It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
A ramping Lyon rushed suddeinly,
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood.
Soone as the royall virgin he did spy,
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
To have attonce devourd her tender corse;
But to the pray when as he drew more ny,
His bloody rage aswaged with remorse, [forse.
And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious
In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong,
As he her wronged innocence did weet.
O, how can beautie maister the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong!
Whose yielded pryde and proud submission,
Still dreading death, when she had marked
Her hart gan melt in great compassion; [long,
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.
"The Lyon, Lord of everie beast in field,'
Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate,
And mightie proud to humble weake does
yield,
Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate :
But he, my Lyon, and my noble Lord,
How does he find in cruell hart to hate
Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord
As the God of my life? why hath he me ab-
hord?'
Redounding teares did choke th' end of her
plaint,
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood;
And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood:
With pittie calmd downe fell his angry mood.
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,
Arose the virgin, borne of heavenly brood,
And to her snowy Palfrey got agayne,
The Lyon would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong gard
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and
ward;
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard:
From her fayre eyes he tooke commandement,
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.
Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde, By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas,
Yet never shew of living wight espyde;
Till that at length she found the troden gras,
In which the tract of peoples footing was,
Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore:
The same she followes, till at last she has
A damzel spyde, slow footing her before,
That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.
To whom approching she to her gan call,
To weet if dwelling place were nigh at hand;
But the rude wench her answerd nought at all:
She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand;
Till, seeing by her side the Lyon stand,
With suddeine feare her pitcher downe she
And fled away: for never in that land [threw,
Face of fayre Lady she before did vew, [hew.
And that dredd Lyons looke her cast in deadly
Full fast she fled, ne ever lookt behynd,
As if her life upon the wager lay;
And home she came, whereas her mother blynd
Sate in eternall night: nought could she say;
But, suddeine catching hold, did her dismay
With quaking hands, and other signes of feare:
Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there
Who, full of ghastly fright and cold affray,
Dame Una, weary Dame, and entrance did
requere :
Which when none yielded, her unruly Page
With his rude clawes the wicket open rent,
And let her in; where, of his cruell rage
Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,
Shee found them both in darksome corner pent;
Where that old woman day and night did pray
Upon her beads, devoutly penitent:
Nine hundred Pater nosters every day,
To seeke her strayed Champion if she might And thrise nine hundred Aves she was wont to
That was the flowre of faith and chastity:
And still, amidst her rayling, she did pray
That plagues, and mischiefes, and long misery,
Might fall on her, and follow all the way,
And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.
Him selfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde Unto an hil; from whence when she him spyde, By his like seeming shield her knight by name She weend it was, and towards him gan ride: Approaching nigh she wist it was the same; And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came:
Far be it from your thought, and fro my wil,
He thereto meeting said, 'My dearest Dame,
To thinke that knighthood I so much should
shame,
As you to leave that have me loved stil,
Where noblest knights were to be found on
And chose in Faery court, of meere goodwil,
earth.
The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skil
To bring forth fruit, and make eternal derth,
Then I leave you, my liefe, yborn of hevenly
berth.
Where, Archimago said, a felon strong
'And sooth to say, why I lefte you so long,
Was for to seeke adventure in straunge place;
To many knights did daily worke disgrace;
But knight he now shall never more deface:
Well to accept, and evermore embrace
Good cause of mine excuse, that mote ye please
My faithfull service, that by land and seas
Have vowd you to defend. Now then, your
plaint appease.'
Of all her passed paines: one loving howre
His lovely words her seemd due recompence
For many yeares of sorrow can dispence;
A dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre.
Shee has forgott how many a woeful stowre
Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre
For him she late endurd; she speakes no more
To looken backe; his eies be fixt before.
Before her stands her knight, for whom she
toyld so sore
Much like, as when the beaten marinere,
That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide,
And long time having tand his tawney hide
Ofte soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare;
With blustring breath of Heaven, that none
can bide,
And weeping said, 'Ah, my long lacked Lord, Soone as the port from far he has espide,
Where have ye bene thus long out of my His chearfull whistle merily doth sound,
sight?
And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him
pledg around.
And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound;
Much feared I to have bene quite abhord,
Or ought have done, that ye displeasen might,
That should as death unto my deare heart
For since mine eie your joyous sight did mis,
My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night,
And eke my night of death the shadow is;
But welcome now, my light, and shining
lampe of blis!'
Such joy made Una, when her knight she
And eke th' enchaunter joyous seemde no lesse
found;
Then the glad marchant, that does vew from
ground
His ship far come from watrie wildernesse
But that proud Paynim forward came so ferce And full of wrath, that, with his sharphead speare,
Through vainly crossed shield he quite did But to the virgin comes; who all this while And, had his staggering steed not shronke for Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see feare, [ beare: By him, who has the guerdon of his guile, Through shield and body eke he should him For so misfeigning her true knight to bee: Yet, so great was the puissance of his push, That from his sadle quite he did him beare. He, tombling rudely downe, to ground did rush, And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.
Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed, He to him lept, in minde to reave his life, And proudly said; 'Lo! there the worthie meed Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloody knife: Henceforth his ghost, freed from repining strife,
Yet is she now in more perplexitie,
Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,
From whom her booteth not at all to flie:
Who, by her cleanly garment catching hold,
Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to
behold.
But her fiers servant, full of kingly aw And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame So rudely handled by her foe he saw, With gaping jawes full greedy at him came, And, ramping on his shield, did weene the same [life, Have reft away with his sharp rending clawes: When mourning altars, purgd with enimies But he was stout, and lust did now inflame The black infernall Furies doen aslake: His corage more, that from his griping pawes Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall He hath his shield redeemd, and forth his
In peace may passen over Lethe lake;
With foule reproches and disdaineful spight
He now, Lord of the field, his pride to fill,
Her vildly entertaines; and, will or nill,
Beares her away upon his courser light:
Her prayers nought prevaile, his rage is more
of might.
And all the way, with great lamenting paine,
And piteous plaintes, she filleth his dull eares,
That stony hart could riven have in twaine;
And all the way she wetts with flowing teares;
But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares.
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,
To be partaker of her wandring woe;
But followes her far off, ne ought he feares
More mild in beastly kind then that her beastly
[foe.
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