Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599). The Complete Poetical Works. 1908.
The Faerie QueeneBook IV. The Legend of Cambel and Triamond. Canto XII
To count the seas abundant progeny,
Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in land,
And also those which wonne in th’ azure sky!
For much more eath to tell the starres on hy,
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation,
Then to recount the seas posterity:
So fertile be the flouds in generation,
So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse their nation.
That Venus of the fomy sea was bred;
For that the seas by her are most augmented.
Witnesse th’ exceeding fry which there are fed,
And wondrous sholes, which may of none be red.
Then blame me not, if I have err’d in count
Of gods, of nymphs, of rivers yet unred:
For though their numbers do much more surmount,
Yet all those same were there, which erst I did recount.
Whose names and nations were too long to tell,
That Proteus house they fild even to the dore;
Yet were they all in order, as befell,
According their degrees disposed well.
Amongst the rest was faire Cymodoce,
The mother of unlucky Marinell,
Who thither with her came, to learne and see
The manner of the gods when they at banquet be.
Of mortall sire, though of immortall wombe,
He might not with immortall food be fed,
Ne with th’ eternall gods to bancket come;
But walkt abrode, and round about did rome,
To view the building of that uncouth place,
That seem’d unlike unto his earthly home:
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,
There unto him betid a disaventrous case.
He heard the lamentable voice of one
That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,
Which never she before disclosd to none,
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone.
So feelingly her case she did complaine,
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone,
And made it seeme to feele her grievous paine,
And oft to grone with billowes beating from the maine.
And count my cares, when none is nigh to heare,
Yet, hoping griefe may lessen being told,
I will them tell though unto no man neare:
For Heaven, that unto all lends equall eare,
Is farre from hearing of my heavy plight;
And lowest Hell, to which I lie most neare,
Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight;
And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life delight.
Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble weares;
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he heares,
Is hardned more with my aboundant teares.
Yet though he never list to me relent,
But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,
Yet will I never of my love repent,
But joy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.
By timely death shall winne her wished rest,
Let then this plaint unto his eares be borne,
That blame it is to him, that armes profest,
To let her die, whom he might have redrest.’
There did she pause, inforced to give place
Unto the passion that her heart opprest;
And after she had wept and wail’d a space,
She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case:
Have care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,
By one or other way me, woefull thrall,
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong,
In which I daily dying am too long.
And if ye deeme me death for loving one
That loves not me, then doe it not prolong,
But let me die and end my daies attone,
And let him live unlov’d, or love him selfe alone.
Then let mee live as lovers ought to do,
And of my lifes deare love beloved be:
And if he shall through pride your doome undo,
Do you by duresse him compell thereto,
And in this prison put him here with me:
One prison fittest is to hold us two:
So had I rather to be thrall then free;
Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely be.
The which the prisoner points unto the free!
The whiles I him condemne, and deeme his paine,
He where he list goes loose, and laughes at me.
So ever loose, so ever happy be.
But where so loose or happy that thou art,
Know, Marinell, that all this is for thee.’
With that she wept and wail’d, as if her hart
Would quite have burst through great abundance of her smart.
And understood the cause of all her care
To come of him, for using her so hard,
His stubborne heart, that never felt misfare,
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare;
That even for griefe of minde he oft did grone,
And inly wish that in his powre it weare
Her to redresse: but since he meanes found none,
He could no more but her great misery bemone.
Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide,
Dame Venus sonne, that tameth stubborne youth
With iron bit, and maketh him abide,
Till like a victor on his backe he ride,
Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,
That made him stoupe, till he did him bestride:
Then gan he make him tread his steps anew,
And learne to love, by learning lovers paines to rew.
How from that dungeon he might her enlarge:
Some while he thought, by faire and humble wise
To Proteus selfe to sue for her discharge;
But then he fear’d his mothers former charge
Gainst womens love, long given him in vaine:
Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword and targe
Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to constraine;
But soone he gan such folly to forthinke againe.
And with him beare, where none of her might know.
But all in vaine: forwhy he found no way
To enter in, or issue forth below:
For all about that rocke the sea did flow.
And though unto his will she given were,
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row,
He wist not how her thence away to bere;
And daunger well he wist long to continue there.
Backe to him selfe he gan returne the blame,
That was the author of her punishment;
And with vile curses and reprochfull shame
To damne him selfe by every evill name;
And deeme unworthy or of love or life,
That had despisde so chast and faire a dame,
Which him had sought through trouble and long strife,
Yet had refusde a god that her had sought to wife.
And romed round about the rocke in vaine,
As he had lost him selfe, he wist not where;
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe,
And still bemoning her unworthy paine:
Like as an hynde whose calfe is falne unwares
Into some pit, where she him heares complaine,
An hundred times about the pit side fares,
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved cares.
And every one gan homeward to resort.
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended,
That his departure thence should be so short,
And leave his love in that sea-walled fort.
Yet durst he not his mother disobay;
But her attending in full seemly sort,
Did march amongst the many all the way:
And all the way did inly mourne, like one astray.
In solitary silence far from wight,
He gan record the lamentable stowre
In which his wretched love lay day and night,
For his deare sake, that ill deserv’d that plight:
The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe,
That of no worldly thing he tooke delight;
Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe,
But pyn’d, and mourn’d, and languisht, and alone did weepe;
Gan fade, and lively spirits deaded quight:
His cheeke bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,
And brawney armes had lost their knowen might,
That nothing like himselfe he seem’d in sight.
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of love
He woxe, that lenger he note stand upright,
But to his bed was brought, and layd above,
Like ruefull ghost, unable once to stirre or move.
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weene,
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find
The secret cause and nature of his teene,
Whereby she might apply some medicine;
But weeping day and night, did him attend,
And mourn’d to see her losse before her eyne,
Which griev’d her more that she it could not mend:
To see an helpelesse evill double griefe doth lend.
Ne weene what mister maladie it is,
Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.
Most did she thinke, but most she thought amis,
That that same former fatall wound of his
Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly healed,
But closely rankled under th’ orifis:
Least did she thinke, that which he most concealed,
That love it was, which in his hart lay unrevealed.
And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,
That fayld the trust which she in him bad plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent:
Who now was falne into new languishment
Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
So backe he came unto her patient:
Where searching every part, her well assured,
That it was no old sore which his new paine procured;
Or griefe unknowne, which he could not discerne:
So left he her withouten remedie.
Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and earne,
And inly troubled was, the truth to learne.
Unto himselfe she came, and him besought,
Now with faire speches, now with threatnings sterne,
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought,
It to reveale: who still her answered, there was nought.
But leaving watry gods, as booting nought,
Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide,
And thence Apollo, king of leaches, brought.
Apollo came; who, soone as he had sought
Through his disease, did by and by out find
That he did languish of some inward thought,
The which afflicted his engrieved mind;
Which love he red to be, that leads each living kind.
She gan thereat to fret and greatly grieve;
And comming to her sonne, gan first to scold
And chyde at him, that made her misbelieve:
But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieve,
And wooe with faire intreatie, to disclose
Which of the nymphes his heart so sore did mieve;
For sure she weend it was some one of those
Which he had lately seene, that for his love he chose.
That warned him of womens love beware:
Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,
For love of nymphes she thought she need not care,
But promist him, what ever wight she weare,
That she her love to him would shortly gaine:
So he her told: but soone as she did heare
That Florimell it was, which wrought his paine,
She gan a fresh to chafe, and grieve in every vaine.
In which his life unluckily was layd,
It was no time to scan the prophecie,
Whether old Proteus true or false had sayd,
That his decay should happen by a mayd:
It’s late, in death, of daunger to advize,
Or love forbid him that is life denayd:
But rather gan in troubled mind devize
How she that ladies libertie might enterprize.
Who was the root and worker of her woe,
Nor unto any meaner to complaine;
But unto great King Neptune selfe did goe,
And on her knee before him falling lowe,
Made humble suit unto his Majestie,
To graunt to her her sonnes life, which his foe,
A cruell tyrant, had presumpteouslie
By wicked doome condemn’d a wretched death to die.
‘Daughter, me seemes of double wrong ye plaine,
Gainst one that hath both wronged you and us:
For death t’ adward I ween’d did appertaine
To none but to the seas sole soveraine.
Read therefore who it is, which this hath wrought,
And for what cause; the truth discover plaine.
For never wight so evill did or thought,
But would some rightfull cause pretend, though rightly nought.’
Proteus, that hath ordayn’d my sonne to die;
For that a waift, the which by fortune came
Upon your seas, he claym’d as propertie:
And yet nor his, nor his in equitie,
But yours the waift by high prerogative.
Therefore I humbly crave your Majestie,
It to replevie, and my sonne reprive:
So shall you by one gift save all us three alive.’
Under the sea-gods seale autenticall,
Commaunding Proteus straight t’ enlarge the mayd
Which, wandring on his seas imperiall,
He lately tooke, and sithence kept as thrall.
Which grieved receiving with meete thankefulnesse,
Departed straight to Proteus therewithall:
Who, reading it with inward loathfulnesse,
Was grieved to restore the pledge he did possesse.
But unto her delivered Florimell.
Whom she receiving by the lilly hand,
Admyr’d her beautie much, as she mote well;
For she all living creatures did excell;
And was right joyous, that she gotten had
So faire a wife for her sonne Marinell.
So home with her she streight the virgin lad,
And shewed her to him, then being sore bestad.
Adorn’d with all divine perfection,
His cheared heart eftsoones away gan chace
Sad death, revived with her sweet inspection,
And feeble spirit inly felt refection;
As withered weed through cruell winters tine,
That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection,
Liftes up his head, that did before decline,
And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.
When he in place his dearest love did spy;
And though his limbs could not his bodie beare,
Ne former strength returne so suddenly,
Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly.
Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected,
But that she masked it with modestie,
For feare she should of lightnesse be detected:
Which to another place I leave to be perfected.