Boldly him bad such injurie forbeare;
For that same mayd, how ever it him greeves,
Should with the rest be sold before him theare,
To make the prises of the rest more deare.
That with great rage he stoutly doth denay;
And, fiercely drawing forth his blade, doth sweare
That who so hardie hand on her doth lay,
It dearely shall aby, and death for handsell pay.
Thus, as they words amongst them multiply,
They fall to strokes, the frute of too much talke,
And the mad steele about doth fiercely fly,
Not sparing wight, ne leaving any balke,
But making way for death at large to walke;
Who, in the horror of the griesly night,
In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst them stalke,
And makes huge havocke; whiles the candle-light
Out quenched leaves no skill nor difference of wight.
Like a sort of hungry dogs, ymet
About some carcase by the common way,
Doe fall together, stryving each to get
The greatest portion of the greedie pray,
All on confused heapes themselves assay,
And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, and teare;
That who them sees would wonder at their fray,
And who sees not would be affrayd to heare:
Such was the conflict of those cruell Brigants there.
But first of all their captives they doe kill,
Least they should joyne against the weaker side,
Or rise against the remnant at their will:
Old Meliboe is slaine; and him beside
His aged wife, with many others wide;
But Coridon, escaping craftily,
Creepes forth of dores, whilst darknes him doth hide,
And flyes away as fast as he can hye,
Ne stayeth leave to take before his friends doe dye.
But Pastorella, wofull wretched Elfe,
Was by the Captaine all this while defended,
Who, minding more her safety then himselfe,
His target alwayes over her pretended;
By means whereof, that mote not be amended,
He at the length was slaine and layd on ground,
Yet holding fast twixt both his armes extended
Fayre Pastorell, who, with the selfe same wound
Launcht through the arme, fell down with him in drerie swound.
There lay she covered with confused preasse
Of carcases, which dying on her fell.
Tho, when as he was dead, the fray gan ceasse;
And each to other calling did compell
To stay their cruell hands from slaughter fell,
Sith they that were the cause of all were gone:
Thereto they all attonce agreed well;
And, lighting candles new, gan search anone,
How many of their friends were slaine, how many fone.
Their Captaine there they cruelly found kild,
And in his armes the dreary dying mayd,
Like a sweet Angell twixt two clouds uphild;
Her lovely light was dimmed and decayd
With cloud of death upon her eyes displayd;
Yet did the cloud make even that dimmed light
Seeme much more lovely in that darknesse layd,
And twixt the twinckling of her eyelids bright
To sparke out litle beames, like starres in foggie night.
But when they mov’d the carcases aside,
They found that life did yet in her remaine:
Then all their helpes they busily applyde
To call the soule backe to her home againe;
And wrought so well, with labour and long paine,
That they to life recovered her at last:
Who, sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine
Had riven bene and all her hartstrings brast,
With drearie drouping eyne lookt up like one aghast.
There she beheld, that sore her griev’d to see,
Her father and her friends about her lying,
Her selfe sole left a second spoyle to bee
Of those, that, having saved her from dying,
Renew’d her death by timely death denying.
What now is left her but to wayle and weepe,
Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud crying?
Ne cared she her wound in teares to steepe,
Albe with all their might those Brigants her did keepe.
But when they saw her now reliv’d againe,
They left her so, in charge of one, the best
Of many worst, who with unkind disdaine
And cruell rigour her did much molest;
Scarse yeelding her due food or timely rest,
And scarsely suffring her infestred wound,
That sore her payn’d, by any to be drest.
So leave we her in wretched thraldome bound,
And turne we backe to Calidore where we him found.
Who when he backe returned from the wood,
And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled quight,
And his love reft away, he wexed wood
And halfe enraged at that ruefull sight;
That even his hart, for very fell despight,
And his owne flesh he readie was to teare:
He chauft, he griev’d, he fretted, and he sight,
And fared like a furious wyld Beare,
Whose whelpes are stolne away, she being otherwhere.
Ne wight he found to whom he might complaine,
Ne wight he found of whom he might inquire,
That more increast the anguish of his paine:
He sought the woods, but no man could see there;
He sought the plaines, but could no tydings heare:
The woods did nought but ecchoes vaine rebound;
The playnes all waste and emptie did appeare;
Where wont the shepheards oft their pypes resound,
And feed an hundred flocks, there now not one he found.
At last, as there he romed up and downe,
He chaunst one comming towards him to spy,
That seem’d to be some sorie simple clowne,
With ragged weedes, and lockes upstaring hye,
As if he did from some late daunger fly,
And yet his feare did follow him behynd:
Who as he unto him approched nye,
He mote perceive by signes which he did fynd,
That Coridon it was, the silly shepherds hynd.
Tho, to him running fast, he did not stay
To greet him first, but askt where were the rest?
Where Pastorell?—Who full of fresh dismay,
And gushing forth in teares, was so opprest,
That he no word could speake, but smit his brest,
And up to heaven his eyes fast-streming threw:
Whereat the knight amaz’d yet did not rest,
But askt againe, what ment that rufull hew:
Where was his Pastorell? where all the other crew?
“Ah,
