As sundry chaunge her seemed best to ease.
Ne lesse did Talus suffer sleepe to seaze
His eyelids sad, but watcht continually,
Lying without her dore in great disease:
Like to a Spaniell wayting carefully
Least any should betray his Lady treacherously.
What time the native Belman of the night,
The bird that warned Peter of his fall,
First rings his silver Bell t’each sleepy wight,
That should their mindes up to devotion call,
She heard a wondrous noise below the hall:
All sodainely the bed, where she should lie,
By a false trap was let adowne to fall
Into a lower roome, and by and by
The loft was raysd againe, that no man could it spie.
With sight whereof she was dismayd right sore,
Perceiving well the treason which was ment;
Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more,
But kept her place with courage confident,
Wayting what would ensue of that event.
It was not long before she heard the sound
Of armed men comming with close intent
Towards her chamber; at which dreadfull stound
She quickly caught her sword, and shield about her bound.
With that there came unto her chamber dore
Two Knights all armed ready for to fight;
And after them full many other more,
A raskall rout, with weapons rudely dight:
Whom soone as Talus spide by glims of night,
He started up, there where on ground he lay,
And in his hand his thresher ready keight.
They seeing that let drive at him streightway,
And round about him preace in riotous aray.
But, soone as he began to lay about
With his rude yron flaile, they gan to flie,
Both armed Knights and eke unarmed rout;
Yet Talus after them apace did plie,
Where ever in the darke he could them spie,
That here and there like scattred sheepe they lay:
Then, backe returning where his Dame did lie,
He to her told the story of that fray,
And all that treason there intended did bewray.
Wherewith though wondrous wroth, and inly burning
To be avenged for so fowle a deede,
Yet being forst to abide the daies returning,
She there remain’d; but with right wary heede,
Least any more such practise should proceede.
Now mote ye know (that which to Britomart
Unknowen was) whence all this did proceede;
And for what cause so great mischievous smart
Was meant to her that never evill ment in hart.
The goodman of this house was Dolon hight;
A man of subtill wit and wicked minde,
That whilome in his youth had bene a Knight,
And armes had borne, but little good could finde,
And much lesse honour by that warlike kinde
Of life: for he was nothing valorous,
But with slie shiftes and wiles did underminde
All noble Knights, which were adventurous,
And many brought to shame by treason treacherous.
He had three sonnes, all three like fathers sonnes,
Like treacherous, like full of fraud and guile,
Of all that on this earthly compasse wonnes;
The eldest of the which was slaine erewhile
By Artegall, through his owne guilty wile:
His name was Guizor; whose untimely fate
For to avenge, full many treasons vile
His father Dolon had deviz’d of late
With these his wicked sons, and shewd his cankred hate.
For sure he weend that this his present guest
Was Artegall, by many tokens plaine;
But chiefly by that yron page he ghest,
Which still was wont with Artegall remaine;
And therefore ment him surely to have slaine:
But by Gods grace, and her good heedinesse,
She was preserved from their traytrous traine.
Thus she all night wore out in watchfulnesse,
Ne suffred slothfull sleepe her eyelids to oppresse.
The morrow next, so soone as dawning houre
Discovered had the light to living eye,
She forth yssew’d out of her loathed bowre,
With full intent t’avenge that villany
On that vilde man and all his family;
And, comming down to seeke them where they wond,
Nor sire, nor sonnes, not any could she spie:
Each rowme she sought, but them all empty fond.
They all were fled for feare; but whether, nether kond.
She saw it vaine to make there lenger stay,
But tooke her steede; and thereon mounting light
Gan her addresse unto her former way.
She had not rid the mountenance of a flight,
But that she saw there present in her sight
Those two false brethren on that perillous Bridge,
On which Pollente with Artegall did fight.
Streight was the passage, like a ploughed ridge,
That, if two met, the one mote needes fall over the lidge.
There they did thinke them selves on her to wreake;
Who as she nigh unto them drew, the one
These vile reproches gan unto her speake:
“Thou recreant false traytor, that with lone
Of armes hast knighthood stolne, yet Knight art none,
No more shall now the darkenesse of the night
Defend thee from the vengeance of thy fone;
But with thy bloud thou shalt appease the spright
Of Guizor by thee slaine, and murdred by thy slight.”
Strange were the words in Britomartis eare,
Yet stayd she not for them, but forward fared,
Till to the perillous Bridge she came; and there
Talus desir’d that he might have prepared
The way to her, and those two losels scared;
But she thereat was wroth, that for despight
The glauncing sparkles through her bever glared,
And from her eies did flash out fiery light,
Like coles that through a silver Censer sparkle bright.
She stayd not to advise which way to take,
But putting spurres unto her fiery beast,
Thorough the midst of them she way did make.
The one of them, which most her wrath increast,
Uppon her speare she bore before her breast,
Till to the Bridges further end she past;
Where falling downe his challenge he releast:
The other over side the Bridge she cast
Into the river, where he drunke his deadly last.
As when the flashing Levin haps to light
Uppon two stubborne oakes, which stand so neare
That way betwixt them none appeares in sight;
The Engin, fiercely flying forth, doth teare
Th’one
