With him went Danger, cloth'd in rugged weed,
Made of bear's skin, that him more dreadful made:
Yet his own face was dreadful, nor did need
Strange horror to deform his grisly shade;
A net in th' one hand, and a rusty blade
In th' other was: this mischief, that mishap;
With th' one his foes he threatened to invade,
With th' other he his friends meant to enwrap;
For, whom he could not kill, he practis'd to entrap.

Next him was Fear, all arm'd from top to toe,
Yet thought himself not safe enough thereby,
But fear'd each shadow moving to and fro:
And his own arms when glittering he did spy,
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,
As ashes pale of hue, and wingy-heel'd;
And evermore on Danger fix'd his eye,
Gainst whom he always bent a brazen shield,
Which his right hand unarmed fearfully did wield.

With him went Hope in rank, a handsome maid,
Of chearful look and lovely to behold;
In silken samite she was light array'd,
And her fair locks were woven up in gold;
She always smil'd, and in her hand did hold
An holy water sprinkle, dipp'd in dew,
With which she sprinkled favours manifold,
On whom she list, and did great liking shew;
Great liking unto many, but true love to few.

And after them Dissemblance and Suspect
March'd in one rank, yet an unequal pair;
For, she was gentle, and of mild aspect,
Courteous to all, and seeming debonnair,
Goodly adorned, and exceeding fair:

Yet was that all but painted, and purloined, [hair,
And her bright brows were deck'd with borrowed
Her deeds were forged, and her words false coined,
And always in her hand two clues of silk she twined.

But he was foul, ill-favoured, and grim,
Under his eyebrows looking still askance;
And ever as Dissemblance laugh'd on him,
He lour'd on her with dangerous eye-glance;
Shewing his nature in his countenance;
His rolling eyes did never rest in place,
But walk'd each where, for fear of hid mischance,
Holding a lattice still before his face,
Through which he still did peep, as forward he did

[pass.

Next him went Grief and Fury match'd yfere;
Grief, all in sable sorrowfully clad,
Down hanging his dull head, with heavy cheer,
Yet inly being more, than seeming sad:
A pair of pincers in his hand he had,
With which he pinched people to the heart,
That from thenceforth a wretched life they lad,
In wilful languor and consuming smart,

Dying each day with inward wounds of dolour's dart.

But Fury was full ill appareled

In rags, that naked nigh she did appear,
With ghastful looks and dreadful drearihead;

For, from her back her garments she did tear,
And from her head oft rent her snarled hair:
In her right hand a firebrand she did toss
About her head, still roaming here and there;
As a dismayed deer in chace embost,
Forgetful of his safety, hath his right way lost.

After them, went Displeasure and Pleasance;
He looking lumpish and full sullen sad,
And hanging down his heavy countenance;
She chearful, fresh, and full of joyance glad,
As if no sorrow she nor felt, nor dread;
That evil matched pair they seemed to be:
An angry wasp th' one in a vial had:
Th' other in her's a honey-lady bee;

Thus marched these six couples forth in fair degree,

After all these there march'd a most fair dame,
Led of two grizly villains, th' one Despight,
The other cleped Cruelty by name:
She doleful lady, like a dreary spright,
Call'd by strong charms out of eternal night,
Had death's own image figur'd in her face,
Full of sad signs, fearful to living sight;
Yet in that Horror shew'd a seemly grace,
And with her feeble feet did move a comely pace.

Her breast all naked, as neat ivory,
Without adorn of gold or silver bright,
Wherewith the craftsman wonts it beautify,
Of her due honour was despoiled quite,
And a wide wound therein (O rueful sight!)
Entrenched deep with knife accursed keen,
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting sprite
(The work of cruel hand) was to be seen,
That dyed in sanguine red her skin all snowy clean.

At that wide orifice, her trembling heart
Was drawn forth, and in silver bason laid,
Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart,
And in her blood yet steaming fresh embay'd;
And those two villains, which her steps upstaid,
When her weak feet could scarcely her sustain,
And fading vital powers gan to fade,

Her forward still with torture did constrain,
And evermore increased her consuming pain.

Next after her, the winged God himself
Came riding on a lion ravenous,
Taught to obey the manage of that elf,
That man and beast with power imperious
Subdueth to his kingdom tyrannous:
His blindfold eyes he bade awhile unbind,
That his proud spoil of that same dolorous
Fair dame, he might behold in perfect kind;
Which seen, he much rejoiced in his cruel mind.

Of which full proud, himself uprearing high,
He looked round about with stern disdain ;
And did survey his goodly company:
And marshalling the evil ordered train,

With that the darts which his right hand did strain,

Full dreadfully he shook that all did quake,

And clapp'd on high his coloured winges twain,
That all his many it afraid did make:
Then, blinding him again, his way he forth did take.

Behind him was Reproach, Repentance, Shame;
Reproach the first, Shame next, Repent behind:
Repentance feeble, sorrowful and lame:
Reproach despiteful, careless, and unkind;
Shame most ill-favour'd, bestial, and blind; [scold;
Shame lour'd, Repentance sigh'd, Reproach did
Reproach sharp stings, Repentance whips entwin'd,
Shame burning brand-irons in her hand did hold;
All three to each unlike, yet all made in one mould.

And after them, a rude confused rout

Of persons flock'd, whose names is hard to read:
Amongst them was stern Strife, and Anger stout,
Unquiet Care, and fond Unthriftihead,
Lewd Loss of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead,
Inconstant Change, and false Disloyalty,
Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread
Of heavenly vengeance, faint Infirmity,
Vile Poverty, and lastly Death with Infamy.

There were full many more like maladies,
Whose names and natures I not readen well;
So many more as there be phantasies
In wandering women's wit, that none can tell;
Or pains in love, or punishments in hell:
And, which disguised, march'd, in masking wise,
About the chamber with that Damosel,
And then returned (having marched thrice)
Into the inner room, from whence they first did rise.

THE SQUIRE and the dove. Well said the wise man, now prov'd true by this, Which to this gentle squire did happen late; That the displeasure of the mighty is Than death itself more dread and desperate: For, nought the same may calm, nor mitigate, Till time the tempest do thereof allay With sufferance soft, which rigour can abate, And have the stern remembrance wip'd away Of bitter thoughts, which deep therein infixed lay.

Like as it fell to this unhappy boy,
Whose tender heart the fair Belphebe had
With one stern look so daunted, that no joy
In all his life, which afterwards he lad,
He ever tasted; but with penance sad,
And pensive sorrow, pin'd and wore away, [glad;
Nor ever laugh'd, nor once shew'd countenance
But always wept and wailed night and day, [decay;
As blasted blossom, through heat, doth languish and

Till on a day (as in his wonted wise
His dole he made) there chanc'd a turtle-dove
To come, where he his dolours did devise,
That likewise late had lost her dearest love;
Which loss her made like passion also prove.
Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart

With dear compassion deeply did emmove,
That she gan moan his undeserved smart,
And with her doleful accent, bear with him a part.

She, sitting by him, as on ground he lay, Her mournful notes full piteously did frame, And thereof made a lamentable lay,

So sensibly compil'd, that in the same
Him seemed oft he heard his own right name.
With that, he forth would pour so plenteous tears,
And beat his breast unworthy of such blame,
And knock his head, and rend his rugged hairs,
That could have pierc'd the hearts of tigers and of
[bears.

Thus long this gentle bird to him did use,
Withouten dread of peril to repair

Unto his wonne; and with her mournful muse
Him to recomfort in his greatest care,
That much did ease his mourning and misfare:
And every day, for guerdon of her song,
He part of his small feast to her would share;
That, at the last, of all his woe and wrong,
Companion she became, and so continued long.

Upon a day, as she him sate beside,
By chance he certain moniments forth drew,
Which yet with him as relicks did abide
Of all the bounty, which Belphebe threw
On him, while goodly grace she did him shew:
Amongst the rest, a jewel rich he found,
That was a ruby of right perfect hue,
Shap'd like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound,
And with a little golden chain about it bound.
The same he took, and with a ribbon new
(In which his lady's colours were) did bind
About the turtle's neck, that with the view
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind.
All unawares the bird, when she did find
Herself so deck'd, her nimble wings display'd,
And flew away, as lightly as the wind:
Which sudden accident him much dismay'd,
And looking after long, did mark which way she
[stray'd.

But, when as long he looked had in vain,
Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,
His weary eye return'd to him again,
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,
That both his jewel he had lost so light,
And eke his dear companion of his care.
But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right
Through the wide region of the wasteful air,
Until she came where wonned his Belphebe fair.

There found she her (as then it did betide)
Sitting in covert shade of arbors sweet,
After late weary toil, which she had tried
In savage chace, to rest as seem'd her meet.
There she alighting, fell before her feet,
And gan to her, her mournful plaint to make,
As was her wont: thinking to let her weet
The great tormenting grief, that for her sake [take.
Her gentle squire through her displeasure did par-

She, her beholding with attentive eye,
At length did mark about her purple breast
That precious jewel, which she formerly

Had known right well, with colour'd ribbon drest;
Therewith she rose in haste, and her addrest
With ready hand it to have reft away.
But the swift bird obey'd not her behest,
But swerv'd aside, and there again did stay;
She follow'd her, and thought again it to assay.
And ever when she nigh approach'd, the dove
Would flit a little forward, and then stay
Till she drew near, and then again remove;
So tempting her still to pursue the prey,
And still from her escaping soft away:
Till that at length, into that forest wide
She drew her far, and led with slow delay.
In th' end, she her unto that place did guide,
Whereas that woful man in languor did abide.

He her beholding, at her feet down fell,

And kiss'd the ground on which her sole did tread,
And wash'd the same with water, which did well
From his moist eyes, and like two streams proceed;
Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread
What mister wight he was, or what he meant;
But as one daunted with her presence dread,
Only few rueful looks unto her sent,

As messengers of his true meaning and intent.

Yet nathemore his meaning she ared,
But wondered much at his so uncouth case;
And by his person's secret seemlihed

Well ween'd, that he had been some man of place,
Before misfortune did his hue deface:
That being mov'd with ruth she thus bespake.
Ah! woful man, what heaven's hard disgrace,
Or wrath of cruel wight on thee ywrake,

Or self disliked life, doth thee thus wretched make?

If heaven, then none may it redress or blame,
Since to his power we all are subject born:
If wrathful wight, then foul rebuke and shame
Be theirs, that have so cruel thee forlorn;
But if through inward grief, or wilful scorn
Of life it be, then better do avise.

For, he whose days in wilful woe are worn,
The grace of his Creator doth despise,

That will not use his gifts for thankless niggardise.

When so he heard her say, eftsoons he brake
His sudden silence, which he long had pent,
And sighing inly deep, her thus bespake;
Then have they all themselves against me bent:
For heaven (first author of my languishment)
Envying my too great felicity,

Did closely with a cruel one consent,
To cloud my days in doleful misery,

And make me loath this life, still longing for to die.

Nor any but yourself, O dearest dread,

Hath done this wrong; to wreak on worthless wight Your high displeasure, through misdeeming bred:

That when your pleasure is to deem aright,
Ye may redress, and me restore to light.
Which sorry words, her mighty heart did mate
With mild regard, to see his rueful plight,
That her in-burning wrath she gan abate,
And him receiv'd again to former favour's state.

SIMILE.

Then did he set her by that snowy one,
Like the true saint beside the image set;
Of both their beauties to make paragon,
And trial whether should the honour get.
Straightway so soon as both together met,
Th' enchanted damsel vanish'd into nought:
Her snowy substance melted as with heat,
Nor of that goodly hue remained ought, [wrought.
But th' empty girdle, which about her waist was

As when the daughter of Thaumantes fair,
Hath in a wat❜ry cloud displayed wide
Her goodly bow, which paints the liquid air,
That all men wonder at her colour's pride;
All suddenly, ere one can look aside,
The glorious picture vanisheth away,
Nor any token doth thereof abide:
So did this lady's goodly form decay,
And into nothing go, ere one could it bewray.

COMBAT BETWEEN PRINCE ARTHUR
AND THE SOLDAN DESCRIBED.
Wherewith, the Soldan all with fury fraught,
Swearing, and banning most blasphemously,
Commanded strait his armour to be brought';
And mounting strait upon a chariot high,
With iron wheels and hooks arm'd dreadfully,
And drawn of cruel steeds, which he had fed
With flesh of men, whom through fell tyranny
He slaughtered had, and ere they were half dead,
Their bodies to his beasts for provender did spread.

So, forth he came all in a coat of plate,
Burnish'd with bloody rust; while on the green
The Briton Prince him ready did await,
In glittering arms right goodly well beseen,
That shone as bright as doth the heaven sheen;
And by his stirrup Talus did attend,
Playing his page's part, as he had been
Before directed by his lord; to th' end
He should his flail to final execution bend.

Thus go they both together to their gear,
With like fierce minds, but meanings different:
For, the proud Soldan with presumptuous chear,
And countenance sublime and insolent,
Sought only slaughter and avengement:
But the brave Prince for honour and for right,
Gainst tortious power and lawless regiment,
In the behalf of wronged weak did fight:
More in his cause's truth he trusted than in might.

And clapp'd on high his coloured winges twain,
That all his many it afraid did make:
Then, blinding him again, his way he forth did take.

Behind him was Reproach, Repentance, Shame;
Reproach the first, Shame next, Repent behind:
Repentance feeble, sorrowful and lame:
Reproach despiteful, careless, and unkind;
Shame most ill-favour'd, bestial, and blind; [scold;
Shame lour'd, Repentance sigh'd, Reproach did
Reproach sharp stings, Repentance whips entwin'd,
Shame burning brand-irons in her hand did hold;
All three to each unlike, yet all made in one mould.

And after them, a rude confused rout

Of persons flock'd, whose names is hard to read:
Amongst them was stern Strife, and Anger stout,
Unquiet Care, and fond Unthriftihead,
Lewd Loss of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead,
Inconstant Change, and false Disloyalty,
Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread
Of heavenly vengeance, faint Infirmity,
Vile Poverty, and lastly Death with Infamy.

There were full many more like maladies,
Whose names and natures I not readen well;
So many more as there be phantasies
In wandering women's wit, that none can tell ;
Or pains in love, or punishments in hell:
And, which disguised, march'd, in masking wise,
About the chamber with that Damosel,
And then returned (having marched thrice)
Into the inner room, from whence they first did rise.

THE SQUIRE and the dove. Well said the wise man, now prov'd true by this, Which to this gentle squire did happen late; That the displeasure of the mighty is Than death itself more dread and desperate: For, nought the same may calm, nor mitigate, Till time the tempest do thereof allay With sufferance soft, which rigour can abate, And have the stern remembrance wip'd away Of bitter thoughts, which deep therein infixed lay.

Like as it fell to this unhappy boy,
Whose tender heart the fair Belphebe had
With one stern look so daunted, that no joy
In all his life, which afterwards he lad,
He ever tasted; but with penance sad,
And pensive sorrow, pin'd and wore away, [glad;
Nor ever laugh'd, nor once shew'd countenance
But always wept and wailed night and day, [decay;
As blasted blossom, through heat, doth languish and

Till on a day (as in his wonted wise
His dole he made) there chanc'd a turtle-dove
To come, where he his dolours did devise,
That likewise late had lost her dearest love;
Which loss her made like passion also prove.
Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart

Upon a day, as she him sate beside,
By chance he certain moniments forth drew,
Which yet with him as relicks did abide
Of all the bounty, which Belphebe threw
On him, while goodly grace she did him shew:
Amongst the rest, a jewel rich he found,
That was a ruby of right perfect hue,
Shap'd like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound,
And with a little golden chain about it bound.
The same he took, and with a ribbon new
(In which his lady's colours were) did bind
About the turtle's neck, that with the view
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind.
All unawares the bird, when she did find
Herself so deck'd, her nimble wings display'd,
And flew away, as lightly as the wind:
Which sudden accident him much dismay'd,
And looking after long, did mark which way she
[stray'd.

But, when as long he looked had in vain,
Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,
His weary eye return'd to him again,
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,
That both his jewel he had lost so light,
And eke his dear companion of his care.
But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right
Through the wide region of the wasteful air,
Until she came where wonned his Belphebe fair.

There found she her (as then it did betide)
Sitting in covert shade of arbors sweet,
After late weary toil, which she had tried
In savage chace, to rest as seem'd her meet.
There she alighting, fell before her feet,
And gan to her, her mournful plaint to make,
As was her wont: thinking to let her weet
The great tormenting grief, that for her sake [take.
Her gentle squire through her displeasure did par-