her she soone appeasd

With sugred words and gentle blandishment,

Which as a fountaine from her sweete lips went,

And welled goodly forth, that in short space

She was well pleasd, and forth her damzells sent

Through all the woods, to search from place to place,

If any tract of him or tidings they mote trace.

To search the God of Love her nimphes she sent,

Throughout the wandring forest every where:

And after them her selfe eke with her went

To seeke the fugitive both farre and nere.

So long they sought, till they arrived were

In that same shady covert whereas lay

Faire Crysogone in slombry traunce whilere:

Who in her sleepe (a wondrous thing to say)

Unwares had borne two babes, as faire as springing day.

Unwares she them conceivd, unwares she bore:

She bore withouten paine that she conceiv’d

Withouten pleasure: ne her need implore

Lucinaes aide: which when they both perceiv’d,

They were through wonder nigh of sence berev’d,

And gazing each on other, nought bespake:

At last they both agreed, her seeming griev’d

Out of her heavie swowne not to awake,

But from her loving side the tender babes to take.

Up they them tooke, eachone a babe uptooke,

And with them carried, to be fostered:

Dame Phæbe to a nymphe her babe betooke,

To be upbrought in perfect maydenhed,

And, of her selfe, her name Belphœbe red:

But Venus hers thence far away convayd,

To be upbrought in goodly womanhed,

And in her litle Loves stead, which was strayd,

Her Amoretta cald, to comfort her dismayd.

Shee brought her to her joyous paradize,

Wher most she wonnes, when she on earth does dwell:

So faire a place as Nature can devize:

Whether in Paphos, or Cytheron hill,

Or it in Gnidus bee, I wote not well;

But well I wote by triall, that this same

All other pleasaunt places doth excell,

And called is by her lost lovers name,

The Gardin of Adonis, far renowmd by fame.

In that same gardin all the goodly flowres,

Wherewith Dame Nature doth her beautify,

And decks the girlonds of her paramoures,

Are fetcht: there is the first seminary

Of all things that are borne to live and dye,

According to their kynds. Long worke it were,

Here to account the endlesse progeny

Of all the weeds that bud and blossome there;

But so much as doth need must needs be counted here.

It sited was in fruitfull soyle of old,

And girt in with two walls on either side,

The one of yron, the other of bright gold,

That none might thorough breake, nor overstride:

And double gates it had, which opened wide,

By which both in and out men moten pas;

Th’ one faire and fresh, the other old and dride:

Old Genius the porter of them was,

Old Genius, the which a double nature has.

He letteth in, he letteth out to wend,

All that to come into the world desire:

A thousand thousand naked babes attend

About him day and night, which doe require

That he with fleshly weeds would them attire:

Such as him list, such as eternall Fate

Ordained hath, he clothes with sinfull mire,

And sendeth forth to live in mortall state,

Till they agayn returne backe by the hinder gate.

After that they againe retourned beene,

They in that gardin planted bee agayne,

And grow afresh, as they had never seene

Fleshly corruption nor mortall payne.

Some thousand yeares so doen they there remayne,

And then of him are clad with other hew,

Or sent into the chaungefull world agayne,

Till thether they retourne, where first they grew:

So like a wheele arownd they ronne from old to new.

Ne needs there gardiner to sett or sow,

To plant or prune: for of their owne accord

All things, as they created were, doe grow,

And yet remember well the mighty word,

Which first was spoken by th’ Almighty Lord,

That bad them to increase and multiply:

Ne doe they need with water of the ford

Or of the clouds to moysten their roots dry;

For in themselves eternall moisture they imply.

Infinite shapes of creatures there are bred,

And uncouth formes, which none yet ever knew;

And every sort is in a sondry bed

Sett by it selfe, and ranckt in comely rew:

Some fitt for reasonable sowles t’ indew,

Some made for beasts, some made for birds to weare,

And all the fruitfull spawne of fishes hew

In endlesse rancks along enraunged were,

That seemd the ocean could not containe them there.

Daily they grow, and daily forth are sent

Into the world, it to replenish more;

Yet is the stocke not lessened nor spent,

But still remaines in everlasting store,

As it at first created was of yore:

For in the wide wombe of the world there lyes,

In hatefull darknes and in deepe horrore,

An huge eternal chaos, which supplyes

The substaunces of Natures fruitfull progenyes.

All things from thence doe their first being fetch,

And borrow matter whereof they are made,

Which, whenas forme and feature it does ketch,

Becomes a body, and doth then invade

The state of life out of the griesly shade.

That substaunce is eterne, and bideth so,

Ne when the life decayes, and forme does fade,

Doth it consume and into nothing goe,

But chaunged is, and often altred to and froe.

The substaunce is not chaungd nor altered,

But th’ only forme and outward fashion;

For every substaunce is conditioned

To chaunge her hew, and sondry formes to don,

Meet for her temper and complexion:

For formes are variable, and decay

By course of kinde and by occasion;

And that faire flowre of beautie fades away,

As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny ray.

Great enimy to it, and to all the rest,

That in the Gardin of Adonis springs,

Is wicked Tyme, who, with his scyth addrest,

Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly things,

And all their glory to the ground downe flings,

Where they do wither and are fowly mard:

He flyes about, and with his flaggy winges

Beates downe both leaves and buds without regard,

Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard.

Yet pitty often did the gods relent,

To see so faire thinges mard and spoiled quight:

And their great mother Venus did lament

The losse of her deare brood, her deare delight:

Her hart was pierst with pitty at the sight,

When walking through the gardin them she saw,

Yet no’te she find redresse for such despight:

For all that lives is subject to that law:

All things decay in time, and to their end doe draw.

But were it not, that Time their troubler is,

All that in this delightfull gardin growes

Should happy bee, and have immortall blis:

For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes,

And sweete Love gentle fitts emongst them throwes,

Without fell rancor or fond gealosy:

Franckly each paramor his leman knowes,

Each bird his mate, ne any does envy

Their goodly meriment and gay felicity.

There is continuall spring, and harvest there

Continuall, both meeting at one tyme:

For both the boughes doe laughing blossoms beare,

And with fresh colours decke the wanton pryme,

And eke attonce the heavy trees they clyme,

Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode:

The whiles the joyous birdes make their pastyme

Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode,

And their trew loves without suspition tell abrode.

Right in the middest of that paradise

There stood a stately mount, on whose round top

A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise,

Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never lop,

Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop,

But like a girlond compassed the hight,

And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did drop,

That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight,

Threw forth most dainty odours, and most sweet delight.

And in the thickest covert of that shade

There was a pleasaunt arber, not by art,

But of the trees owne inclination made,

Which knitting their rancke braunches part to part,

With wanton yvie twyne entrayld athwart,

And eglantine and caprifole emong,

Fashiond above within their inmost part,

That nether Phoebus beams could through them throng,

Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong.

And all about grew every sort of flowre,

To which sad lovers were transformde of yore;

Fresh Hyacinthus, Phœbus paramoure

And dearest love,

Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore,

Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late,

Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore

Me seemes I see Amintas wretched fate,

To whom sweet poets verse hath given endlesse date.

There wont fayre Venus often to enjoy

Her deare Adonis joyous company,

And reape sweet pleasure of the wanton boy:

There yet, some say, in secret he does ly,

Lapped in flowres and pretious spycery,

By her hid from the world, and from the skill

Of Stygian gods, which doe her love envy;

But she her selfe, when ever that she will,

Possesseth him, and of his sweetnesse takes her fill.

And sooth, it seemes, they say: for he may not

For ever dye, and ever buried bee

In balefull night, where all thinges are forgot;

All be he subject to mortalitie,

Yet is eterne in mutabilitie,

And by succession made perpetuall,

Transformed oft, and chaunged diverslie:

For him the father of all formes they call;

Therfore needs mote he live, that living gives to all.

There now he liveth in eternall blis,

Joying his goddesse, and of her enjoyd:

Ne feareth he henceforth that foe of his,

Which with his cruell tuske him deadly cloyd:

For that wilde bore, the which him once annoyd,

She firmely hath emprisoned for ay,

That her sweet love his malice mote avoyd,

In a strong rocky cave, which is, they say,

Hewen underneath that mount, that none him losen may.

There now he lives in everlasting joy,

With many of the gods in company,

Which thether haunt, and with the winged boy

Sporting him selfe in safe felicity:

Who, when he hath with spoiles and cruelty

Ransackt the world, and in the wofull harts

Of many wretches set his triumphes hye,

Thether resortes, and laying his sad dartes

Asyde, with faire Adonis playes his wanton partes.

And his trew love, faire Psyche, with him playes,

Fayre Psyche to him lately reconcyld,

After long troubles and unmeet upbrayes,

With which his mother Venus her revyld,

And eke himselfe her cruelly exyld:

But now in stedfast love and happy state

She with him lives, and hath him borne a chyld,

Pleasure, that doth both gods and men aggrate,

Pleasure, the daughter of Cupid and Psyche late.

Hether great Venus brought this infant fayre,

The yonger daughter of Chrysogonee,

And unto Psyche with great trust and care

Committed her, yfostered to bee,

And trained up in trew feminitee:

Who no lesse carefully her tendered

Then her owne daughter Pleasure, to whom shee

Made her companion, and her lessoned

In all the lore of love and goodly womanhead.

In which when she to perfect ripenes grew,

Of grace and beautie noble paragone,

She brought her forth into the worldes vew,

To be th’ ensample of true love alone,

And lodestarre of all chaste affection

To all fayre ladies, that doe live on grownd.

To Faery court she came, where many one

Admyrd her goodly haveour, and fownd

His feeble hart wide launched with loves cruel wownd.

But she to none of them her love did cast,

Save to the noble knight, Sir Scudamore,

To whom her loving hart she linked fast

In faithfull love, t’ abide for evermore,

And for his dearest sake endured sore,

Sore trouble of an hainous enimy,

Who her would forced have to have forlore

Her former love and stedfast loialty,

As ye may elswhere reade that ruefull history.

But well I weene ye first desire to learne

What end unto that fearefull damozell,

Which fledd so fast from that same foster stearne,

Whom with his brethren Timias slew, befell:

That was, to weet, the goodly Florimell,

Who, wandring for to seeke her lover deare,

Her lover deare, her dearest Marinell,

Into misfortune fell, as ye did heare,

And from Prince Arthure fled with wings of idle feare.