And round about his necke an halter tight,
And ready for the gallow-tree prepard:
His face was covered, and his head was bar’d,
That who he was uneath was to descry;
And with full heavy heart with them he far’d,
Griev’d to the soule, and groning inwardly,
That he of womens hands so base a death should dy.
But they, like tyrants mercilesse, the more
Rejoyced at his miserable case,
And him reviled, and reproched sore
With bitter taunts and termes of vile disgrace.
Now when as Artegall, arriv’d in place,
Did aske what cause brought that man to decay,
They round about him gan to swarme apace,
Meaning on him their cruell hands to lay,
And to have wrought unwares some villanous assay.
But he was soone aware of their ill minde,
And drawing backe deceived their intent:
Yet, though him selfe did shame on womankinde
His mighty hand to shend, he Talus sent
To wrecke on them their follies hardyment:
Who with few sowces of his yron flale
Dispersed all their troupe incontinent,
And sent them home to tell a piteous tale
Of their vaine prowesse turned to their proper bale.
But that same wretched man, ordayned to die,
They left behind them, glad to be so quit:
Him Talus tooke out of perplexitie,
And horrour of fowle death for Knight unfit,
Who more then losse of life ydreaded it;
And, him restoring unto living light,
So brought unto his Lord, where he did sit
Beholding all that womanish weake fight;
Whom soone as he beheld he knew, and thus behight:
“Sir Turpine! haplesse man, what make you here?
Or have you lost your selfe and your discretion,
That ever in this wretched case ye were?
Or have ye yeelded you to proude oppression
Of womens powre, that boast of mens subjection?
Or else what other deadly dismall day
Is falne on you by heavens hard direction
That ye were runne so fondly far astray
As for to lead your selfe unto your owne decay?”
Much was the man confounded in his mind,
Partly with shame, and partly with dismay,
That all astonisht he him selfe did find,
And little had for his excuse to say,
But onely thus: “Most haplesse well ye may
Me justly terme, that to this shame am brought,
And made the scorne of Knighthod this same day:
But who can scape what his owne fate hath wrought?
The worke of heavens will surpasseth humaine thought.”
“Right true: but faulty men use oftentimes
To attribute their folly unto fate,
And lay on heaven the guilt of their owne crimes.
But tell, Sir Terpin, ne let you amate
Your misery, how fell ye in this state?”
“Then sith ye needs” (quoth he) “will know my shame,
And all the ill which chaunst to me of late,
I shortly will to you rehearse the same,
In hope ye will not turne misfortune to my blame.
“Being desirous (as all Knights are woont)
Through hard adventures deedes of armes to try,
And after fame and honour for to hunt,
I heard report that farre abrode did fly,
That a proud Amazon did late defy
All the brave Knights that hold of Maidenhead,
And unto them wrought all the villany
That she could forge in her malicious head,
Which some hath put to shame, and many done be dead.
“The cause, they say, of this her cruell hate
Is for the sake of Bellodant the bold,
To whom she bore most fervent love of late,
And wooed him by all the waies she could:
But when she saw at last that he ne would
For ought or nought be wonne unto her will,
She turn’d her love to hatred manifold,
And for his sake vow’d to doe all the ill
Which she could doe to Knights; which now she doth fulfill.
“For all those Knights, the which by force or guile
She doth subdue, she fowly doth entreate.
First, she doth them of warlike armes despoile,
And cloth in womens weedes: And then with threat
Doth them compell to worke, to earne their meat,
To spin, to card, to sew, to wash, to wring;
Ne doth she give them other thing to eat
But bread and water or like feeble thing,
Them to disable from revenge adventuring.
“But if through stout disdaine of manly mind
Any her proud observaunce will withstand,
Uppon that gibbet, which is there behind,
She causeth them be hang’d up out of hand;
In which condition I right now did stand:
For, being overcome by her in fight,
And put to that base service of her band,
I rather chose to die in lives despight,
Then lead that shamefull life, unworthy of a Knight.”
“How hight that Amazon?” (said Artegall)
“And where and how far hence does she abide?”
“Her name” (quoth he) “they Radigund doe call,
A Princesse of great powre and greater pride,
And Queene of Amazons, in armes well tride
And sundry battels, which she hath atchieved
With great successe, that her hath glorifide,
And made her famous, more then is believed;
Ne would I it have ween’d, had I not late it prieved.”
“Now sure,” (said he) “and by the faith that I
To Maydenhead and noble knighthood owe,
I will not rest till I her might doe trie,
And venge the shame that she to Knights doth show.
Therefore, Sir Terpin, from you lightly throw
This squalid weede, the patterne of dispaire,
And wend with me, that ye may see and know
How Fortune will your ruin’d name repaire
And knights of Maidenhead, whose praise she would empaire.”
With that, like one that hopelesse was depryv’d
From deathes dore at which he lately lay,
Those yron fetters wherewith he was gyv’d,
The badges of reproch, he threw away,
And nimbly did him dight to guide the way
Unto the dwelling of that Amazone:
Which was from thence not past a mile or tway,
A goodly citty and a mighty one,
The which, of her owne name, she called Radegone.
Where they arriving by the watchman were
Descried streight; who all the city warned
How that
