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But first him seemed fit that wounded knight
To visite, after this nights perillous passe;
And to salute him if he were in plight,
And eke that lady his faire lovely lasse.
There he him found much better then he was;
And moved speach to him of things of course,
The anguish of his paine to over-passe:
Mougst which he namely did to him discourse
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse.

Of which occasion Aldine taking hold
Gan breake to him the fortunes of his love,
And all his disadventures to unfold;
That Calidore it dearly deepe did move:
In th' end, his kyndly courtesie to prove,
He him by al! the bands of love besought,
And as it mote a faithfull friend behove,
To safe-conduct his love, and not for ought

To leave, till to her fathers house he had her brought.

Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight
It to performe: so after little stay,

That she herselfe had to the iourney dight,
He passed forth with her in faire array,
Fearlesse who ought did thinke or ought did say,
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite:
So, as they past together on their way,
He can devize this counter-cast of slight,
To give faire colour to that ladies cause in sight.

Streight to the carkasse of that knight he went,
(The cause of all this evill, who was slaine
The day before by iust avengëment

Of noble Tristram) where it did remaine;
There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine,
And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame.
So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,
Till to that ladies fathers house he came ;
Most pensive man, through feare what of his childe

became.

There he arriving boldly did present
The fearefull lady to her father deare,
Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent
Of blame, as he did on his knighthood sweare,
Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
Of a discourteous knight, who her had reft
And by outragious force away did beare:
Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left,
And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft.

Most joyfull man her sire was, her to see,
And heare th' adventure of her late mischaunce;
And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee
Of his large paines in her deliveraunce
Did yeeld; ne lesse the lady did advaunce.
Thus having her restored trustily,
As he had vow'd, some small continuance
He there did make, and then most carefully
Unto his first exploite he did himselfe apply.

So, as he was pursuing of his quest,

He chaunst to come whereas a iolly knight
In covert shade himselfe did safely rest,
To solace with his lady in delight:

His warlike armes he had from him undight;
For that himselfe he thought from daunger free,
And far from envious eyes that mote him spight:
And eke the lady was full faire to see,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree.

To whom sir Calidore approaching nye,
Ere they were well aware of living wight,
Them much abasht, but more himselfe thereby,
That he so rudely did uppon them light,
And troubled had their quiet loves delight:
Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,
Himselfe thereof he labour'd to acquite,
And pardon crav'd for his so rash default,
That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default.

With which his gentle words and goodly wit
He soone allayd that knights conceiv'd displeasure,
That he besought him downe by him to sit,
That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure,
And of adventures, which had in his measure
Of so long waies to him befallen late.

So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure
His long adventures gan to him relate,
Which he endured had through daungerous debate:

Of which whilest they discoursed both together,
The faire Serena (so his lady hight)
Allur'd with myldnesse of the gentle wether
And plesaunce of the place, the which was dight
With divers flowres distinct with rare delight,
Wandred about the fields, as liking led
Her wavering lust after her wandring sight,
To make a garland to adorne her bed,
Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred.

All sodainely out of the forrest nere
The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware
Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there,
And in his wide great mouth away her bare
Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare
Unto the knights, and calling oft for ayde;
Who with the horrour of her haplesse care
Hastily starting up, like men dismayde,
Ran after fast to reskue the distressed mayde.

The beast, with their pursuit incited more,
Into the wood was bearing her apace
For to have spoyled her; when Calidore,
Who was more light of foote and swift in chace,
Him overtooke in middest of his race;
And, fiercely charging him with all his might,
Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,
And to betake himselfe to fearefull flight;
For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight.

Who nathëlesse, when he the lady saw
There left on ground, though in full evill plight,
Yet knowing that her knight now neare did draw,
Staide not to succour her in that affright,
But follow'd fast the monster in his flight:
Through woods and hils he follow'd him so fast,
That he nould let him breath nor gather spright,
But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast,
As if his lungs and lites were nigh asunder brast.

And now by this sir Calepine, so hight,
Came to the place where he his lady found
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
Having both sides through grypt with griesly wound:
His weapons soone from him he threw away,
And stouping downe to her in drery swound
Uprear'd her from the ground whereon she lay,
And in his tender armes her forced up to stay.

So well he did his busie paines apply,
That the faint spright he did revoke againe
To ber fraile mansion of mortality:

Then up he tooke her twixt his armës twaine,
And setting on his steede her did sustaine
With carefull hands, soft footing her beside;
Till to some place of rest they mote attaine,
Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,
Till she recured were of those her woundës wide.

Now whenas Phoebus with his fiery waine
Unto his inne began to draw apace;
Tho, wexing weary of that toylesome paine,
In travelling on foote so long a space,

Not wont on foote with heavy armes to trace;
Downe in a dale forby a rivers syde

He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place,
To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,
In hope there for his love some succour to provyde.

But, comming to the rivers side, he found
That hardly passable on foote it was;
Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,
Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas:
Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,
Devising what to doe, he nigh espyde
An armed knight approaching to the place.
With a faire lady lincked by his syde,
The which themselves prepard thorough the foord

Whom Calepine saluting, as became,
Besought of courtesie, in that his neede,
For safe conducting of his sickely dame

[to ride.

"Unknightly knight, the blemish of that name,
And blot of all that armes uppon them take,
Which is the badge of honour and of fame,
Loe! I defie thee; and here challenge make,
That thou for ever doe those armes forsake,
And be for ever held a recreant knight,
Unlesse thou dare, for thy deare ladies sake
And for thine owne defence, on foote alight
To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight."

The dastard, that did heare himselfe defyde,
Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all,
But laught them out, as if his greater pryde
Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall;
Or had no courage, or else had no gall.
So much the more was Calepine offended,
That him to no revenge he forth could call,
But both his challenge and himselfe contemned,
Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.

But he, nought weighing what he sayd or did,
Turned his steede about another way,
And with his lady to the castle rid,
Where was his won; ne did the other stay,
But after went directly as he may,

For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke
Where he arriving with the fall of day
Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke
And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke

But the rude porter that no manners had Did shut the gate against him in his face, And entraunce boldly unto him forbad:

To take him up behinde upon his steed:
To whom that other did this taunt returne;

Gan him entreat even with submission base, And humbly praid to let them in that night:

If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.

"But, as thou hast thy steed forlorne with shame,
So fare on foote till thou another gayne,
And let thy lady likewise doe the same,

Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne,
And prove thy manhood on the billowes vayne."
With which rude speach his lady much displeased
Did him reprove, yet could him not restrayne,
And would on her owne palfrey him have eased
For pitty of his dame whom she saw so diseased.

Sir Calepine her thanckt; yet, inly wroth
Against her knight, her gentlenesse refused,
And carelesly into the river go'th,
As in despight to be so fowle abused
Of a rude churle, whom often he accused
Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for knight;
And, strongly wading through the waves unused,
With speare in th' one hand stayd himselfe upright,
With th' other staide his lady up with steddy might.

And all the while that same discourteous knight
Stood on the further bancke beholding him;
At whose calamity, for more despight,
He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim.
But whenas Calepine came to the brim,
And saw his carriage past that perill well,
Looking at that same carle with count'nance grim,
His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,
And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe
and fell:

Of lodging fit for any errant knight,
Unlesse that with his lord he formerly did fight.

"Full loth am I," quoth he, " as now at earst
When day is spent, and rest us needeth most,
And that this lady, both whose sides are pearst
With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost;
Ne would I gladly combate with mine host,
That should to me such curtesie afford,
Unlesse that I were thereunto enforst:
But yet aread to me, how hight thy lord,
That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the
Ford."

"His name," quoth he, "if that thou list to learne,
Is hight sir Turpine, one of mickle might
And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne
In all assaies to every errant knight,
Because of one that wrought him fowle despight."
"Ill seemes," sayd he, "if he so valiaunt be,
That he should be so sterne to stranger wight:
For seldome yet did living creature see
That curtesie and manhood ever disagree.

"But go thy waies to him, and fro me say
That here is at his gate an errant knight,
That house-rome craves; yet would be loth t' assay
The proofe of battell now in doubtfull night,
Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite:
Yet, if he needes will fight, crave leave till morne,
And tell withall the lamentable plight
In which this lady languisheth forlorne,
That pitty craves, as he of woman was yborne.”

The groome went streightway in, and to his lord
Declar'd the message which that knight did move;
Who, sitting with his lady then at bord,
Not onely did not his demaund approve,
But both himselfe revil'd and eke his love;
Albe his lady, that Blandina hight,
Him of ungentle usage did reprove,
And earnestly entreated that they might

Finde favour to be lodged there for that same night.

Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,
Ne from his currish will awhit reclame.
Which answer when the groome returning brought
To Calepine, his heart did inly flame
With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,
That he could not thereof avenged bee:
But most for pitty of his dearest dame,
Whom now in deadly daunger he did see;

Yet he him still pursew'd from place to place,
With full intent him cruelly to kill,
And like a wilde goate round about did chace
Flying the fury of his bloudy will:

But his best succour and refúge was still
Behind his ladies back; who to him cryde,
And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,
As ever he to lady was affyde,

To spare her knight, and rest with reason pacify de:

But he the more thereby enraged was,
And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd;
So that at length, after long weary chace,
Having by chaunce a close advantage vew'd,
He over-raught him, having long eschew'd
His violence in vaine; and with his spere
Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew'd
In great aboundance, as a well it were,

But all in vaine; for why? no remedy
He saw the present mischiefe to redresse,
But th' utmost end perforce for to aby,
Which that nights fortune would for him addresse.
So downe he tooke his lady in distresse,
And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe,
Cover'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse ;
Whiles he himselfe all night did nought but weepe,
And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe.

The morrow next, so soone as ioyous day
Did shew itselfe in sunny beames bedight,
Serena full of dolorous dismay,

Twixt darkenesse dread and hope of living light,
Uprear'd her head to see that chearefull sight.
Then Calepine, however inly wroth,

And greedy to avenge that vile despight,
Yet for the feeble ladies sake, full loth

To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney go'th.

He go'th on foote all armed by her side,
Upstaying still herselfe uppon her steede,
Being unhable else alone to ride;

So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede:
Till that at length, in his extreamest neede,
He chaunst far off an armed knight to spy
Pursuing him apace with greedy speede;
Whom well he wist to be some enemy,
That meant to make advantage of his misery.

Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew,
To weet what issue would thereof betyde:
Tho, whenas he approched nigh in vew,
By certaine signes he plainly him descryde
To be the man that with such scornfull pryde
Had him abusde and shamed yesterday;
Therefore, misdoubting least he should misguyde
His former malice to some new assay,

He cast to keepe himselfe so safely as he may.

By this the other came in place likewise,
And couching close his speare and all his powre,
As bent to some malicious enterprise,

He bad him stand t' abide the bitter stoure
Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make avoure
Of the lewd words and deedes which he had done:
With that ran at him, as he would devoure
His life attonce; who nought could do but shun
The perill of his pride, or else be over-run.

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound,
But chaste him still for all his ladies cry;
Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground

He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously;
The which was certes in great ieopardy,
Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought,
And saved from his cruell villany:
Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought!
That in another canto shall to end be brought.

CANTO IV.

Calepine by a salvage man

From Turpine reskewed is; And, whylest an infant from a beare He saves, his love doth misse.

LIKE as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,
Having spent all her mastes and her groundhold,
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
At last some fisher-barke doth neare behold,
That giveth comfort to her courage cold;
Such was the state of this most courteous knight
Being oppressed by that faytour bold,
That he remayned in most perilous plight,
And his sad ladie left in pitifull affright:

Till that, by fortune passing all foresight,
A salvage man, which in those woods did wonne,
Drawne with that ladies loud and piteous shright,
Toward the same incessantly did ronne
To understand what there was to be donne :
There he this most discourteous craven found
As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne,
Chasing the gentle Calepine around,

Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound.

The salvage man, that never till this houre
Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure
Was much emmoved at his perils vew,
That even bis ruder hart began to rew,
And feele compassion of his evill plight,
Against his foe that did him so pursew;
From whom he meant to free him, if he might,
And him avenge of that so villenous despight.

Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight,
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments,
Save such as sudden rage him lent to smite;
But naked, without needfull vestiments
To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,
No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents:
For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare,
He was invulnerable made by magicke leare.

He stayed not t' advize which way were best◄
His foe t' assayle, or how himselfe to gard,
But with fierce fury and with force infest
Upon him ran; who being well prepard
His first assault full warily did ward,
And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare
Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard
That forst him backe recoyle and reele areare ;
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare.

With that the wyld man more enraged grew,
Like to a tygre that hath mist his pray,
And with mad moode againe upon him flew,
Regarding neither speare that mote him slay,
Nor his fierce steed that mote him much dismay:
The salvage nation doth all dread despize:
Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,
And held the same so hard, that by no wize

He could him force to loose, or leave his enterprize.

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,
And every way did try, but all in vaine;
For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,
But hayld and puld with all his might and maine,
That from his steed him nigh he drew againe:
Who having now no use of his long speare
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,
Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were,
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare.

But after him the wyld man ran apace,
And him pursewed with impórtune speed,
For he was swift as any bucke in chace;
And, had he not in his extreamest need

Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed,
He had him overtaken in his flight.

Who, ever as he saw him nigh succeed,
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,.

But the wyld man, contrárie to her feare,
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
And by rude tokens made to her appeare
His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;
For other language had he none nor speach,
But a soft murmure and confused sound

Of senselesse words (which Nature did him teach T' expresse his passions) which his reason did empeach:

And comming likewise to the wounded knight,
When he beheld the streames of purple blood
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight,
He made great mone after his salvage mood;
And, running streight into the thickest wood,
A certaine herbe from thence unto him brought,
Whose vertue he by use well understood;
The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought,
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched
thought.

Then taking up that recreants shield and speare,
Which earst he left, he signes unto them made
With him to wend unto his wonning neare;
To which he easily did them perswade.
Farre in the forrest, by a hollow glade
Covered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode
Did underneath them make a gloomy shade,
Where foot of living creature never trode,
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this
wights abode.

Thither he brought these unacquainted guests;
To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed
By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests:
But the bare ground with hoarie mosse bestrowed
Must be their bed; their pillow was unsowed;
And the frutes of the forrest was their feast:
For their bad stuard neither plough'd nor sowed,
Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wyld beast
Did taste the bloud, obaying Natures first beheast.

Yet, howsoever base and meane it were,
They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,
Which had them freed from that deadly feare,
And sav'd from being to that caytive thrall.
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)
Compelled were themselves awhile to rest,
Glad of that easement, though it were but small;

But, when the salvage saw his labour vaine
In following of him that fled so fast,
He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe
With speede unto the place, whereas he last
Had left that couple nere their utmost cast:
There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,
And eke the ladie fearefully aghast,
Both for the perill of the present stound,
And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound:

For though she were right glad so rid to bee
From that vile lozell which her late offended;
Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see
And perill, by this salvage man pretended;
Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended
By reason that her knight was wounded sore:
Therefore herselfe she wholy recommended
To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.

They mote the abler be to passe unto the rest.

During which time that wyld man did apply
His best endevour and his daily paine
In seeking all the woods both farre and nye
For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine
When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine.
So as ere long he had that knightës wound
Recured well, and made him whole againe :
But that same ladies hurts no herbe he found
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly unsound.

Now whenas Calepine was woxen strong,
Upon a day he cast abrode to wend,
To take the ayre and heare the thrushes song,
Unarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend,
And without sword his person to defend ;
There him befell, unlooked for before,
An hard adventure with unhappie end,
A cruell beare, the which an infant bore,
Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore.