Yet sad he was, that his too hastie speed
The fayre Duess' had forst him leave behind;
And yet more sad, that Una, his deare dreed,
Her truth had staynd with treason so unkind;
Yet cryme in her could never creature find:
But for his love, and for her own selfe sake,
She wandred had from one to other Ynd,
Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake;
Tlll her unwares the fiers Sansloy did overtake:
Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat,
Led her away into a forest wilde;
And, turning wrathfull fyre to lustfull heat,
With beastly sin thought her to have defilde,
And made the vassall of his pleasures vilde.
Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes,
Her to persuade that stubborne fort to yilde:
For greater conquest of hard love he gaynes,
That workes it to his will, than he that it constraines.
With fawning wordes he courted her awhile;
And, looking lovely and oft sighing sore,
Her constant hart did tempt with divers guile :
But wordes, and lookes, and sighes she did abhore;
As rock of diamond stedfast evermore.
Yet, for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye,
He snatcht the vele that hong her face before: Then gan her beautie shyne as brightest skye, And burnt his beastly hart t'enforce her chastitye.
So when he saw his flatt'ring artes to fayle,
And subtile engines bett from batteree;
With greedy force he gan the fort assayle,
Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee,
VOL. II.
And win rich spoile of ransackt chastitee.
Ah Heavens! that doe this hideous act behold,
And heavenly virgin thus outraged see,
How can ye vengeance iust so long withhold,
And hurle not flashing flames upon that Paynim
bold?
The pitteous mayden, carefull, comfortlesse, [cryes,
Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shrieking
(The last vaine helpe of wemens greate distresse)
And with loud plaintes impórtuneth the skies;
The molten starres doe drop like weeping eyes;
And Phoebus, flying so most shameful sight,
His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,
And hydes for shame.
What witt of mortall wight
Can now devise to quitt a thrall from such a plight?
Eternall Providence, exceeding thought,
Where none appeares can make her selfe a way!
A wondrous way it for this lady wrought,
From lyons clawes to pluck the gryped pray.
Her shrill outcryes and shrieks so loud did bray,
That all the woodes and forests did resownd.
A troupe of Faunes and Satyres far away
Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,
Whiles old Salvanus slept in shady arber sownd:
Who, when they heard that pitteous strained voice,
In haste forsooke their rurall meriment,
And ran towards the far rebownded noyce,
To weet what wight so loudly did lament.
Unto the place they come incontinent:
Whom when the raging Sarazin espyde.
A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement,
Whose like he never saw, he durst not byde; But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ryde.
The wyld woodgods, arrived in the place,
There find the virgin, doolful, desolate,
With ruffled rayments, and fayre blubbred face,
As her outrageous foe had left her late;
And trembling yet through feare of former hate :
All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,
And gin to pittie her unhappie state;
All stand astonied at her beautie bright,
In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight.
She, more amazd, in double dread doth dwell;
And every tender part for feare does shake.
As when a greedy wolfe, through honger fell,
A seely lamb far from the flock does take,
Of whom he means his bloody feast to make,
A lyon spyes fast running towards him,
The innocent pray in haste he does forsake;
Which, quitt from death, yet quakes in every lim
With chaunge of feare, to see the lyon looke so
grim.
Such fearfull fitt assaid her trembling hart;
Ne word to speake, ne ioynt to move, she had:
The salvage nation feele her secret smart,
And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad;
Their frowning forheads, with rough hornes yclad
And rustick horror, all asyde dve lay;
And, gently grenning, shew a semblance glad
To comfort her; and, feare to put away, [obay.
Their backward-bent knees teach her humbly to
The doubtfull damzell dare not yet commit
Her single person to their barbarous truth;
But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sitt,
Late learnd what harme to hasty trust ensu'th:
They, in compassion of her tender youth
And wonder of her beautie soverayne,
Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth;
And, all prostrate upon the lowly playne,
Doe kisse her feete, and fawne on her with
count'nance fayne.
Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,
And yields her to extremitie of time :
So from the ground she fearelesse doth arise,
And walketh forth without suspect of crime;
They, all as glad as birdes of ioyous pryme,
Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,
Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme;
And, with greene braunches strowing all the ground,
Do worship her as queene with olive girlond cround.
And all the way their merry pipes they sound,
That all the woods with doubled echo ring;
And with their horned feet doe weare the ground,
Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant spring.
So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;
Who, with the noyse awaked, commeth out
To weet the cause, his weake steps governing
And aged limbs on cypresse stadle stout;
And with an yvie twyne his waste is girt about,
Far off he wonders what them makes so glad,
Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent,
Or Cybeles franticke rites have made them mad:
- They, drawing nigh, unto their god present
That flowre of fayth and beautie excellent :
The god himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare,
Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent :
His owne fayre Dryope now he thinkes not faire, And Pholoë fowle, when her to this he doth compaire.
The wood-borne people fall before her flat,
And worship her as goddesse of the wood;
And old Sylvanus selfe bethinks not what
To thinke of wight so fayre; but gazing stood
In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood:
Sometimes dame Venus selfe he seemes to see;
But Venus never had so sober mood:
Sometimes Diana he her takes to be;
But misseth bow and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.
By vew of her he ginneth to revive
His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse ;
And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,
How fayre he was, and yet not fayre to this;
And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse
A gentle hynd, the which the lovely boy
Did love as life, above all worldly blisse:
For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after ioy;
But pynd away in anguish and selfe wild annoy.
The wooddy nymphes, faire Hamadryades,
Her to behold do thether runne apace;
And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades
Flocke all about to see her lovely face:
But, when they vewed have her heavenly grace,
|