For till the world from his perfection fell
Into all filth and foule iniquitie,
Astræa here mongst earthly men did dwell,
And in the rules of justice them instructed well.
Whiles through the world she walked in this sort,
Upon a day she found this gentle childe
Amongst his peres playing his childish sport;
Whom seeing fit, and with no crime defilde,
She did allure with gifts and speaches milde
To wend with her. So thence him farre she brought
Into a cave from companie exilde,
In which she noursled him till yeares he raught,
And all the discipline of justice there him taught.
There she him taught to weigh both right and wrong
In equal ballance with due recompence,
And equitie to measure out along
According to the line of conscience,
When so it needs with rigour to dispence:
Of all the which, for want there of mankind,
She caused him to make experience
Upon wyld beasts, which she in woods did find
With wrongfull powre oppressing others of their kind.
Thus she him trayned, and thus she him taught
In all the skill of deeming wrong and right,
Untill the ripenesse of mans yeares he raught;
That even wilde beasts did feare his awfull sight,
And men admyr’d his over-ruling might;
Ne any liv’d on ground that durst withstand
His dreadfull heast, much lesse him match in fight,
Or bide the horror of his wreakfull hand,
When so he list in wrath lift up his steely brand.
Which steely brand, to make him dreaded more,
She gave unto him, gotten by her slight
And earnest search, where it was kept in store
In Joves eternall house, unwist of wight,
Since he himselfe it us’d in that great fight
Against the Titans, that whylome rebelled
Gainst highest heaven: Chrysaor it was hight;
Chrysaor, that all other swords excelled,
Well prov’d in that same day when Jove those Gyants quelled:
For of most perfect metall it was made,
Tempred with Adamant amongst the same,
And garnisht all with gold upon the blade
In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his name,
And was of no lesse vertue then of fame;
For there no substance was so firme and hard,
But it would pierce or cleave, where so it came,
Ne any armour could his dint outward;
But wheresoever it did light, it throughly shard.
Now, when the world with sinne gan to abound,
Astræa loathing lenger here to space
Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found,
Return’d to heaven, whence she deriv’d her race;
Where she hath now an everlasting place
Mongst those twelve signes, which nightly we doe see
The heavens bright-shining baudricke to enchace;
And is the Virgin, sixt in her degree,
And next her selfe her righteous ballance hanging bee.
But when she parted hence she left her groome,
An yron man, which did on her attend
Alwayes to execute her stedfast doome,
And willed him with Artegall to wend,
And doe what ever thing he did intend:
His name was Talus, made of yron mould,
Immoveable, resistlesse, without end;
Who in his hand a yron flale did hould,
With which he thresht out falshood, and did truth unfould.
He now went with him in this new inquest,
Him for to aide, if aide he chaunst to neede,
Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest
The faire Irena with his foule misdeede,
And kept the crowne in which she should succeed:
And now together on their way they bin,
When as they saw a Squire in squallid weed
Lamenting sore his sorrowfull sad tyne,
With many bitter teares shed from his blubbred eyne.
To whom as they approched, they espide
A sorie sight as ever seene with eye,
An headlesse Ladie lying him beside
In her owne blood all wallow’d wofully,
That her gay clothes did in discolour die.
Much was he moved at that ruefull sight;
And flam’d with zeale of vengeance inwardly,
He askt who had that Dame so fouly dight,
Or whether his owne hand, or whether other wight?
“Ah! woe is me, and wellaway!” (quoth hee,
Bursting forth teares like springs out of a banke),
“That ever I this dismall day did see!
Full farre was I from thinking such a pranke;
Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke,
If I should graunt that I have doen the same,
That I mote drinke the cup whereof she dranke,
But that I should die guiltie of the blame
The which another did, who now is fled with shame.”
“Who was it then,” (sayd Artegall) “that wrought?
And why? doe it declare unto me trew.”
“A knight,” (said he) “if knight he may be thought
That did his hand in Ladies bloud embrew,
And for no cause, but as I shall you shew.
This day as I in solace sate hereby
With a fayre love, whose losse I now do rew,
There came this knight, having in companie
This lucklesse Ladie which now here doth headlesse lie.
“He, whether mine seem’d fayrer in his eye,
Or that he wexed weary of his owne,
Would change with me, but I did it denye;
So did the Ladies both, as may be knowne:
But he, whose spirit was with pride upblowne,
Would not so rest contented with his right;
But, having from his courser her downe throwne,
Fro me reft mine away by lawlesse might,
And on his steed her set to beare her out of sight.
“Which when his Ladie saw, she follow’d fast,
And on him catching hold gan loud to crie
Not so to leave her, nor away to cast,
But rather of his hand besought to die.
With that his sword he drew all wrathfully,
And at one stroke cropt off her head with scorne,
In that same place whereas it now doth lie.
So he my love away with him hath borne,
And left me here both his and mine owne love to morne.”
“Aread” (sayd he) “which way then did he make?
And by what markes may he be knowne againe?”
“To hope” (quoth he) “him soone to overtake
That hence so
