It vertue had to shew in perfect sight Whatever thing was in the world contaynd, Betwixt the lowest Earth and Hevens hight, So that it to the looker appertaynd: Whatever foe had wrought, or frend had faynd, Therein discovered was, ne ought mote pas, Ne ought in secret from the same remaynd; Forthy it round and hollow shaped was,
Like to the world itselfe, and seemd a world of glas.
Who wonders not, that reades so wonderous worke? But who does wonder, that has red the towre Wherein th' Aegyptian Phao long did lurke From all mens vew, that none might her discoure, Yet she might ali men vew out of her bowre? Great Ptolomæe it for his lemans sake Ybuilded all of glasse, by magicke powre, And also it impregnable did make;
Yet, when his love was false, he with a peazc it brake.
Such was the glassy globe that Merlin made, And gave unto king Ryence for his gard, That never foes his kingdome might invade, But he it knew at home before he hard Tydings thereof, and so them still debar'd: It was a famous present for a prince, And worthy worke of infinite reward, That treasons could bewray, and foes convince: Happy this realme, had it remayned ever since!
One day it fortuned fayre Britomart Into her fathers closet to repayre; For nothing he from her reserv'd apart, Being his onely daughter and his hayre; Where when she had espyde that mirrour fayre, Herselfe awhile therein she vewd in vaine: Tho, her avizing of the vertues rare Which thereof spoken were, she gan againe Her to bethinke of that mote to herselfe pertaine.
The damzell well did vew his personage,
And liked well; ne further fastned not, But went her way; ne her unguilty age Did weene, unwares, that her unlucky lot Lay hidden in the bottome of the pot : Of hurt unwist most daunger doth redound: But the false archer, which that arrow shot So slyly that she did not feele the wound, [stound. Did smyle full smoothly at her weetlesse wofull
Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest, Rufied of Love, gan lowly to availe;
And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest, With which she earst tryúmphed, now did quaile : Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies fraile, She woxe; yet wist she nether how, nor why; She wist not, silly mayd, what she did aile, Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy;" Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy.
So soone as Night had with her pallid hew Defaste the beautie of the shyning skye, And refte from men the worldes desired vew, She with her nourse adowne to sleepe did lye; But sleepe full far away from her did fly : Instead thereof sad sigbes and sorrowes deepe Kept watch and ward about her warily; That nought she did but wayle, and often steepe Her dainty couch with teares which closely she did weepe.
And if that any drop of slombring rest Did chaunce to still into her weary spright, When feeble nature felt herselfe opprest, Streightway with dreames, and with fantasticke sight Of dreadfull things, the same was put to flight; That oft out of her bed she did astart, As one with vew of ghastly feends affright: Tho gan she to renew her former smart, And thinke of that fayre visage written in her hart.
One night, when she was tost with such unrest, Her aged nourse, whose name was Glaucè hight, Feeling her leape out of her loathed nest, Betwixt her feeble armes her quickly keight, And downe againe in her warme bed her dight: "Ah! my deare daughter, ah! my dearest dread, What uncouth fit," sayd she, "what evill plight Hath thee opprest, and with sad drearyhead [dead? Chaunged thy lively cheare, and living made thee "For not of nought these suddein ghastly feares All night afflict thy naturall repose; And all the day, whenas thine equall peares Their fit disports with faire delight doe chose, Thou in dull corners doest thyselfe inclose; Ne tastest princes pleasures, ne doest spred Abroad thy fresh youths fayrest flowre, but lose Both leafe and fruite, both too untimely shed, As one in wilfull bale for ever buried.
"The time that mortall men their weary cares Do lay away, and all wilde beastes do rest, And every river eke his course forbeares, Then doth this wicked evill thee infest, And rive with thousand throbs thy thrilled brest: Like an huge Aetn' of deepe engulfed gryefe, Sorrow is heaped in thy hollow chest, Whence fourth it breakes in sighes and anguish rife, As smoke and sulphure mingled with confused
"Ay me! how much I feare least love it bee! But if that love it be, as sure I read
By knowen signes and passions which I see, Be it worthy of thy race and royall sead, Then I avow, by this most sacred head Of my dear foster childe, to ease thy griefe And win thy will: therefore away doe dread; For death nor daunger from thy dew reliefe Shall me debarre: tell me therefore, my liefest liefe!"
So having sayd, her twixt her armës twaine Shee streightly straynd, and colled tenderly; And every trembling ioynt and every vaine Shee softly felt, and rubbed busily, To doe the frosen cold away to fly; And her faire deawy eies with kisses deare Shee ofte did bathe, and ofte againe did dry; And ever her impórtund not to feare
To let the secret of her hart to her appeare.
The damzell pauzd; and then thus fearfully; "Ah! nurse, what needeth thee to eke my payne? Is not enough that I alone doe dye,
But it must doubled bee with death of twaine? For nought for me but death there doth remaine!" "O daughter deare," said she, " despeire no whit; For never sore but might a salve obtaine:
That blinded god, which hath ye blindly smit, Another arrow hath your lovers hart to hit."
"But mine is not," quoth she, "like other wownd; For which no reason can finde remedy." "Was never such, but mote the like be fownd," Said she;" and though no reason may apply Salve to your sore, yet Love can higher stye Then Reasons reach, and oft hath wonders donne." "But neither god of love nor god of skye Can doe," said she, "that which cannot be donne." "Things oft impossible," quoth she, "seeme ere begonne."
"These idle wordes," said she, "doe nought aswage My stubborne smart, but more annoiaunce breed:
For no, no usuall fire, no usuall rage Yt is, O nourse, which on my life doth feed, And sucks the blood which from my hart doth bleed. But since thy faithfull zele lets me not hyde My crime, (if crime it be) I will it reed. Nor prince nor pere it is, whose love hath gryde My feeble brest of late, and launched this wound wyde:
"Nor man it is, nor other living wight;
For then some hope I might unto me draw; But th' only shade and semblant of a knight, Whose shape or person yet I never saw, Hath me subiected to Loves cruell law: The same one day, as me misfortune led, I in my fathers wondrous mirrhour saw, And, pleased with that seeming goodlyhed, Unwares the hidden hooke with baite I swallowed:
"Sithens it hath infixed faster hold Within my bleeding bowells, and so sore Now ranckleth in this same fraile fleshly mould) That all mine entrailes flow with poisnous gore, And th' ulcer groweth daily more and more; Ne can my ronning sore finde remedee, Other than my hard fortune to deplore, And languish as the leafe faln from the tree, Till death make one end of my daies and miseree!"
Daughter,' ," said she, "what need ye be dismayd? Or why make ye such monster of your minde? Of much more uncouth thing I was affrayd; Of filthy lust, contráry unto kinde: But this affection nothing straunge I finde; For who with reason can you aye reprove To love the semblaunt pleasing most your minde, And yield your heart whence ye cannot remove? No guilt in you, but in the tyranny of Love.
"Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did sett her mynd; Nor so did Biblis spend her pining hart; But lov'd their native flesh against al kynd, And to their purpose used wicked art; Yet playd Pasiphaë a more monstrous part, That lov'd a bull, and learnd a beast to bee: Such shamefull lustes who loaths not, which depart From course of nature and of modestee? [panee. Swete Love such lewdnes bands from his faire com-
"But thine, my deare, (welfare thy heart, my deare!) Though straunge beginning had, yet fixed is On one that worthy may perhaps appeare; And certes seemes bestowed not amis: loy thereof have thou and eternall blis !” With that, upleaning on her elbow weake, Her alablaster brest she soft did kis,
Which all that while shee felt to pant and quake, As it an earth-quake were: at last she thus bespake; « Beldame, your words doe worke me litle ease; For though my love be not so lewdly bent As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease My raging smart, ne ought my flame relent, But rather doth my helpelesse griefe augment. For they, however shamefull and unkinde, Yet did possesse their horrible intent: Short end of sorrowes they therby did finde; So was their fortune good, though wicked were their minde.
Can have no end nor hope of my desire, "But wicked fortune mine, though minde be good,
But feed on shadowes whiles I die for food, And like a shadow wexe, whiles with entire Affection I doe languish and expire. I, fonder then Cephisus foolish chyld, Who, having vewed in a fountaine shere His face, was with the love thereof beguyld; I, fonder, love a shade, the body far exyld."
"Nought like,"quoth shee; "for that same wretch- Was of himselfe the ydle paramoure, [ed boy Both love and lover, without hope of ioy; For which he faded to a watry flowre. But better fortune thine, and better howre, Which lov'st the shadow of a warlike knight; No shadow, but a body hath in powre: That body, wheresoever that it light, May learned be by cyphers, or by magicke might.
"But if thou may with reason yet represse The growing evill, ere it strength have gott, And thee abandond wholy do possesse; Against it strongly strive, and yield thee nott Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott: But if the passion mayster thy fraile might, So that needs love or death must be thy lott, Then I avow to thee, by wrong or right To compas thy desire, and find that loved knight.”
Her chearefull words much cheard the feeble spright |
Of the sicke virgin, that her downe she layd In her warme bed to sleepe, if that she might; And the old-woman carefully displayd
The clothes about her round with busy ayd; So that at last a litle creeping sleepe
Surprizd her sence: shee, therewith well apayd, The dronken lamp down in the oyi did steepe, And sett her by to watch, and sett her by to weepe.
Earely, the morrow next, before that Day His ioyous face did to the world revele, They both uprose and tooke their ready way Unto the church, their praiers to appele, With great devotion, and with litle zele: For the faire damzell from the holy herse Her love-sicke hart to other thoughts did steale; And that old dame said many an idle verse, Out of her daughters hart fond fancies to reverse.
Retourned home, the royall infant fell Into her former fitt; for why? no powre Nor guidaunce of herselfe in her did dwell. But th' aged nourse, her calling to her bowre, Had gathered rew, and savine, and the flowre Of camphora, and calamint, and dill; All which she in a earthen pot did poure, And to the brim with coltwood did it fill,
And many drops of milk and blood through it did spill.
Merlin bewrayes to Britomart The state of Arthegall: And shews the famous progeny, Which from them springen shall. Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily In living brests, ykindled first above Emongst th' eternall spheres and lamping sky, And thence pourd into men, which men call Love; Not that same, which doth base affections move In brutish mindes, and filthy lust inflame; But that sweete fit that doth true beautie love, And choseth Vertue for his dearest dame, [fame: Whence spring all noble deeds and never-dying
Well did Antiquity a god thee deeme,
That over mortall mindes hast so great might, To order them as best to thee doth seeme, And all their actions to direct aright: The fatall purpose of divine foresight Thou doest effect in destined descents, Through deepe impression of thy secret might, And stirredst up th' heroes high intents, [ments. Which the late world admyres for wondrous moni-
But thy dredd dartes in none doe triumph more, Ne braver proofe in any of thy powre
Then, taking thrise three heares from off her head, Shewd'st thou, then in this royall maid of yore, Them trebly breaded in a threefold lace,
And round about the pots mouth bound the thread; And, after having whispered a space Certein sad words with hollow voice and bace, Shee to the virgin sayd, thrise sayd she itt; "Come, daughter, come; come, spit upon my face:
Spitt thrise upon me, thrise upon me spitt; Th' uneven nomber for this busines is most fitt."
That sayd, her rownd about she from her turnd, She turned her contrary to the Sunne; Thrise she her turnd contráry, and returnd All contrary; for she the right did shunne; And ever what she did was streight undonne. So thought she to undoe her daughter's love: But love, that is in gentle brest begonne, No ydle charmes so lightly may remove;
Making her seeke an unknowne paramoure, From the worlds end, through many a bitter stowre: From whose two loynes thou afterwardes did rayse Most famous fruites of matrimoniall bowre, Which through the Earth have spredd their living prayse,
That Fame in tromp of gold eternally displayes.
Begin then, O my dearest sacred dame, Daughter of Phoebus and of Memorye, That doest ennoble with immortall name The warlike worthies, from antiquitye, In thy great volume of Eternitye; Begin, O Clio, and recount from hence My glorious soveraines goodly auncestrye, Till that by dew degrees, and long protense, Thou have it lastly brought unto her excellence.
That well can witnesse, who by tryall it does prove. Full many wayes within her troubled mind
Ne ought it mote the noble mayd avayle, Ne slake the fury of her cruell flame,
But that shee still did waste, and still did wayle, That, through long languour and hart-burning brame,
She shortly like a pyned ghost became Which long hath waited by the Stygian strond: That when old Glaucè saw, for feare least blame Of her miscarriage should in her be fond, She wist not how t' amend, nor how it to withstond.
Old Glaucè cast to cure this ladies griefe; Full many wayes she sought, but none could find, Nor herbes, nor charines, nor counsel that is chiefe And choicest med'cine for sick harts reliefe: Forthy great care she tooke, and greater feare, Least that it should her turne to fowle repriefe And sore reproch, whenso her father deare Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune heare.
At last she her avisde, that he which made That mirrhour, wherein the sicke damosell So straungely vewed her straunge lovers shade, To weet, the learned Merlin, well could tell Under what coast of Heaven the man did dwell, And by what means his love might best be wrought: For, though beyond the Africk Ismaël
Or th' Indian Peru he were, she thought
Him forth through infinite endevour to have sought.
Forthwith themselves disguising both in straunge And base attyre, that none might them bewray, To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge Of name Cayr-Merdin cald, they tooke their way: There the wise Merlin whylome wont (they say) To make his wonne, low underneath the ground, In a deepe delve, far from the vew of day, That of no living wight he mote be found, [round. Whenso he counseld with his sprights encompast
And, if thou ever happen that same way To traveill, go to see that dreadful place: It is an hideous hollow cave (they say) Under a rock that lyes a litle space From the swift Barry, tombling downe apace Emongst the woody hilles of Dyneuowre: But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace To enter into that same balefull bowre, [vowre: For fear the cruell feendes should thee unwares de-
But standing high aloft low lay thine eare, And there such ghastly noyse of yron chaines And brasen caudrons thou shalt rombling heare, Which thousand sprights with long enduring paines Doe tosse, that it will stonn thy feeble braines; And oftentimes great grones, and grievous stownds, When too huge toile and labour them constraines; And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sowndes From under that deepe rock most horriblyrebowndes.
The cause, some say, is this: a litle whyle Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend A brasen wall in compas to compyle About Cairmardin, and did it commend Unto these sprights to bring to perfect end: During which worke the Lady of the Lake, Whom long he lov'd, for him in hast did send; Who, thereby forst his workemen to forsake, [slake. Them bownd, till his retourne, their labour not to
In the meane time through that false ladies traine He was surprisd, and buried under beare, Ne ever to his worke returnd againe : Nath'lesse those feends may not their work forbeare, So greatly his commandement they feare, But there doe toyle and traveile day and night, Untill that brasen wall they up doe reare: For Merlin had in magick more insight Then ever him before or after living wight:
For he by wordes could call out of the sky Both Sunne and Moone, and make them him obay; - The land to sea, and sea to maineland dry, And darksom night he eke could turne to day; Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay, And hostes of men of meanest thinges could frame, Whenso him list his enimies to fray:
That to this day, for terror of his fame,
He bad tell on: and then she thus began; [light "Now have three Moones with borrowd bruthers Thrise shined faire, and thrise seemd dim and wan, Sith a sore evill, which this virgin bright Tormenteth and doth plonge in dolefull plight, First rooting tooke; but what thing it mote bee, Or whence it sprong, I cannot read aright: But this I read, that, but if remedee Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead shall see."
Therewith th' enchaunter softly gan to smyle At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well That she to him dissembled womanish guyle, And to her said; "Beldame, by that ye tell More neede of leach-crafte hath your damozell, Then of my skill: who helpe may have elsewhere, In vaine seekes wonders out of magick spell." Th'old woman wox halfblanck those wordes to heare; And yet was loth to let her purpose plaine appeare;
And to him said; "Yf any leaches skill, Or other learned meanes, could have redrest This my deare daughters deepe-engraffed ill, Certes I should be loth thee to molest: But this sad evill, which doth her infest, Doth course of naturall cause farre exceed, And housed is within her hollow brest, That either seemes some cursed witches deed, Or evill spright, that in her doth such torment breed."
The wisard could no lenger beare her bord, But, bursting forth in laughter, to her sayd; "Glaucè, what needes this colourable word To cloke the cause that hath itselfe bewrayd? Ne ye, fayre Britomartis, thus arayd, More hidden are then Sunne in cloudy vele; Whom thy good fortune, having fate obayd,
The feendes do quake when any him to them does Hath hether brought for succour to appele;
And, sooth, men say that he was not the sonne Of mortall syre or other living wight, But wondrously begotten, and begonne By false illusion of a guilefull spright On a faire lady Nonne, that whilome hight Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,
Who was the lord of Mathtraval by right, And coosen unto king Ambrosius;
Whence he indued was with skill so marvelous.
The which the powres to thee are pleased to revele.”
The doubtfull mayd, seeing herselfe descryde, Was all abasht, and her pure yvory
Into a cleare carnation suddein dyde;
As fayre Aurora, rysing hastily,
Doth by her blushing tell that she did lye All night in old Tithonus frozen bed, Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly: But her olde nourse was nought dishartened, But vauntage made of that which Merlin had ared;
And sayd; "Sith then thou knowest all our griefe, (For what doest not thou know?) of grace I pray, Pitty our playnt, and yield us meet reliefe!" With that the prophet still awhile did stay, And then his spirite thus gan foorth display; "Most noble virgin, that by fatall lore Hast learn'd to love, let no whit the dismay The hard beginne that meetes thee in the dore, And with sharpe fits thy tender hart oppresseth sore:
"For so must all things excellent begin; And eke enrooted deepe must be that tree, Whose big embodied braunches shall not lin Till they to Hevens hight forth stretched bee. For from thy wombe a famous progenee Shall spring out of the auncient Trojan blood, Which shall revive the sleeping memoree Of those same antique peres, the Hevens brood, Which Greeke and Asian rivers stayned with their blood.
"Renowmed kings, and sacred emperours, Thy fruitfull offspring, shall from thee descend; Brave captaines, and most mighty warriors, That shall their conquests through all lands extend, And their decayed kingdomes shall amend: The feeble Britons, broken with long warre, They shall upreare, and mightily defend Against their forren foe that commes from farre, Till universall peace compound all civill iarre.
"It was not, Britomart, thy wandring eye Glauncing unwares in charming looking-glas, But the streight course of hevenly destiny, Led with Eternall Providence, that has Guyded thy glaunce, to bring his will to pas: Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill, To love the prowest knight that ever was: Therefore submit thy wayes unto his will, And doe, by all dew meanes, thy destiny fulfill."
" But read," saide Glaucè, "thou magitian, What meanes shall she out-seeke, or what waies take? How shall she know, how shall she finde the man? Or what needes her to toyle, sith fates can make Way for themselves their purpose to pertake?" Then Merlin thus; "Indeede the fates are firme, And may not shrinck, though all the world do shake: Yet ought mens good endevours them confirme, And guyde the heavenly causes to their constant
"The man, whom Heavens have ordaynd to bee The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall: He wonneth in the land of Fayëree, Yet is no Fary borne, ne sib at all To Elfes, but sprong of seed terrestriall, And whylome by false Faries stolne away, Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall; Ne other to himselfe is knowne this day, But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a Fay. "But sooth he is the sonne of Gorloïs, And brother unto Cador, Cornish king; And for his warlike feates renowned is, From where the day out of the sea doth spring, Untill the closure of the evening: From thence him, firmely bound with faithfull band, To this his native soyle thou backe shalt bring, Strongly to ayde his countrey to withstand [land. The powre of forreine Paynims which invade thy
"Great ayd thereto his mighty puissaunce And dreaded name shall give in that sad day; Where also proofe of thy prow valiaunce Thou then shait make, t' increase thy lover's pray: Long time ye both in armes shall bear e great sway, Till thy wombes burden thee from them do call, And his last fate him from thee take away; Too rathe cut off by practise criminall Of secrete foes, that him shall make in mischiefe
"With thee yet shall he leave, for memory Of his late puissaunce, his ymage dead, That living him in all activity
To thee shall represent: he, from the head Of his coosen Constantius, without dread Shall take the crowne that was his fathers right, And therewith crowne himselfe in th' others stead; Then shall he issew forth with dreadfull might Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to fight.
"Like as a lyon that in drowsie cave Hath long time slept, himselfe so shall he shake; And, comming forth, shall spred his banner brave Over the troubled south, that it shall make The warlike Mertians for feare to quake: Thrise shall he fight with them, and twise shall win: But the third time shall fayre accordaunce make: And, if he then with victorie can lin, [in.
He shall his dayes with peace bring to his earthly
"His sonne, hight Vortipore, shall him succeede In kingdome, but not in felicity:
Yet shall he long time warre with happy speed, And with great honour many batteills try; But at the last to th' importunity
of froward fortune shall be forst to yield: But his sonne Malgo shall full mightily Avenge his fathers losse with speare and shield, And his proud foes discomfit in victorious field.
"Behold the man! and tell me, Britomart, If ay more goodly creature thou didst see? How like a gyaunt in each manly part Beares he himselfe with portly maiestee, That one of th' old heroës seemes to bee!
He the six islands, comprovinciall
In auncient times unto great Britainee, Shall to the same reduce, and to him call Their sondry kings to do their homage severall.
"All which his sonne Careticus awhile Shall well defend, and Saxons powre suppresse; Untill a straunger king, from unknowne soyle Arriving, him with multitude oppresse; Great Gormond, having with huge mightinesse Ireland subdewd, and therein fixt his throne, Like a swift otter, fell through emptinesse, Shall overswim the sea with many one Of his Norveyses, to assist the Britons fone.
"He in his furie shall over-ronne, And holy church with faithlesse handes deface, That thy sad people, utterly fordonne, Shall to the utmost mountaines fly apace: Was never so great waste in any place, Nor so fowle outrage doen by living men; For all thy citties they shall sacke and race, And the greene grasse that groweth they shall bren, That even the wilde beast shall dy in starved den.
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