And never to be recreant for feare
Of perill, or of ought that might befall:
So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.
Full glad and joyous then young Tristram grew;
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaves small
Long shut up in the bud from heavens vew,
At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew.
Thus when they lone had treated to and fro,
And Calidore betooke him to depart,
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him might goe
On his adventure, vowing not to start,
But wayt on him in every place and part:
Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,
And greatly joy’d at his so noble hart,
In hope he sure would prove a doughtie knight:
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.
“Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire,
To have thy presence in my present quest,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest;
But I am bound by vow, which I profest
To my dread Soveraine, when I it assayd,
That in atchievement of her high behest
I should no creature joyne unto mine ayde:
Forthy I may not graunt that ye so greatly prayde.
“But since this Ladie is all desolate,
And needeth safegard now upon her way,
Ye may doe well, in this her needfull state,
To succour her from daunger of dismay,
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.”
The noble ympe, of such new service fayne,
It gladly did accept, as he did say:
So taking courteous leave they parted twayne,
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.
But Tristram, then despoyling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight
Of the bright mettall shyning like Sunne rayes,
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes:
And, after having them upon him dight,
He tooke that Ladie, and her up did rayse
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight;
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.
There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore;
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile,
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore
Another knight in his despiteous pryde:
There he that knight found lying on the flore
With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill dyde.
And there beside him sate upon the ground
His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most unluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning,
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning.
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew
With heavie eyne, from teares uneath refrayning,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.
Then speaking to the Ladie thus he said:
“Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight unarm’d with so unknightly breach
Of armes, that, if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may avenge him of so foule despight.”
The Ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heavie words forth sight:
In which she shew’d, how that discourteous knight,
(Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found
Joying together in unblam’d delight;
And him unarm’d, as now he lay on ground,
Charg’d with his speare, and mortally did wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
From him to whom she was for ever bound:
Yet when she fled into that covert greave,
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leave.
When Calidore this ruefull storie had
Well understood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.
She then, like as she best could understand,
Him thus describ’d; to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A Ladie on rough waves row’d in a sommer barge.
Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streightway,
By many signes which she described had,
That this was he whom Tristram earst did slay,
And to her said: “Dame, be no longer sad;
For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad,
Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight:
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to your selfe he wrought and to your loved knight.
“Therefore, faire Lady, lay aside this griefe,
Which ye have gathered to your gentle hart
For that displeasure, and thinke what reliefe
Were best devise for this your lovers smart;
And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Convay to be recur’d.” She thankt him deare
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did beare
Both to her love and to her selfe in that sad dreare.
Yet could she not devise by any wit,
How thence she might convay him to some place;
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case;
And him to beare she thought it thing too base.
Which when as he perceiv’d he thus bespake:
“Faire Lady, let it not you seeme disgrace
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe.”
So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare;
And powring balme, which he had long purvayd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did beare,
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne.
Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,
In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:
Where what ensu’d shall in next Canto be begonne.
Canto III
Calidore brings Priscilla home;
