XII.

100 'Be well aware,' quoth then that lady mild, 'Lest sudden mischief ye too rash provoke; The danger hid, the place unkown and wild, Breeds dreadful doubts. Oft fire is without smoke, 104 And peril without show; therefore your stroke, Sir Knight, withhold, till further trial made.' 'Ah, Lady,' said he, 'shame were to revoke The forward footing for a hidden shade:

108 Virtue gives herself light through darkness for to wade.'

XIII.

'Yea but,' quoth she, 'the peril of this place I better wot than you, though now too late To wish you back return with foul disgrace; 112 Yet wisdom warns, whilst foot is in the gait, To stay the step, ere forced to retreat.

This is the Wand'ring Wood, this Error's den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate. 116 Therefore I read beware.' 'Fly, fly,' quoth then The fearful dwarf, 'this is no place for living men.'

XIV.

But full of fire and greedy hardiment,

The youthful knight could not for ought be stay'd, 120 But forth unto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: his glist'ring armour made A little glooming light, much like a shade, By which he saw the ugly monster plain,

124 Half like a serpent horribly display'd,

But th' other half did woman's shape retain,

Most loathsome, filthy, foul, and full of vile disdain.

XV.

And as she lay upon the dirty ground,
128 Her huge long tail her den all overspread,
Yet was in knots and many boughts upwound,
Pointed with mortal sting. Of her there bred
A thousand young ones, which she daily fed,
132 Sucking upon her pois'nous dugs; each one
Of sundry shapes, yet all ill-favoured:

Soon as that uncouth light upon them shone,
Into her mouth they crept, and sudden all were gone.

XVI.

186 Their dam upstart out of her den afraid,

And rushed forth, hurling her hideous tail

About her cursed head, whose folds display'd

Were stretch'd now forth at length without entrail.

140 She look'd about, and seeing one in mail,
Armed to point, sought back to turn again;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,
Ay wont in desert darkness to remain,

144 Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plain.

XVII.

Which when the valiant elf perceiv'd, he leapt
As lion fierce upon the flying prey,

And with his trenchant blade her boldly kept
148 From turning back, and forced her to stay:
Therewith enrag'd she loudly 'gan to bray,
And, turning fierce, her speckled tail advanced,
Threat'ning her angry sting him to dismay;

152 Who, nought aghast, his mighty hand enhanced:

The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glanced.

XVIII.

Much daunted with that dint her sense was daz'd;

Yet, kindling rage, herself she gathered round,

166 And all at once her beastly body rais'd

With doubled forces high above the ground:
Tho, wrapping up her wreathed stern around,
Leapt fierce upon his shield, and her huge train

160 All suddenly about his body wound,

That hand or foot to stir he strove in vain.

God help the man so wrapt in Error's endless train.

XIX.

His lady, sad to see his sore constraint,

164 Cried out, 'Now, now, Sir Knight, show what ye be;
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint;
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee.'
That when he heard, in great perplexity,
168 His gall did grate for grief and high disdain,
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free,
Wherewith he gript her gorge with so great pain,
That soon to loose her wicked bands did her constrain.

XX.

172 Therewith she spew'd out of her filthy maw A flood of poison, horrible and black,

Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw, Which stunk so vilely, that it forced him slack 176 His grasping hold, and from her turn him back. Her vomit full of books and papers was,

With loathly frogs and toads, which eyes did lack And creeping sought way in the weedy grass: 180 Her filthy parbreak all the place defiled has.

XXI.

As when old father Nilus 'gins to swell
With timely pride above the Egyptian vale,
His fatty waves do fertile slime outwell,
184 And overflow each plain and lowly dale,
But, when his later spring 'gins to avale,

Huge heaps of mud he leaves, wherein there breed
Ten thousand kinds of creatures, partly male

188 And partly female, of his fruitful seed:

Such ugly monstrous shapes elsewhere may no man read.

XXII.

The same so sore annoyed has the knight,
That, well-nigh choked with the deadly stink,

192 His forces fail, ne can no longer fight.

Whose courage when the fiend perceived to shrink,
She poured forth out of her hellish sink
Her fruitful cursed spawn of serpents small,

196 Deformed monsters, foul, and black as ink,
Which swarming all about his legs did crawl

And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all.

XXIII.

As gentle shepherd in sweet even-tide,

200 When ruddy Phoebus 'gins to welk in west,
High on a hill, his flock to viewen wide,
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest,
204 All striving to infix their feeble stings,

That from their noyance he nowhere can rest,
But with his clownish hands their tender wings

He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings;

XXIV.

208 Thus ill bested, and fearful more of shame
Than of the certain peril he stood in,
Half furious unto his foe he came,
Resolv'd in mind all suddenly to win,

212 Or soon to lose, before he once would lin;
And stroke at her with more than manly force,

That from her body, full of filthy sin,

He raft her hateful head without remorse:

216 A stream of coal-black blood forth gushed from her corse.

XXV.

Her scattered brood, soon as their parent dear They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groaning full deadly, all with troublous fear 220 Gathered themselves about her body round.

Weening their wonted entrance to have found
At her wide mouth; but being there withstood,
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
224 And sucked up their dying mother's blood,

Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.

XXVI.

That detestable sight him much amaz'd,

To see th' unkindly imps, of heaven accurst,
228 Devour their dam; on whom while so he gaz'd,
Having all satisfied their bloody thirst,

Their bellies swoln he saw with fullness burst,
And bowels gushing forth: well-worthy end

232 Of such as drunk her life, the which them nursed.

Now needeth him no longer labour spend,

His foes have slain themselves, with whom he should contend.

XXVII.

His lady, seeing all that chanced from far,
236 Approach'd in haste to greet his victory,
And said, 'Fair Knight, born under happy star,
Who see your vanquish'd foes before you lie,
Well worthy be you of that armory,

240 Wherein ye have great glory won this day,
And prov'd your strength on a strong enemy,
Your first adventure: many such I pray,

And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.'

XXVIII.

244 Then mounted he upon his steed again,

And with the lady backward sought to wend.
That path he kept which beaten was most plain,
Ne ever would to any by-way bend,

248 But still did follow one unto the end,

The which at last out of the wood them brought.
So forward on his way, with God to friend,
He passed forth, and new adventure sought:
252 Long way he travelled before he heard of ought.

SONNET.

[From Amoretti (1595)]

LXX.

Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty king,
In whose coat-armour richly are display'd
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,

4 In goodly colours gloriously array'd,

Go to my love, where she is careless laid,

Yet in her winter's bower not well awake;

Tell her the joyous time will not be stay'd, 8 Unless she do him by the forelock take;

Bid her, therefore, herself soon ready make,
To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one, that misseth then her make,
12 Shall be by him amerced with penance due.

Make haste, therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime;
For none can call again the passed time.

From the EPITHALAMION.

[1595]

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed,
All ready to her silver coach to climb;
And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark! how the cheerful birds do chant their lays
And carol of Love's praise.

The merry lark her matins sings aloft;

The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays;
The ousel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft;

10 So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long?
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous make,
16 And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
The dewy leaves among!

Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreams,

20 And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were
With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Help quickly her to dight:

25 But first come ye fair Hours, which were begot
In Jove's sweet paradise of Day and Night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot,

And all, that ever in this world is fair,

Do make and still repair:

30 And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen,

80

The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifullest bride:

And, as ye her array, still throw between
Some graces to be seen;

85 And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.