Saves Sérena, whilest Calepine
By Turpine is opprest.
True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd
As by his manners; in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne:
For seldome seene a trotting Stalion get
An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne:
So seldome seene that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew with curteous manners met.
But evermore contrary hath bene tryde,
That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed;
As well may be in Calidore descryde,
By late ensample of that courteous deed
Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought
Unto the Castle where they had decreed:
There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,
To make abode that night he greatly was besought.
He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,
That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares;
But now weake age had dimd his candle-light:
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,
And loved all that did to armes incline;
And was the Father of that wounded Knight,
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine;
And Aldus was his name; and his sonnes, Aladine.
Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a beare
By a faire Lady and a straunger Knight,
Was inly touched with compassion deare,
And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,
That he these words burst forth: “Ah, sory boy!
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aie me! is this the timely joy,
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy?
“Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope,
So tickle is the state of earthly things,
That, ere they come unto their aymed scope,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,
Instead of comfort which we should embrace:
This is the state of Keasars and of Kings!
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case.”
So well and wisely did that good old Knight
Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,
To cheare his guests whom he had stayd that night,
And make their welcome to them well appeare.
That to Sir Calidore was easie geare;
But that faire Lady would be cheard for nought,
But sigh’d and sorrow’d for her lover deare,
And inly did afflict her pensive thought
With thinking to what case her name should now be brought:
For she was daughter to a noble Lord
Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy
To a great pere; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to his love apply,
But lov’d this fresh young Knight who dwelt her ny,
The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne
And of lesse livelood and hability,
Yet full of valour the which did adorne
His meanesse much, and make her th’others riches scorne.
So, having both found fit occasion,
They met together in that lucklesse glade;
Where that proud Knight in his presumption
The gentle Aladine did earst invade,
Being unarm’d and set in secret shade.
Whereof she now bethinking, gan t’advize
How great a hazard she at earst had made
Of her good fame; and further gan devize
How she the blame might salve with coloured disguize.
But Calidore with all good courtesie
Fain’d her to frolicke, and to put away
The pensive fit of her melancholie;
And that old Knight by all meanes did assay
To make them both as merry as he may.
So they the evening past till time of rest;
When Calidore in seemly good array
Unto his bowre was brought, and there undrest
Did sleepe all night through weary travell of his quest.
But faire Priscilla (so that Lady hight)
Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
But by her wounded love did watch all night,
And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,
And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe:
So well she washt them, and so well she wacht him,
That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe
He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him,
And drove away the stound which mortally attacht him.
The morrow next, when day gan to uplooke,
He also gan uplooke with drery eye,
Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:
Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by,
He deepely sigh’d, and groaned inwardly,
To thinke of this ill state in which she stood;
To which she for his sake had weetingly
Now brought her selfe, and blam’d her noble blood:
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.
Which she perceiving did with plenteous teares
His care more then her owne compassionate,
rorgethill of her owne to mmde his feares:
So both conspiring gan to intimate
Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast
How to save hole her hazarded estate;
For which the onely helpe now left them last
Seem’d to be Calidore: all other helpes were past.
Him they did deeme, as sure to them he seemed,
A courteous Knight and full of faithfull trust;
Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed
Whole to commit, and to his dealing just.
Earely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust
Through the thicke clouds in which they steeped lay
All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust,
Calidore rising up as fresh as day
Gan freshly him addresse unto his former way.
But first him seemed fit that wounded Knight
To visite, after this nights perillous passe,
And to salute him, if he were in plight,
And eke that Lady, his faire lovely lasse.
There he him found much better then he was;
And moved speach to him of things of course,
The anguish of his paine to overpasse:
Mongst which he namely did to him discourse
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes
