“That ever I did live this day to see,
This dismall day, and was not dead before,
Before I saw faire Pastorella dye.”
“Die? out alas!” then Calidore did cry,
“How could the death dare ever her to quell?
But read thou, shepheard, read what destiny
Or other dyrefull hap from heaven or hell
Hath wrought this wicked deed: doe feare away, and tell.”
Tho, when the Shepheard breathed had awhile,
He thus began: “Where shall I then commence
This wofull tale? or how those Brigants vyle,
With cruell rage and dreadfull violence,
Spoyld all our cots, and caried us from hence;
Or how faire Pastorell should have bene sold
To marchants, but was sav’d with strong defence;
Or how those theeves, whilest one sought her to hold,
Fell all at ods, and fought through fury fierce and bold.
“In that same conflict (woe is me!) befell
This fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident,
Whose heavy tydings now I have to tell.
First all the captives, which they here had hent,
Were by them slaine by generall consent:
Old Melibœ and his good wife withall
These eyes saw die, and dearely did lament;
But, when the lot to Pastorell did fall,
Their Captaine long withstood, and did her death forstall.
“But what could he gainst all them doe alone?
It could not boot: needs mote she die at last.
I onely scapt through great confusione
Of cryes and clamors which amongst them past,
In dreadfull darknesse dreadfully aghast;
That better were with them to have bene dead,
Then here to see all desolate and wast,
Despoyled of those joyes and jolly-head,
Which with those gentle shepherds here I wont to lead.”
When Calidore these ruefull newes had raught,
His hart quite deaded was with anguish great,
And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught,
That he his face, his head, his brest did beat,
And death it selfe unto himselfe did threat;
Oft cursing th’heavens, that so cruell were
To her, whose name he often did repeat;
And wishing oft that he were present there
When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour nere.
But after griefe awhile had had his course,
And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last
Began to mitigate his swelling sourse,
And in his mind with better reason cast
How he might save her life, if life did last;
Or, if that dead, how he her death might wreake,
Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;
Or if it to revenge he were too weake,
Then for to die with her, and his lives threed to breake.
Tho Coridon he prayd, sith he well knew
The readie way unto that theevish wonne,
To wend with him, and be his conduct trew
Unto the place, to see what should be donne;
But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne,
Would not for ought be drawne to former drede,
But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne:
Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed,
And faire bespoke with words, that he at last agreed.
So forth they goe together (God before)
Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,
And both with shepheards hookes: But Calidore
Had, underneath, him armed privily.
Tho, to the place when they approched nye,
They chaunst, upon an hill not farre away,
Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy;
To whom they both agreed to take their way,
In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best assay.
There did they find, that which they did not feare,
The selfe same flocks the which those theeves had reft
From Melibce and from themselves whyleare;
And certaine of the theeves there by them left,
The which, for want of beards, themselves then kept.
Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe,
And seeing them for tender pittie wept;
But when he saw the theeves which did them keepe,
His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe.
But Calidore recomforting his griefe,
Though not his feare, for nought may feare disswade,
Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe
Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade,
Whom Coridon him counseld to invade
Now all unwares, and take the spoyle away;
But he, that in his mind had closely made
A further purpose, would not so them slay,
But gently waking them gave them the time of day.
Tho, sitting downe by them upon the greene,
Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine,
That he by them might certaine tydings weene
Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine:
Mongst which the theeves them questioned againe,
What mister men, and eke from whence they were:
To whom they aunswer’d, as did appertaine,
That they were poore heardgroomes, the which whylere
Had from their maisters fled, and now sought hyre elswhere.
Whereof right glad they seem’d, and offer made
To hyre them well if they their flockes would keepe;
For they themselves were evill groomes, they sayd,
Unwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe,
But to forray the land, or secure the deepe.
Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke
To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe,
For they for better hyre did shortly looke:
So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke.
Tho, when as towards darksome night it drew,
Unto their hellish dens those theeves them brought;
Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew,
And all the secrets of their entrayles sought.
There did they find, contrarie to their thought,
That Pastorell yet liv’d; but all the rest
Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught:
Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,
But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most possest.
At length, when they occasion fittest found,
In dead of night, when all the theeves did rest,
After a late forray, and slept full sound,
Sir Calidore him arm’d as he thought best,
Having of late by diligent inquest
Provided him a sword of meanest sort;
With which he streight went to the Captaines nest:
But Coridon durst not with him consort,
Ne durst abide behind, for dread
