Free The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser Page A

strife,
    In peace may passen ouer
Lethe
lake,
    When mourning altars purgd with enemies life,
    The blacke infernall
Furies
doen aslake:
    Life from
Sansfoy
thou tookst,
Sansloy
shall from thee take.
    37 Therewith in haste his helmet gan vnlace,
    Till
Vna
cride, O hold that heauie hand,
    Deare Sir, what euer that thou be in place:
    Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand
    Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand:
    For he is one the truest knight aliue,
    Though conquered now he lie on lowly land,
    And whilest him fortune fauourd, faire did thriue
    In bloudie field: therefore of life him not depriue.
    38 Her piteous words might not abate his rage,
    But rudely rending vp his helmet, would
    Haue slaine him straight: but when he sees his age,
    And hoarie head
of Archimago
old,
    His hastie hand he doth amazed hold,
    And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight:
    For that old man well knew he, though vntold,
    In charmes and magicke to haue wondrous might,
    Ne euer wont in field, ne in round lists to fight.
    39 And said, Why
Archimago,
lucklesse syre,
    What doe I see? what hard mishap is this,
    That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre?
    Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,
    In stead of foe to wound my friend amis?
    He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay,
    And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his
    The cloud of death did sit. Which doen away,
    He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay.
    40 But to the virgin comes, who all this while
    Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see
    By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,
    For so misfeigning her true knight to bee;
    Yet is she now in more perplexitie,
    Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,
    From whom her booteth not at all to flie;
    Who by her cleanly garment catching hold,
    Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold.
    41 But her fierce seruant full of kingly awe
    And high disdaine, whenas his soueraine Dame
    So rudely handled by her foe he sawe,
    With gaping iawes full greedy at him came,
    And ramping on his shield, did weene the same
    Haue reft away with his sharpe rending clawes:
    But he was stout, and lust did now inflame
    His corage more, that from his griping pawes
    He hath his shield redeem’d, and foorth his swerd he drawes.
    42 O then too weake and feeble was the forse
    Of saluage beast, his puissance to withstand:
    For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,
    As euer wielded speare in warlike hand,
    And feates of armes did wisely vnderstand.
    Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest
    With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,
    And launcht his Lordly hart: with death opprest
    He roar’d aloud, whiles Me forsooke his stubborne brest
    43 Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid
    From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?
    Her faithfull gard remou’d, her hope dismaid,
    Her selfe a yeelded pray to saue or spill.
    He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill,
    With foule reproches, and disdainfull spight
    Her vildly entertaines, and will or nill,
    Beares her away vpon his courser light:
    Her prayers nought preuaile, his rage is more of might.
    44 And all the way, with great lamenting paine,
    And piteous plaints she filleth his dull eares,
    That stony hart could riuen haue in twaine,
    And all the way she wets with flowing teares:
    But he enrag’d with rancor, nothing heares.
    Her seruile beast yet would not leaue her so,
    But followes her farre off, ne ought he feares,
    To be partaker of her wandring woe,
    More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.

CANTO IV
To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa
   guides the faithfull knight,
Where brothers death to wreak Sansioy
   doth chalenge him to fight
.
    1 Young knight, what euer that dost armes professe,
    And through long labours huntest after fame,
    Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse,
    In choice, and change of thy deare loued Dame,
    Least thou of her beleeue too lightly blame,
    And rash misweening doe thy hart remoue:
    For vnto knight there is no greater