Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward; And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,

With humble service to her will prepard: From her fayre eyes he took commandëment, And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

[Archimago, learning of the whereabouts of Una, assumes the arms and appearance of the Red Cross Knight, and, being too fearful of the lion to join her, -approaches near enough to her to be seen. Una seeing, as she supposes, him whom she has sought through wide deserts, and with great toil and peril, goes up to him in joy and humbleness, while Archimago, feigning to be her Knight, greets her with words of welcome and vows of faithful service.]

XXX.

His lovely words her seemd due recompence
Of all her passed paines; one loving howre
For many yeares of sorrow can dispence;
A dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre.
Shee has forgott how many woful stowre
For him she late endurd; she speakes no more
Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre
To looken backe; his eies be fixt before.

Before her stands her Knight, for whom she toyld so

sore.

XXXI.

Much like, as when the beaten marinere,
That long hath wandred in the ocean wide,
Ofte soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare;
And long time having tand his tawney hide
With blustring breath of heaven, that none can bide,

And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound;
Soone as the port from far he has espide,

His chearfull whistle merily doth sound,

And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledge around.

XXXII.

Such ioy made Una, when her Knight she found; And eke th' Enchanter ioyous seemde no lesse Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground His ship far come from watrie wildernesse; He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse. So forth they past; and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, In which he askt her, what the lyon ment; Who told her all that fell, in iourney as she went.

XXXIII.

They had not ridden far, when they might see
One pricking towards them with hastie heat,
Full strongly armd, and on a courser free
That through his fiersenesse fomed all with sweat,
And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,

When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side;
His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat
Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde;
And on his shield Sans loy in bloody lines was dyde.

[Archimago, in the guise of the Red Cross Knight, thus journeying with Una meets a Paynim, or Saracen, named Sansloy. Sansloy attacks Archimago, who is overthrown. When he is unhelmed, Una sees to her surprise the face of Archimago instead of that of the Red Cross Knight. The Paynim, leaving Archimago dying, rudely approaches Una and drags her from her

palfrey. The poet then describes the combat of the Paynim with the lion.]

XLI.

But her fiers servant, full of kingly aw

And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame
So rudely handled by her foe he saw,

With gaping iawes full greedy at him came,
And, ramping in his shield, did weene the same
Have reft away with his sharp rending clawes:
But he was stout, and lust did now inflame
His corage more, that from his griping pawes
He hath his shield redeemd; and forth his sword he
drawes.

XLII.

O then, too weake and feeble was the forse
Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand!
For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,
As ever wielded speare in warlike hand;
And feates of armes did wisely understand.
Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest
With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,

And launcht his lordly hart: with death opprest He ror'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne brest.

XLIII.

Who now is left to keepe the forlorne Maid
From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?
Her faithful gard remov'd; her hope dismaid;
Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill!
He now, lord of the field, his pride to fill,
With foule reproches and disdaineful spright
Her vildly entertaines; and, will or nill

Beares her away upon his courser light

Her prayers naught prevaile; his rage is more of might.

XLIV.

And all the way, with great lamenting paine,
And piteous plaintes she filleth his dull eares,
That stony hart could riven have in twaine;
And all the way she wetts with flowing teares;
But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares.
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,
But followes her far of, ne ought he feares
To be partaker of her wandring woe,

More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.

[After many mishaps and adventures the Book ends with the happy union of the Red Cross Knight and Una; the marriage of Holiness and Truth.]

BOOK II.

CANTO VI.

THE STORY OF SIR GUYON, OR THE KNIGHT OF
TEMPERANCE

Guyon is of immodest Merth
Led into loose desyre;

Fights with Chymochles, whiles his bro-
ther burnes in furious fyre.

I.

A harder lesson to learne Continence
In ioyous pleasure then in grievous paine;
For sweetnesse doth allure the weaker sence
So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine
From that which feeble nature covets faine;
But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies,
And foes of life, she better can abstaine:
Yet Vertue vauntes in both her victories;
And Guyon in them all shewes goodly mysteries.

[Cymochles having met a damsel who represents intemperate pleasure, is tempted by her to neglect duty in inglorious idleness and self-indulgence. He falls under the spell of her blandishments and his coming under her allurements to the Idle Lake, the home of pleasure, is thus described:]

XI.

Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she toyd,
They were far past the passage which he spake,
And come unto an island waste and voyd,
That floted in the midst of that great lake;
There her small gondelay her port did make,
And that gay payre, issewing on the shore,
Disburdened her. Their way they forward take
Into the land that lay them faire before,

Whose pleasaunce she him shewde, and plentifull great store.

XII.

It was a chosen plott of fertile land,
Emongst wide waves sett, like a little nest,
As if it had by Nature's cunning hand
Bene choycely picked out from all the rest,
And laid forth for ensample of the best:
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd,
No arborett with painted blossomes drest

And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al around.

XIII.

No tree whose braunches did not bravely spring;
No braunch, whereon a fine bird did not sitt;
No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing;
No song but did containe a lovely ditt.