EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599) From THE FAERIE QUEENE Canto XI The knight with that old Dragon fights The third, him overthrowes, and gayns HIGH time now gan it wex for Una fayre To thinke of those her captive parents deare, And their forwasted kingdom to repayre: Whereto whenas they now approched neare, With hartie wordes her knight she gan to cheare, And in her modest maner thus bespake: 'Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was deare, That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake, High heven behold the tedious toyle, ye for me take. 'Now are we come unto my native soyle, And to the place, where all our perilles dwell; Here hauntes that feend, and does his dayly spoyle; Therefore henceforth bee at your keeping well, And ever ready for your foeman fell. The sparke of noble corage now awake, And strive your excellent selfe to excell; That shall ye evermore renowmed make Above all knights on earth, that batteill undertake.' And pointing forth, 'Lo! yonder is,' said she, 'The brasen towre, in which my parents deare O gently come into my feeble brest, Come gently, but not with that mightie rage, Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest, And hartes of great heroës doest enrage, For dread of that huge feend emprisond That nought their kindled corage may be; Whom I from far see on the walles ap peare, aswage: Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd, Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly The god of warre with his fiers equipage way: Fayre goddesse, lay that furious fitt asyde, Is gathered full, and worketh speedy And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd, Twixt that great Faery Queene and Pay- Were like mayne-yardes, with flying can nim King, That with their horror heven and earth did ring, A worke of labour long, and endlesse prayse: vas lynd, With which whenas him list the ayre to beat, And there by force unwonted passage fynd, But now a while lett downe that haughtie The clowdes before him fledd for terror Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged The pointed steele, arriving rudely theare, His harder hyde would nether perce nor were, That made the Redcrosse Knight nigh At last, low stouping with unweldy sway, The beast, impatient of his smarting Whom so dismayd when that his foe be wound, And of so fierce and forcible despight, the ground; But his late wounded wing unserviceable found. Then, full of griefe and anguish vehement, And from his wide devouring oven sent held, He cast to suffer him no more respire, It fortuned (as fayre it then befell,) Behynd his backe, unweeting, where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a silver flood, Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good. And through his armour all his body Whylome, before that cursed dragon got seard, That happy land, and all with innocent blood Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot The Well of Life, ne yet his vertues had forgot. For unto life the dead it could restore, And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away; Those that with sicknesse were infected sore It could recure, and aged long decay Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this Into the same the knight back overthrowen fell. Now Faynt, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, His fierie face in billowes of the west, brent With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire, That never man such mischiefes did tor ment; Death better were, death did he oft desire, But death will never come, when needes require. And his faint steedes watred in ocean deepe, Whiles from their journal labours they did rest, When that infernall monster, having kest |