Poems, and a tragedy :: :: University of Virginia Library

CANTO I.

The mirthfull bowres and flowry dales
Of Pleasures faerie land,
Where Virtues budds are blighted as
By foul Enchanters wand.

I

Awake, ye West Windes, through the lonely dale,
And, Fancy, to thy faerie bowre betake!
Even now, with balmie freshnesse, breathes the gale,
Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake;
Through the pale willows faultering whispers wake,
And Evening comes with locks bedropt with dew;
On Desmonds mouldering turrets slowly shake
The trembling rie-grass and the hare-bell blue,
And ever and anon faire Mullas plaints renew.

II

O for the namelesse powre to strike mine eare,
That powre of charme by Naiads once possest,
Melodious Mulla! when, full oft whyleare,
Thy gliding murmurs soothd the gentle brest
Of haplesse Spenser; long with woes opprest,
Long with the drowsie Patrons smyles decoyd,
Till in thy shades, no more with cares distrest,
No more with painful anxious hopes accloyd,
The sabbath of his life the milde good man enjoyd:

III

Enjoyd each wish; while wrapt in visions blest
The Muses wooed him, when each evening grey
Luxurious Fancy, from her wardrobe drest
Brought forth her faerie knights in sheen array
By forrest edge or welling fount, where lay,
Farre from the crowd, the carelesse Bard supine:
Oh happy man! how innocent and gay,
How mildly peaceful past these houres of thine!
Ah! could a sigh avail, such sweete calme peace were mine!

IV

Yet oft, as pensive through these lawns I stray,
Unbidden transports through my bosome swell;
With pleasing reverence awd mine eyes survey
The hallowed shades where Spenser strung his shell.
The brooke still murmurs through the bushy dell,
Still through the woodlands wild and beauteous rise
The hills green tops; still from her moss-white cell
Complayning Echoe to the stockdove sighs,
And Fancy, wandering here, still feels new extacies.

V

Then come, ye Genii of the place! O come,
Ye wilde-wood Muses of the native lay!
Ye who these bancks did whilom constant roam,
And round your Spenser ever gladsom play!
Oh come once more! and with your magick ray
These lawns transforming, raise the mystick scene—
The lawns already own your vertual sway,
Proud citys rise, with seas and wildes atweene;
In one enchanted view the various walks of men.

VI

Towrd to the sky, with cliff on cliff ypild,
Fronting the sunne, a rock fantastic rose;
From every rift the pink and primrose smild,
And redd with blossoms hung the wildings boughs;
On middle cliff each flowry shrub that blows
On Mayes sweete morne a fragrant grove displayd,
Beauteous and wilde as ever Druid chose;
From whence a reverend Wizard through the shade
Advaunst to meet my steps; for here me seemd I strayd.

VII

White as the snow-drop round his temples flowd
A few thin hairs; bright in his eagle eye,
Meint with Heavens lightning, social mildnesse glowd;
Yet when him list queynt was his leer and slie,
Yet wondrous distant from malignitie;
For still his smyle did forcibly disclose
The soul of worth and warm hart-honestie:
Such winning grace as Age but rare bestows
Dwelt on his cheeks and lips, though like the withering rose.

VIII

Of skyen blue a mantling robe he wore,
A purple girdle loosely tyd his waist
Enwove with many a flowre from many a shore,
And half conceald, and half reveald his vest,
His vest of silk, the Faerie Queenes bequest
What time she wooed him ere his head was grey;
A lawrell bough he held, and now addrest
To speech, he points it to the mazy way
That wide and farre around in wildest prospect lay.

IX

Younkling, quoth he, lo, where at thy desire
The wilderness of life extensive lies;
The path of blustering fame and warlike Ire,
Of scowling Powre and lean-boned Covetise,
Of thoughtlesse Mirth and Folly's giddy joys;
And whither all those paths illusive end,
All these at my command didactick rise,
And shift obedient as mine arm I bend.
He said, and to the field did strait his arm extend.

X

Well worthy views, quoth I, rise all around,
But certes, lever would I see and hear,
How, oft, the gentle plant of generous ground
And fairest bloom no ripend fruit will bear:
Oft have I shed, perdie, the bitter tear
To see the shoots of Virtue shrink and dy,
Untimely blasted in the soft greene eare:
What evil blight thus works such villainy,
To tell, O reverend Seer, thy prompt enchantment try.

XI

Ah me! how little doe unthinking Youth
Foresee the sorrowes of their elder age!
Full oft, quoth he, my Bosom melts with ruth
To note the follies of their early stage,
Where Dissipations cup full deepe they pledge;
Ne can the Wizards saws disperse to flight
The ills that soon will warre against them wage,
Ne may the spells that lay the church-yarde Spright,
From Pleasures servile bands release the luckless Wight.

XII

This truth to tell, see yonder lawnskepe rise,
An ample field of British clime I ween,
A field which never by poetick Eyes
Was viewd from hence. Thus, though the rural scene
Has by a thousand artists pencild beene,
Some other may, from other point, explore
A view full different, yet as faire beseene:
So shall these lawns present one lawnskepe more;
For certes where we stand stood never wight before.

XIII

In yonder dale does wonne a gentle Knight—
Fleet as he spake still rose the imagerie
Of all he told depeinten to the sight;
It was, I weet, a goodly baronie:
Beneath a greene-clad hill, right faire to see,
The castle in the sunny vale ystood;
All round the east grew many a sheltering tree,
And on the west a dimpling silver flood
Ran through the gardins trim, then crept into the wood.

XIV

How sweetly here, quoth he, might one employ
And fill with worthy deed the fleeting houres!
What pleasaunce mote a learned wight enjoy
Emong the hills and vales and shady bowres,
To mark how buxom Ceres round him poures
The hoary headed wheat, the freckled corne,
The bearded barlie, and the hopp that towres
So high, and with his bloom salews the morne,
And with the orchard vies the lawnskepe to adorn;

XV

The fragrant orchard, where her golden store
Pomona lavishes on everie tree,
The velvet-coated peach, the plumb so hore,
The nectrines redd, and pippins sheene to see,
That nod in everie gale with wanton glee:
How happy here with Woodstocks laughing Swain
And Avons Bard of peerlesse memorie
To saunter through the dasie-whitened plain,
When Fancys sweetest Impe Dan Spenser joins the train.

XVI

Ne to Syr Martyn hight were these unknown;
Oft by the brooke his infant steps they led,
And oft the Fays, with many a warbling tone
And laughing shape, stood round his morning bed:
Such happiness bloomd fair around his head.
Yet though his mind was formd each joy to taste,
From him, alas! dear homefelt Joyaunce fled,
Vain meteors still his cheated arms embraced;
Where all seemd flowrie gay, he found a dreary waste.

XVII

Just when he had his eighteenth summer seen,
Lured by the fragrance of the new-mown hay,
As carelesse sauntering through the elm-fenced green,
He with his book beguild the closing day,
The dairy-Maide hight Kathrin frisk'd that way;
A roguish twinkling look the gypsie cast,
For much she wishd the lemmans part to play;
Nathlesse unheeding on his way he past,
Ne enterd in his heart, or wish or thought unchast.

XVIII

Right plump she was, and ruddie glowd her cheek,
Her easie waiste in milch-white boddice dight,
Her golden locks curld down her shoulders sleek,
And halfe her bosome heaving met the sight,
Whiles gayly she accosts the sober wight:
Freedom and glee blythe sparkling in her eye
With wanton merrimake she trips the Knight,
And round the younkling makes the clover flye:
But soon he starten up, more gamesome by and bye.

XIX

I ween, quoth she, you think to win a kiss,
But certes you shall woo and strive in vain.
Fast in his armes he caught her then ywis;
Yfere they fell; but loud and angry then
Gan she of shame and haviour vild complain,
While bashfully the weetlesse Boy did look:
With cunning smyles she viewd his awkward pain;
The smyle he caught, and eke new courage took,
And Kathrin then a kiss, perdie, did gentlie brook.

XX

Fleet past the months ere yet the giddy Boy
One thought bestowd on what would surely be;
But well his Aunt perceivd his dangerous toy,
And sore she feard her auncient familie
Should now be staind with blood of base degree:
For sooth to tell, her liefest hearts delight
Was still to count her princely pedigree,
Through barons bold all up to Cadwall hight,
Thence up to Trojan Brute ysprong of Venus bright.

XXI

But, zealous to forefend her gentle race
From baselie matching with plebeian bloud,
Whole nights she schemd to shonne thilk foull disgrace,
And Kathrin's bale in wondrous wrath she vowd:
Yet could she not with cunning portaunce shroud,
So as might best succede her good intent,
But clept her lemman and vild slut aloud;
That soon she should her gracelesse thewes repent,
And stand in long white sheet before the parson shent.

XXII

So spake the Wizard, and his hand he wavd,
And prompt the scenerie rose, where listless lay
The Knight in shady bowre, by streamlet lavd,
While Philomela sooth'd the parting day:
Here Kathrin him approachd with features gay,
And all her store of blandishments and wiles;
The Knight was touchd—but she with soft delay
And gentle tears yblends her languid smiles,
And of base falsitie th'enamourd Boy reviles.

XXIII

Amazd the Boy beheld her ready teares,
And, faultering oft, exclaims with wondring stare,
What mean these sighs? dispell thine ydle feares;
And, confident in me, thy griefes declare.
And need, quoth she, need I my heart to bare,
And tellen what untold well knowne mote be?
Lost is my friends good-will, my mother's care—
By you deserted—ah! unhappy me!
Left to your Aunts fell spight, and wreakfull crueltie.

XXIV

My Aunt! quoth he, forsooth shall she command?
No; sooner shall yond hill forsake his place,
He laughing said, and would have caught her hand;
Her hand she shifted to her blubbered face
With prudish modestie, and sobd, Alas!
Grant me your bond, or else on yonder tree
These silken garters, pledge of thy embrace,
Ah, welladay! shall hang my babe and me,
And everie night our ghostes shall bring all hell to thee.

XXV

Ythrilld with horror gapd the wareless wight,
As when, aloft on well-stored cherrie-tree,
The thievesh elfe beholds with pale affright
The gardner near, and weets not where to flee:
And will my bond forefend thilk miserie?
That shalt thou have; and for thy peace beside,
What mote I more? Housekeeper shalt thou be—
An awfull oath forthwith his promise tied,
And Kathrin was as blythe as ever blythesome bride.

XXVI

His Aunt fell sick for very dole to see
Her kindest counsels scornd, and sore did pine
To think what well she knew would shortly be,
Cadwallins bloud debasd in Kathrins line;
For very dole she died. Oh sad propine,
Syr Knight, for all that care which she did take!
How many a night, for coughs and colds of thine,
Has she sat up rare cordial broths to make,
And cockerd thee so kind with many a daintie cake!

XXVII

Soft as the gossamer in summer shades
Extends its twinkling line from spray to spray,
Gently as sleep the weary lids invades,
So soft, so gently Pleasure mines her way:
But whither will the smiling Fiend betray,
Ah, let the Knights approaching dayes declare!
Though everie bloome and flowre of buxon May
Bestrew her path, to desarts cold and bare
The mazy path betrays the giddy wight unware.

XXVIII

Ah! says the Wizard, what may now availe
His manlie sense that fairest blossoms bore,
His temper gentle as the whispering gale,
His native goodnesse, and his vertuous lore!
Now through his veins, all uninflamd before,
Th'enchanted cup of Dissipation hight
Has shedd, with subtil stealth, through everie pore,
Its giddy poison, brewd with magicke might,
Each budd of gentle worth and better thought to blight.

XXIX

So the Canadian, train'd in drery wastes
To chace the foming bore and fallow deer,
At first the trader's beverage shylie tastes;
But soon with headlong rage, unfelt whyleare,
Inflamd he lusts for the delirious cheer:
So bursts the Boy disdainful of restrent
Headlong attonce into the wylde career
Of jollitie, with all his mind unbent,
And dull and yrksome hangs the day in sports unspent.

XXX

Now fly the wassal seasons wingd with glee,
Each day affords a floode of roring joy;
The Springs green months ycharmd with Cocking flee,
The jolly Horse-race Summers grand employ,
His Harvest Sports the foxe and hare destroy;
But the substantial Comforts of the Bowl
Are thine, O Winter! thine to fire the Boy
With Englands cause, and swell his mightie soul,
Till dizzy with his peres about the flore he rowl.

XXXI

Now round his dores ynail'd on cloggs of wood
Hangs many a badgers snout and foxes tail,
The which had he through many a hedge persewd,
Through marsh, through meer, dyke, ditch, and delve and dale;
To hear his hair-breadth scapes would make you pale;
Which well the groome hight Patrick can relate,
Whileas on holidays he quaffs his ale;
And not one circumstance will he forgett,
So keen the braggard chorle is on his hunting sett.

XXXII

Now on the turf the Knight with sparkling eyes
Beholds the springing Racers sweep the ground:
Now lightlie by the post the foremost flies,
And thondring on, the rattling hoofs rebound;
The coursers groan, the cracking whips resound:
And gliding with the gale they rush along
Right to the stand. The Knight stares wildly round
And, rising on his sell, his jocund tongue
Is heard above the noise of all the noisie throng.

XXXIII

While thus the Knight persewd the shaddow Joy,
As youthly spirits thoughtlesse led the way,
Her gilden baits, ah, gilded to decoy!
Kathrin did eve and morn before him lay,
Watchfull to please, and ever kindlie gay;
Till, like a thing bewitchd, the carelesse wight
Resigns himself to her capricious sway:
Then soon, perdie, was never charme-bound spright
In Necromancers thrall in halfe such pitteous plight.

XXXIV

Her end accomplishd, and her hopes at stay,
What need her now, she recks, one smyle bestow;
Each care to please were trouble thrown away,
And thriftlesse waste, with many maxims moe,
As, What were she the better did she so?
She conns, and freely sues her native bent:
Yet still can she to guard his thralldom know,
Though grimd with snuff in tawdrie gown she went,
Though peevish ere her spleen and rude her jolliment.

XXXV

As when the linnet hails the balmie morne,
And roving through the trees his mattin sings,
Lively with joy, till on a lucklesse thorne
He lights, where to his feet the birdlime clings;
Then all in vain he flapps his gaudie wings;
The more he flutters still the more foredone:
So fares it with the Knight: each morning brings
His deeper thrall; ne can he brawling shun,
For Kathrin was his thorne and birdlime both in one.

XXXVI

Or, when atop the hoary western hill
The ruddie Sunne appears to rest his chin,
When not a breeze disturbs the murmuring rill,
And mildlie warm the falling dewes begin,
The gamesome Trout then shews her silverie skin,
As wantonly beneath the wave she glides,
Watching the buzzing flies, that never blin,
Then, dropt with pearle and golde, displays her sides,
While she with frequent leape the ruffled streame divides.

XXXVII

On the green banck a truant Schoolboy stands;
Well has the urchin markt her mery play,
An ashen rod obeys his guileful hands,
And leads the mimick fly across her way;
Askaunce, with listly look and coy delay,
The hungrie Trout the glitteraund treachor eyes,
Semblaunt of life, with speckled wings so gay;
Then, slylie nibbling, prudish from it flies,
Till with a bouncing start she bites the truthless prize.

XXXVIII

Ah, then the Younker gives the fatefull twitch;
Struck with amaze she feels the hook ypight
Deepe in her gills, and, plonging where the beech
Shaddows the poole, she runs in dread affright;
In vain the deepest rocke, her late delight,
In vain the sedgy nook for help she tries;
The laughing elfe now curbs, now aids her flight,
The more entangled still the more she flies,
And soon amid the grass the panting captive lies.

XXXIX

Where now; ah pity! where that sprightly play,
That wanton bounding, and exulting joy,
That lately welcomd the retourning ray,
When by the rivletts bancks, with blushes coy,
April walkd forth—ah! never more to toy,
In purling streame, she pants, she gasps and dies!
Ah me! how like the fortune of the Boy,
His days of revel and his nights of noise
Have left him now, involvd, his Lemman's haplesse prize.

XL

See now the changes that attend her sway;
The parke where rural Elegance had placed
Her sweete retreat, where cunning Art did play
Her happiest freaks, that nature undefaced
Received new charmes; ah, see, how foul disgraced
Now lies thilke park so sweetlie wylde afore!
Each grove and bowery walke be now laid waste;
The bowling-greene has lost its shaven flore,
And snowd with washing suds now yawns beside the dore.

XLI

All round the borders where the pansie blue,
Crocus, and polyanthus speckled fine,
And daffodils in fayre confusion grew
Emong the rose-bush roots and eglantine;
These now their place to cabbages resign,
And tawdrie pease supply the lillys stead;
Rough artichokes now bristle where the vine
Its purple clusters round the windows spread,
And laisie cucumbers on dung recline the head.

XLII

The fragrant orchard, once the Summers pride,
Where oft, by moonshine, on the daisie greene,
In jovial daunce, or tripping side by side,
Pomona and her buxom nymphs were seene;
Or where the clear canal stretchd out atweene,
Deftly their locks with blossomes would they brede;
Or resting by the primerose hillocks sheene,
Beneath the apple boughs and walnut shade.
They sung their loves the while the fruitage gaily spread:

XLIII

The fragrant orchard at her dire command
In all the pride of blossome strewd the plain;
The hillocks gently rising through the land
Must now no trace of Natures steps retain;
The clear canal, the mirrour of the swain,
And bluish lake no more adorn the greene,
Two durty watering ponds alone remain;
And where the moss-floord filbert bowres had beene,
Is now a turnip fielde and cow yarde nothing cleane.

XLIV

An auncient crone, yclepd by housewives Thrift,
All this devisd for trim Oeconomie;
But certes, ever from her birth bereft
Of elegance, ill fitts her title high:
Coarse were her looks, yet smoothe her courtesie,
Hoyden her shapes, but grave was her attyre,
And ever flxt on trifles was her eye;
And still she plodden round the kitchen fyre,
To save the smallest crombe her pleasure and desyre.

XLV

Bow-bent with eld, her steps were soft and slow,
Fast at her side a bounch of keys yhong,
Dull care sat brooding on her jealous brow,
Sagacious proverbs dropping from her tongue:
Yet sparing though she beene her guestes emong,
Ought by herselfe that she mote gormandise,
The foul curmudgeon would have that ere long,
And hardly could her witt her gust suffice;
Albee in varied stream, still was it Covetise.

XLVI

Dear was the kindlie love which Kathrin bore
This crooked Ronion for in soothly guise
She was her genius and her counsellor:
Now cleanly milking-pails in careful wise
Bedeck each room, and much can she despise
The Knights complaints, and thirftlesse judgment ill:
Eke versd in sales, right wondrous cheap she buys,
Parlour and bedroom too her bargains fill;
Though useless, cheap they beene, and cheap she purchasd still.

XLVII

His tenants whilom been of thriftie kind,
Did like to sing and worken all the day,
At seed time never were they left behind,
And at the harvest feast still first did play;
And ever at the terme their rents did pay,
For well they knew to guide their rural geer:
All in a row, yclad in homespun gray,
They marchd to church each Sunday of the year,
Their imps yode on afore, the carles brought up the rear.

XLVIII

Ah happy days! but now no longer found:
No more with social hospitable glee
The village hearths at Christmas-tide resound,
No more the Whitsun gamboll may you see,
Nor morrice daunce, nor May daye jollitie
When the blythe maydens foot the deawy green;
But now, in place, heart-sinking penurie
And hopelesses care on every face is seen,
As these the drery times of curfeu bell had been.

XLIX

For everie while, with thief-like lounging pace,
And dark of look, a tawdrie villain came,
Muttering some words with serious-meaning face,
And on the church dore he would fix their name;
Then, nolens volens, they must heed the same,
And quight those fieldes their yeomen grandsires plowd
Eer since black Edwards days, when, crownd with fame,
From Cressie field the Knights old grandsire prowd
Led home his yeomandrie, and each his glebe allowd.

L

But now the orphan sees his harvest fielde
Beneath the gripe of Laws stern rapine fall,
The friendlesse widow, from her hearth expelld,
Withdraws to some poor hutt with earthen wall:
And these, perdie, were Kathrins projects all;
For, sooth to tell, grievd was the Knight full sore
Such sinful deeds to see: yet such his thrall,
Though he had pledgd his troth, yet nathemore
It mote he keep, except she willd the same before.

LI

Oh wondrous Powre of Womans wily art,
What for thy withcraft too secure may be!
Not Circes cup may so transform the heart,
Or bend the will, fallacious Powre, like thee;
Lo, manly Sense, of princely dignitie,
Witchd by thy spells, thy crowching slave is seen;
Lo, high-browd Honour bends the groveling knee,
And every bravest virtue, sooth I ween,
Seems like a blighted flowre of dank unlovely mien.

LII

Ne may grim Saracene, nor Tartar man,
Such ruthlesse bondage on his slave impose,
As Kathrin on the Knight full deffly can;
Ne may the Knight escape, or cure his woes:
As he who dreams he climbs some mountains brows,
With painful struggling up the steep height strains,
Anxious he pants and toils, but strength foregoes
His feeble limbs, and not a step he gains;
So toils the powrelesse Knight beneath his servile chains.

LIII

His lawyer now assumes the guardians place;
Learnd was thilk clerk in deeds, and passing slie;
Slow was his speeche, and solemn was his face
As that grave bird which Athens rankt so high
Pleasd Dullness basking in his glossie eye,
The smyle would oft steal through his native phlegm;
And well he guards Syr Martyns propertie,
Till not one peasant dares invade the game:
But certes, seven yeares rent was soon his own just claim.

LIV

Now mortgage follows mortgage: Cold delay
Still yawns on everie long depending case.
The Knights gay bloome the while slid fast away;
Kathrin the while brought bantling imps apace;
While everie day renews his vile disgrace,
And straitens still the more his galling thrall:
See now what scenes his houshold hours debase,
And rise successive in his cheerlesse hall.
So spake the Seer, and prompt the scene obeyd his call.

LV

See, quoth the Wizard, how with foltering mien,
And discomposd yon stranger he receives;
Lo, how with sulkie look, and moapt with spleen,
His frowning mistresse to his friend behaves;
In vain he nods, in vain his hand he waves,
Ne will she heed, ne will she sign obay;
Nor corner dark his awkward blushes saves,
Ne may the hearty laugh, ne features gay:
The hearty laugh, perdie, does but his pain betray.

LVI

A worthy wight his friend was ever known,
Some generous cause did still his lips inspire;
He begs the Knight by friendships long agone
To shelter from his lawyers cruel ire
An auncient hinde, around whose cheerlesse fire
Sat Grief, and pale Disease. The poor mans wrong
Affects the Knight: his inmost hearts desire
Gleams through his eyes; yet all confusd, and stung
With inward pain, he looks, and silence guards his tongue.

LVII

See, while his friend entreats and urges still,
See, how with sidelong glaunce and haviour shy
He steals the look to read his Lemmans will,
Watchfull the dawn of an assent to spy.
Look as he will, yet will she not comply.
His friend with scorn beholds his awkward pain;
From him even Pity turns her tear-dewd eye,
And hardlie can the bursting laugh restrain,
While manlie Honour frowns on his unmanlie stain.

LVIII

Let other scenes now rise, the Wizard said:
He wavd his hand, and other scenes arose.
See there, quoth he, the Knight supinely laid
Invokes the household houres of learnd repose;
An auncient Song its manly joys bestows:
The melting passion of the Nutt-brown Mayde
Glides through his breast; his wandering fancy glows,
Till into wildest reveries betrayd,
He hears th'imagind Faire, and wooes the lovely shade.

LIX

Transported he repeats her constant vow,
How to the green wode shade, betide whateer,
She with her banishd Love would fearlesse goe,
And sweet would be with him the hardest cheer.
Oh heaven! he sighs, what blessings dwell sincere
In love like this!—But instant as he sighd,
Bursting into the room, loud in his ear
His Lemman thonders, Ah! fell dole betide
The girl that trusts in man before she bees his bride!

LX

And must some Lemman of a whiffling song
Delight your fancy! she disdainful cries;
When strait her imps all brawling round her throng,
And, bleard with teares, each for revenge applies:
Him cheif in spleene the father means chastise,
But from his kindlie hand she saves him still;
Yet for no fault, anon, in furious wise
Yon yellow else she little spares to kill;
And then, next breath, does all to coax its stubborn will.

LXI

Pale as the ghoste that by the gleaming moon
Withdraws the curtain of the murderers bed,
So pale and cold at heart, as halfe aswoon
The Knight stares round; yet good nor bad he sed.
Alas! though trembling anguish inward bled,
His best resolve soon as a meteor dies:
His present peace and ease mote chance have fled,
He deems; and yielding, looks most wondrous wise,
As from himself he hopd his grief and shame disguise.

LXII

Woe to the wight whose hated home no more
The hallowd temple of Content may be!
While now his days abroad with groomes he wore,
His mistresse with her liefest companie,
A rude unlettered herd! with dearest glee,
Enjoys each whisper of her neighbours shame;
And still anon the flask of ratafie
Improves their tales, till certes not a name
Escapes their blasting tongue, or goody, wench, or dame.

LXIII

One evening tide as with her crones she sate,
Making sweete solace of some scandall new,
A boistrous noise came thondring at the gate,
And soon a sturdie boy approachd in view;
With gold far glitteraund were his vestments blue
And pye-shapd hat, and of the silver sheen
An huge broad buckle glaunst in either shoe,
And round his neck an India kerchiefe clean,
And in his hand a switch: a jolly wight I ween.

LXIV

Farre had he saild, and roamd the foamy deepe,
Where ruddie Phœbus slacks his firie team;
(With burning golde then flames th'ethereal steepe,
And Oceans waves like molten silver seem)
Eke had he seen, with diamond glittering beam,
The starre of morn awake the roseate day,
While yet beneath the moone old Nilus stream
Pale through the land reflects the gleamy ray,
As through the midnight skyes appeares the milky way.

LXV

Through the Columbian world, and verdant iles
Unknown to Carthage, had he frequent sped,
Eke had he beene where flowry Sommer smiles
At Christmas tide, where other heavens are spred,
Besprent with starres that Newton never red,
Where in the North the sun of noone is seene:
Wherever Hannos bold ambition led,
Wherever Gama saild, there had he beene,
Gama , the dearling care of Beautys heavenly Queene.

LXVI

Eke had he plied the rivers and the coast
Where bold Neârch young Ammons fleet did guide;
A task so dred the world-subduing host
Could not another for such feats provide:
And often had he seen that ocean wide
Which to his wearie bands thilke youth did say
None but th'immortal Gods had ever spyd;
Which sight, quoth he, will all your toils repay:
That none mote see it more als he the Gods did pray .

LXVII

Through these outlandish shores and oceans dire
For ten long seasons did the younkling toil,
Through stormes, through tempests, and the battels fire,
Through cold, through heat, cheerd by the hope the while
Of yet revisiting his natal soil:
And oft, when flying in the monsoon gale,
By Æthiopias coast or Javas ile,
When glauncing over Oceans bosom pale,
The ship hung on the winds with broad and steadie sail:

LXVIII

Hung on the winds as from his ayrie flight,
With wide-spred wing unmovd, the eagle bends,
When, on old Snowdons brow prepard to light,
Sailing the liquid skye he sheer descends:
Thus oft, when roving farre as wave extends,
The scenes of promist bliss would warm the Boy;
To meet his brother with each wish yblends,
And friendships glowing hopes each thought employ;
And now at home arrivd his heart dilates with joy.

LXIX

Around the meadows and the parke he looks,
To spy the streamlett or the elm-tree shade,
Where oft at eve, beneath the cawing rooks,
He with his feres in merry chilhoode playd:
But all was changd!—Unweetingly dismayd
A cold foreboding impluse thrills his breast;
And who but Kathrin now is dearnly frayd
When entering in she kens the stranger guest:
Then with sad mien she rose, and kindlie him embrast.

LXX

Great marvell at her solemn cheer he made;
Then, sobbing deepe, Glad will Syr Martyn be,
Faire Syr, of your retourne, she gently said;
But what mishap! our infant familie,
The dearest babes, though they were nought to me,
That ever breathd, are laid in deadlie plight:
What shall we do!—great were your courtesie
To lodge in yonder tenants house to night;
The skilfull leache forbids that noise my babes should fright

LXXI

Blunt was the Boy, and to the farme-house nigh
To wait his brother, at her bidding fares,
Conducted by a gossip pert and sly:
Kathrin the while her malengines prepares.
Now gan the duske suspend the plowmans cares,
When from his rural sportes arrives the Knight;
Soon with his mates the jovial bowl he shares,
His hall resounds!—amazd the stranger wight
Arreads it all as done to him in fell despight.

LXXII

Late was the houre whenas the Knight was tould
Of stranger guest; Go, bid him welcome here;
What seeks he there? quoth he. Perdie, what would
You seek? says to the Boy the messenger.
To see the Knight, quoth he, I but requere.
Syr Knight, he scornes to come; the servant said.
Go, bid him still, quoth he, to welcome cheer:
But all contrarywise the faytor made,
Till rage enflamd the Boy; and still his rage they fed:

LXXIII

Your brother, quoth the hostesse, soon will waste
His faire estate; and certes, well I read,
He weens to hold your patrimonie fast.
Next morne a lawyer beene ybrought with speed,
And wise he lookt, and wisely shook his hede.
Him now impowrd, the youth with rage yblent
Vows never to retourne; then mounts his steed,
And leaves the place in fancy hugely shent:
All which to Kathrins mind gave wondrous great content.

The castle of the earl of Desmond, on the banks of the river Mulla in Ireland, was sometime the residence of Spenser, the place where he wrote the greatest part of the Faerie Queene.

See the Lusiad.

For this speech to his army, and prayer of Alexander, see Q. Curtius.