Of warres delight and worlds contentious toyle,
The name of knighthood he did disavow;
And, hanging up his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle.
He thence them led into his Hermitage,
Letting their steedes to graze upon the greene.
Small was his house, and like a little cage,
For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers gay beseene:
Therein he them full faire did entertaine
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
For courting fooles that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearaunce plaine.
Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
Did use his feeble body to sustaine,
The which full gladly they did take in gree,
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But being well suffiz’d them rested faine.
But fair Serene all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle Squire, for grievous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast
Had given them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast.
So all that night they past in great disease,
Till that the morning, bringing earely light
To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
And some asswagement of their painefull plight.
Then up they rose, and gan them selves to dight
Unto their journey; but that Squire and Dame
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might
Endure to travell, nor one foote to frame:
Their hearts were sicke; their sides were sore; their feete were lame.
Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in mynd
Would not permit to make there lenger stay,
Was forced there to leave them both behynd
In that good Hermits charge; whom he did pray
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,
And with him eke the salvage, (that whyleare
Seeing his royall usage and array
Was greatly growne in love of that brave pere,)
Would needes depart; as shall declared be elsewhere.
Canto VI
The Hermit heales both Squire and Dame
Of their sore maladies:
He Turpine doth defeate and shame
For his late villenies.
No wound, which warlike hand of enemy
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light
As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:
For by no art, nor any leaches might,
It ever can recured be againe;
Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright
Of Podalyrius did in it retaine,
Can remedy such hurts: such hurts are hellish paine.
Such were the wounds the which that Blatant Beast
Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame;
And, being such, were now much more increast
For want of taking heede unto the same,
That now corrupt and curelesse they became:
Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best,
With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame
The poysnous humour which did most infest
Their ranckling wounds, and every day them duely drest.
For he right well in Leaches craft was seene;
And through the long experience of his dayes,
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene
And past through many perillous assayes,
He knew the diverse went of mortall wayes,
And in the mindes of men had great insight;
Which with sage counsell, when they went astray,
He could enforme, and them reduce aright,
And all the passions heale which wound the weaker spright.
For whylome he had bene a doughty Knight,
As any one that lived in his daies,
And proved oft in many perillous fight,
Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies,
And in all battels bore away the baies:
But being now attacht with timely age,
And weary of this worlds unquiet waies,
He tooke him selfe unto this Hermitage,
In which he liv’d alone, like carelesse bird in cage.
One day, as he was searching of their wounds,
He found that they had festred privily;
And ranckling inward with unruly stounds,
The inner parts now gan to putrify,
That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery;
And rather needed to be disciplinde
With holesome reede of sad sobriety,
To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde:
Give salves to every sore, but counsell to the minde.
So, taking them apart into his cell,
He to that point fit speaches gan to frame,
As he the art of words knew wondrous well,
And eke could doe as well as say the same;
And thus he to them sayd: “Faire daughter Dame,
And you, faire Sonne, which here thus long now lie
In piteous languor since ye hither came,
In vaine of me ye hope for remedie,
And I likewise in vaine doe salves to you applie:
“For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie
To heale your selves, and must proceed alone
From your owne will to cure your maladie.
Who can him cure that will be cur’d of none?
If therefore health ye seeke, observe this one:
First learne your outward senses to refraine
From things that stirre up fraile affection;
Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk restraine
From that they most affect, and in due termes containe.
“For from those outward sences, ill affected,
The seede of all this evill first doth spring,
Which at the first, before it had infected,
Mote easie be supprest with little thing;
But being growen strong it forth doth bring
Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine,
In th’inner parts; and lastly, scattering
Contagious poyson close through every vaine,
It never rests till it have wrought his finall bane.
“For that beastes teeth, which wounded you tofore,
Are so exceeding venemous and keene,
Made all of rusty yron ranckling sore,
That where they bite it booteth not to weene
With salve, or antidote, or other mene,
It ever to amend: ne marvaile ought,
For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,
And long in darksome Stygian den upbrought,
Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is taught.
“Echidna is a Monster direfull dred,
Whom Gods doe hate, and heavens abhor to see;
So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed,
That even the hellish fiends affrighted bee
At sight
