Fourth Book

Satan his fiends and spirits assembleth all,And sends them forth to work the Christians woe,False Hidraort their aid from hell doth call,And sends Armida to entrap his foe:She tells her birth, her fortune, and her fall,Asks aid, allures and wins the worthies soThat they consent her enterprise to prove;She wins them with deceit, craft, beauty, love.

While thus their work went on with lucky speed,And reared rams their horned fronts advance,The Ancient Foe to man, and mortal seed,His wannish eyes upon them bent askance;And when he saw their labors well succeed,He wept for rage, and threatened dire mischance.He choked his curses, to himself he spake,Such noise wild bulls that softly bellow make.

At last resolving in his damned thoughtTo find some let to stop their warlike feat,He gave command his princes should be broughtBefore the throne of his infernal seat.O fool! as if it were a thing of naughtGod to resist, or change his purpose great,Who on his foes doth thunder in his ire,Whose arrows hailstones he and coals of fire.

The dreary trumpet blew a dreadful blast,And rumbled through the lands and kingdoms under,Through wasteness wide it roared, and hollows vast,And filled the deep with horror, fear and wonder,Not half so dreadful noise the tempests cast,That fall from skies with storms of hail and thunder,Not half so loud the whistling winds do sing,Broke from the earthen prisons of their King.

The peers of Pluto’s realm assembled beenAmid the palace of their angry King,In hideous forms and shapes, tofore unseen,That fear, death, terror and amazement bring,With ugly paws some trample on the green,Some gnaw the snakes that on their shoulders hing,And some their forked tails stretch forth on high,And tear the twinkling stars from trembling sky.

There were Silenus’ foul and loathsome route,There Sphinxes, Centaurs, there were Gorgons fell,There howling Scillas, yawling round about,There serpents hiss, there seven-mouthed Hydras yell,Chimera there spues fire and brimstone out,And Polyphemus blind supporteth hell,Besides ten thousand monsters therein dwellsMisshaped, unlike themselves, and like naught else.

About their princes each took his wonted seatOn thrones red-hot, ybuilt of burning brass,Pluto in middest heaved his trident great,Of rusty iron huge that forged was,The rocks on which the salt sea billows beat,And Atlas’ tops, the clouds in height that pass,Compared to his huge person mole-hills be,So his rough front, his horns so lifted he.

The tyrant proud frowned from his lofty cell,And with his looks made all his monsters tremble,His eyes, that full of rage and venom swell,Two beacons seem, that men to arms assemble,His feltered locks, that on his bosom fell,On rugged mountains briars and thorns resemble,His yawning mouth, that foamed clotted blood,Gaped like a whirlpool wide in Stygian flood.

And as Mount Etna vomits sulphur out,With cliffs of burning crags, and fire and smoke,So from his mouth flew kindled coals about,Hot sparks and smells that man and beast would choke,The gnarring porter durst not whine for doubt;Still were the Furies, while their sovereign spoke,And swift Cocytus stayed his murmur shrill,While thus the murderer thundered out his will:

“Ye powers infernal, worthier far to sitAbout the sun, whence you your offspring take,With me that whilom, through the welkin flit,Down tumbled headlong to this empty lake;Our former glory still remember it,Our bold attempts and war we once did makeGainst him, that rules above the starry sphere,For which like traitors we lie damned here.

“And now instead of clear and gladsome sky,Of Titan’s brightness, that so glorious is,In this deep darkness lo we helpless lie,Hopeless again to joy our former bliss,And more, which makes my griefs to multiply,That sinful creature man, elected is;And in our place the heavens possess he must,Vile man, begot of clay, and born of dust.

“Nor this sufficed, but that he also gaveHis only Son, his darling to be slain,To conquer so, hell, death, sin and the grave,And man condemned to restore again,He brake our prisons and would algates saveThe souls there here should dwell in woe and pain,And now in heaven with him they live alwaysWith endless glory crowned, and lasting praise.

“But why recount I thus our passed harms?Remembrance fresh makes weakened sorrows strong,Expulsed were we with injurious armsFrom those due honors, us of right belong.But let us leave to speak of these alarms,And bend our forces gainst our present wrong:Ah! see you not, how he attempted hathTo bring all lands, all nations to his faith?

“Then, let us careless spend the day and night,Without regard what haps, what comes or goes,Let Asia subject be to Christians’ might,A prey he Sion to her conquering foes,Let her adore again her Christ aright,Who her before all nations whilom chose;In brazen tables he his lore ywrit,And let all tongues and lands acknowledge it.

“So shall our sacred altars all be his,Our holy idols tumbled in the mould,To him the wretched man that sinful isShall pray, and offer incense, myrrh and gold;Our temples shall their costly deckings miss,With naked walls and pillars freezing cold,Tribute of souls shall end, and our estate,Or Pluto reign in kingdoms desolate.

“Oh, he not then the courage perished clean,That whilom dwelt within your haughty thought,When, armed with shining fire and weapons keen,Against the angels of proud Heaven we fought,I grant we fell on the Phlegrean green,Yet good our cause was, though our fortune naught;For chance assisteth oft the ignobler part,We lost the field, yet lost we not our heart.

“Go then, my strength, my hope, my Spirits go,These western rebels with your power withstand,Pluck up these weeds, before they overgrowThe gentle garden of the Hebrews’ land,Quench out this spark, before it kindles soThat Asia burn, consumed with the brand.Use open force, or secret guile unspied;For craft is virtue gainst a foe defied.

“Among the knights and worthies of their train,Let some like outlaws wander uncouth ways,Let some be slain in field, let some againMake oracles of women’s yeas and nays,And pine in foolish love, let some complainOn Godfrey’s rule, and mutinies gainst him raise,Turn each one’s sword against his fellow’s heart,Thus kill them all or spoil the greatest part.”

Before his words the tyrant ended had,The lesser devils arose with ghastly roar,And thronged forth about the world to gad,Each land they filled, river, stream and shore,The goblins, fairies, fiends and furies mad,Ranged in flowery dales, and mountains hoar,And under every trembling leaf they sit,Between the solid earth and welkin flit.

About the world they spread forth far and wide,Filling the thoughts of each ungodly heartWith secret mischief, anger, hate and pride,Wounding lost souls with sin’s empoisoned dart.But say, my Muse, recount whence first they triedTo hurt the Christian lords, and from what part,Thou knowest of things performed so long agone,This latter age hears little truth or none.

The town Damascus and the lands aboutRuled Hidraort, a wizard grave and sage,Acquainted well with all the damned routOf Pluto’s reign, even from his tender age;Yet of this war he could not figure outThe wished ending, or success presage,For neither stars above, nor powers of hell,Nor skill, nor art, nor charm, nor devil could tell.

And yet he thought,—Oh, vain conceit of man,Which as thou wishest judgest things to come!—That the French host to sure destruction ran,Condemned quite by Heaven’s eternal doom:He thinks no force withstand or vanquish canThe Egyptian strength, and therefore would that someBoth of the prey and glory of the fightUpon this Syrian folk would haply light.

But for he held the Frenchmen’s worth in prize,And feared the doubtful gain of bloody war,He, that was closely false and slyly war,Cast how he might annoy them most from far:And as he gan upon this point devise,—As counsellors in ill still nearest are,—At hand was Satan, ready ere men need,If once they think, to make them do, the deed.

He counselled him how best to hunt his game,What dart to cast, what net, what toil to pitch,A niece he had, a nice and tender dame,Peerless in wit, in nature’s blessings rich,To all deceit she could her beauty frame,False, fair and young, a virgin and a witch;To her he told the sum of this emprise,And praised her thus, for she was fair and wise:

“My dear, who underneath these locks of gold,And native brightness of thy lovely hue,Hidest grave thoughts, ripe wit, and wisdom old,More skill than I, in all mine arts untrue,To thee my purpose great I must unfold,This enterprise thy cunning must pursue,Weave thou to end this web which I begin,I will the distaff hold, come thou and spin.

“Go to the Christians’ host, and there assayAll subtle sleights that women use in love,Shed brinish tears, sob, sigh, entreat and pray,Wring thy fair hands, cast up thine eyes above,For mourning beauty hath much power, men say,The stubborn hearts with pity frail to move;Look pale for dread, and blush sometime for shame,In seeming truth thy lies will soonest frame.

“Take with the bait Lord Godfrey, if thou may’st;Frame snares of look, strains of alluring speech;For if he love, the conquest then thou hast,Thus purposed war thou may’st with ease impeach,Else lead the other Lords to deserts waste,And hold them slaves far from their leader’s reach:”Thus taught he her, and for conclusion, saith,“All things are lawful for our lands and faith.”

The sweet Armida took this charge on hand,A tender piece, for beauty, sex and age,The sun was sunken underneath the land,When she began her wanton pilgrimage,In silken weeds she trusteth to withstand,And conquer knights in warlike equipage,Of their night ambling dame the Syrians prated,Some good, some bad, as they her loved or hated.

Within few days the nymph arrived thereWhere puissant Godfrey had his tents ypight;Upon her strange attire, and visage clear,Gazed each soldier, gazed every knight:As when a comet doth in skies appear,The people stand amazed at the light;So wondered they and each at other sought,What mister wight she was, and whence ybrought.

Yet never eye to Cupid’s service vowedBeheld a face of such a lovely pride;A tinsel veil her amber locks did shroud,That strove to cover what it could not hide,The golden sun behind a silver cloud,So streameth out his beams on every side,The marble goddess, set at Cnidos, nakedShe seemed, were she unclothed, or that awaked.

The gamesome wind among her tresses plays,And curleth up those growing riches short;Her spareful eye to spread his beams denays,But keeps his shot where Cupid keeps his fort;The rose and lily on her cheek assaysTo paint true fairness out in bravest sort,Her lips, where blooms naught but the single rose,Still blush, for still they kiss while still they close.

Her breasts, two hills o’erspread with purest snow,Sweet, smooth and supple, soft and gently swelling,Between them lies a milken dale below,Where love, youth, gladness, whiteness make their dwelling,Her breasts half hid, and half were laid to show,So was the wanton clad, as if this muchShould please the eye, the rest unseen, the touch.

As when the sunbeams dive through Tagus’ wave,To spy the store-house of his springtime gold,Love-piercing thought so through her mantle drave,And in her gentle bosom wandered bold;It viewed the wondrous beauty virgins have,And all to fond desire with vantage told,Alas! what hope is left, to quench his fireThat kindled is by sight, blown by desire.

Thus passed she, praised, wished, and wondered at,Among the troops who there encamped lay,She smiled for joy, but well dissembled that,Her greedy eye chose out her wished prey;On all her gestures seeming virtue sat,Toward the imperial tent she asked the way:With that she met a bold and lovesome knight,Lord Godfrey’s youngest brother, Eustace hight.

This was the fowl that first fell in the snare,He saw her fair, and hoped to find her kind;The throne of Cupid had an easy stair,His bark is fit to sail with every wind,The breach he makes no wisdom can repair:With reverence meet the baron low inclined,And thus his purpose to the virgin told,For youth, use, nature, all had made him bold.

“Lady, if thee beseem a stile so low,In whose sweet looks such sacred beauty shine,—For never yet did Heaven such grace bestowOn any daughter born of Adam’s line—Thy name let us, though far unworthy, know,Unfold thy will, and whence thou art in fine,Lest my audacious boldness learn too lateWhat honors due become thy high estate.”

“Sir Knight,” quoth she, “your praises reach too highAbove her merit you commenden so,A hapless maid I am, both born to dieAnd dead to joy, that live in care and woe,A virgin helpless, fugitive pardie,My native soil and kingdom thus foregoTo seek Duke Godfrey’s aid, such store men tellOf virtuous ruth doth in his bosom dwell.

“Conduct me then that mighty duke before,If you be courteous, sir, as well you seem.”“Content,” quoth he, “since of one womb ybore,We brothers are, your fortune good esteemTo encounter me whose word prevaileth moreIn Godfrey’s hearing than you haply deem:Mine aid I grant, and his I promise too,All that his sceptre, or my sword, can do.”

He led her easily forth when this was said,Where Godfrey sat among his lords and peers,She reverence did, then blushed, as one dismayedTo speak, for secret wants and inward fears,It seemed a bashful shame her speeches stayed,At last the courteous duke her gently cheers;Silence was made, and she began her tale,They sit to hear, thus sung this nightingale:

“Victorious prince, whose honorable nameIs held so great among our Pagan kings,That to those lands thou dost by conquest tameThat thou hast won them some content it brings;Well known to all is thy immortal fame,The earth, thy worth, thy foe, thy praises sings,And Paynims wronged come to seek thine aid,So doth thy virtue, so thy power persuade.

“And I though bred in Macon’s heathenish lore,Which thou oppressest with thy puissant might,Yet trust thou wilt an helpless maid restore,And repossess her in her father’s right:Others in their distress do aid imploreOf kin and friends; but I in this sad plightInvoke thy help, my kingdom to invade,So doth thy virtue, so my need persuade.

“In thee I hope, thy succors I invoke,To win the crown whence I am dispossest;For like renown awaiteth on the strokeTo cast the haughty down or raise the opprest;Nor greater glory brings a sceptre broke,Than doth deliverance of a maid distrest;And since thou canst at will perform the thing,More is thy praise to make, than kill a king.

“But if thou would’st thy succors due excuse,Because in Christ I have no hope nor trust,Ah yet for virtue’s sake, thy virtue use!Who scorneth gold because it lies in dust?Be witness Heaven, if thou to grant refuse,Thou dost forsake a maid in cause most just,And for thou shalt at large my fortunes know,I will my wrongs and their great treasons show.

“Prince Arbilan that reigned in his lifeOn fair Damascus, was my noble sire,Born of mean race he was, yet got to wifeThe Queen Chariclia, such was the fireOf her hot love, but soon the fatal knifeHad cut the thread that kept their joys entire,For so mishap her cruel lot had cast,My birth, her death; my first day, was her last.

“And ere five years were fully come and goneSince his dear spouse to hasty death did yield,My father also died, consumed with moan,And sought his love amid the Elysian fields,His crown and me, poor orphan, left alone,Mine uncle governed in my tender eild;For well he thought, if mortal men have faith,In brother’s breast true love his mansion hath.

“He took the charge of me and of the crown,And with kind shows of love so brought to passThat through Damascus great report was blownHow good, how just, how kind mine uncle was;Whether he kept his wicked hate unknownAnd hid the serpent in the flowering grass,On that true faith did in his bosom won,Because he meant to match me with his son.

“Which son, within short while, did undertakeDegree of knighthood, as beseemed him well,Yet never durst he for his lady’s sakeBreak sword or lance, advance in lofty sell;As fair he was, as Citherea’s make,As proud as he that signoriseth hell,In fashions wayward, and in love unkind,For Cupid deigns not wound a currish mind.

“This paragon should Queen Armida wed,A goodly swain to be a princess’ fere,A lovely partner of a lady’s bed,A noble head a golden crown to wear:His glosing sire his errand daily said,And sugared speeches whispered in mine earTo make me take this darling in mine arms,But still the adder stopt her ears from charms.

“At last he left me with a troubled grace,Through which transparent was his inward spite,Methought I read the story in his faceOf these mishaps that on me since have light,Since that foul spirits haunt my resting-place,And ghastly visions break any sleep by night,Grief, horror, fear my fainting soul did kill,For so my mind foreshowed my coming ill.

“Three times the shape of my dear mother came,Pale, sad, dismayed, to warn me in my dream,Alas, how far transformed from the sameWhose eyes shone erst like Titan’s glorious beam:‘Daughter,’ she says, ‘fly, fly, behold thy dameForeshows the treasons of thy wretched eame,Who poison gainst thy harmless life provides:’This said, to shapeless air unseen she glides.

“But what avail high walls or bulwarks strong,Where fainting cowards have the piece to guard?My sex too weak, mine age was all to young,To undertake alone a work so hard,To wander wild the desert woods among,A banished maid, of wonted ease debarred,So grievous seemed, that liefer were my death,And there to expire where first I drew my breath.

“I feared deadly evil if long I stayed,And yet to fly had neither will nor power,Nor durst my heart declare it waxed afraid,Lest so I hasten might my dying hour:Thus restless waited I, unhappy maid,What hand should first pluck up my springing flower,Even as the wretch condemned to lose his lifeAwaits the falling of the murdering knife.

“In these extremes, for so my fortune wouldPerchance preserve me to my further ill,One of my noble father’s servants old,That for his goodness bore his child good will,With store of tears this treason gan unfold,And said; my guardian would his pupil kill,And that himself, if promise made be kept,Should give me poison dire ere next I slept.

“And further told me, if I wished to live,I must convey myself by secret flight,And offered then all succours he could giveTo aid his mistress, banished from her right.His words of comfort, fear to exile drive,The dread of death, made lesser dangers light:So we concluded, when the shadows dimObscured the earth I should depart with him.

“Of close escapes the aged patroness,Blacker than erst, her sable mantle spread,When with two trusty maids, in great distress,Both from mine uncle and my realm I fled;Oft looked I back, but hardly could suppressThose streams of tears, mine eyes uncessant shed,For when I looked on my kingdom lost,It was a grief, a death, an hell almost.

“My steeds drew on the burden of my limbs,But still my locks, my thoughts, drew back as fast,So fare the men, that from the heaven’s brims,Far out to sea, by sudden storm are cast;Swift o’er the grass the rolling chariot swims,Through ways unknown, all night, all day we haste,At last, nigh tired, a castle strong we fand,The utmost border of my native land.

“The fort Arontes was, for so the knightWas called, that my deliverance thus had wrought,But when the tyrant saw, by mature flightI had escaped the treasons of his thought,The rage increased in the cursed wightGainst me, and him, that me to safety brought,And us accused, we would have poisonedHim, but descried, to save our lives we fled.

“And that in lieu of his approved truth,To poison him I hired had my guide,That he despatched, mine unbridled youthMight rage at will, in no subjection tied,And that each night I slept—O foul untruth!—Mine honor lost, by this Arontes’ side:But Heaven I pray send down revenging fire,When so base love shall change my chaste desire.

“Not that he sitteth on my regal throne,Nor that he thirst to drink my lukewarm blood,So grieveth me, as this despite alone,That my renown, which ever blameless stood,Hath lost the light wherewith it always shone:With forged lies he makes his tale so good,And holds my subjects’ hearts in such suspense,That none take armor for their queen’s defence.

“And though he do my regal throne possess,Clothed in purple, crowned with burnished gold;Yet is his hate, his rancor, ne’er the less,Since naught assuageth malice when ’tis old:He threats to burn Arontes’ forteress,And murder him unless he yield the hold,And me and mine threats not with war, but death,Thus causeless hatred, endless is uneath.

“And so he trusts to wash away the stain,And hide his shameful fact with mine offence,And saith he will restore the throne againTo his late honor and due excellence,And therefore would I should be algates slain,For while I live, his right is in suspense,This is the cause my guiltless life is sought,For on my ruin is his safety wrought.

“And let the tyrant have his heart’s desire,Let him perform the cruelty he meant,My guiltless blood must quench the ceaseless fireOn which my endless tears were bootless spent,Unless thou help; to thee, renowned Sire,I fly, a virgin, orphan, innocent,And let these tears that on thy feet distil,Redeem the drops of blood, he thirsts to spill.

“By these thy glorious feet, that tread secureOn necks of tyrants, by thy conquests brave,By that right hand, and by those temples pureThou seek’st to free from Macon’s lore, I craveHelp for this sickness none but thou canst cure,My life and kingdom let thy mercy saveFrom death and ruin: but in vain I prove thee,If right, if truth, if justice cannot move thee.

“Thou who dost all thou wishest, at thy will,And never willest aught but what is right,Preserve this guiltless blood they seek to spill;Thine be my kingdom, save it with thy might:Among these captains, lords, and knights of skill,Appoint me ten, approved most in fight,Who with assistance of my friends and kin,May serve my kingdom lost again to win.

“For lo a knight, that had a gate to ward,A man of chiefest trust about his king,Hath promised so to beguile the guardThat me and mine he undertakes to bringSafe, where the tyrant haply sleepeth hardHe counselled me to undertake this thing,Of these some little succor to intreat,Whose name alone accomplish can the feat.”

This said, his answer did the nymph attend,Her looks, her sighs, her gestures all did pray him:But Godfrey wisely did his grant suspend,He doubts the worst, and that awhile did stay him,He knows, who fears no God, he loves no friend,He fears the heathen false would thus betray him:But yet such ruth dwelt in his princely mind,That gainst his wisdom, pity made him kind.

Besides the kindness of his gentle thought,Ready to comfort each distressed wight,The maiden’s offer profit with it brought;For if the Syrian kingdom were her right,That won, the way were easy, which he sought,To bring all Asia subject to his might:There might he raise munition, arms and treasureTo work the Egyptian king and his displeasure.

Thus was his noble heart long time betwixtFear and remorse, not granting nor denying,Upon his eyes the dame her lookings fixed,As if her life and death lay on his saying,Some tears she shed, with sighs and sobbings mixed,As if her hopes were dead through his delaying;At last her earnest suit the duke denayed,But with sweet words thus would content the maid:

“If not in service of our God we fought,In meaner quarrel if this sword were shaken,Well might thou gather in thy gentle thought,So fair a princess should not be forsaken;But since these armies, from the world’s end brought,To free this sacred town have undertaken,It were unfit we turned our strength away,And victory, even in her coming, stay.

“I promise thee, and on my princely wordThe burden of thy wish and hope repose,That when this chosen temple of the Lord,Her holy doors shall to his saints uncloseIn rest and peace; then this victorious swordShall execute due vengeance on thy foes;But if for pity of a worldly dameI left this work, such pity were my shame.”

At this the princess bent her eyes to ground,And stood unmoved, though not unmarked, a space,The secret bleeding of her inward woundShed heavenly dew upon her angel’s face,“Poor wretch,” quoth she, “in tears and sorrows drowned,Death be thy peace, the grave thy resting-place,Since such thy hap, that lest thou mercy findThe gentlest heart on earth is proved unkind.

“Where none attends, what boots it to complain?Men’s froward hearts are moved with women’s tearsAs marble stones are pierced with drops of rain,No plaints find passage through unwilling ears:The tyrant, haply, would his wraith restrainHeard he these prayers ruthless Godfrey hears,Yet not thy fault is this, my chance, I see,Hath made even pity, pitiless in thee.

“So both thy goodness, and good hap, denayed me,Grief, sorrow, mischief, care, hath overthrown me,The star that ruled my birthday hath betrayed me,My genius sees his charge, but dares not own me,Of queen-like state, my flight hath disarrayed me,My father died, ere he five years had known me,My kingdom lost, and lastly resteth now,Down with the tree sith broke is every bough.

“And for the modest lore of maidenhood,Bids me not sojourn with these armed men,O whither shall I fly, what secret woodShall hide me from the tyrant? or what den,What rock, what vault, what cave can do me good?No, no, where death is sure, it resteth thenTo scorn his power and be it therefore seen,Armida lived, and died, both like a queen.”

With that she looked as if a proud disdainKindled displeasure in her noble mind,The way she came she turned her steps again,With gesture sad but in disdainful kind,A tempest railed down her cheeks amain,With tears of woe, and sighs of anger’s wind;The drops her footsteps wash, whereon she treads,And seems to step on pearls, or crystal beads.

Her cheeks on which this streaming nectar fell,Stilled through the limbeck of her diamond eyes,The roses white and red resembled well,Whereon the rory May-dew sprinkled liesWhen the fair morn first blusheth from her cell,And breatheth balm from opened paradise;Thus sighed, thus mourned, thus wept this lovely queen,And in each drop bathed a grace unseen.

Thrice twenty Cupids unperceived flewTo gather up this liquor, ere it fall,And of each drop an arrow forged new,Else, as it came, snatched up the crystal ball,And at rebellious hearts for wildfire threw.O wondrous love! thou makest gain of all;For if she weeping sit, or smiling stand,She bends thy bow, or kindleth else thy brand.

This forged plaint drew forth unfeigned tearsFrom many eyes, and pierced each worthy’s heart;Each one condoleth with her that her hears,And of her grief would help her bear the smart:If Godfrey aid her not, not one but swearsSome tigress gave him suck on roughest partMidst the rude crags, on Alpine cliffs aloft:Hard is that heart which beauty makes not soft.

But jolly Eustace, in whose breast the brandOf love and pity kindled had the flame,While others softly whispered underhand,Before the duke with comely boldness came:“Brother and lord,” quoth he, “too long you standIn your first purpose, yet vouchsafe to frameYour thoughts to ours, and lend this virgin aid:Thanks are half lost when good turns are delayed.

“And think not that Eustace’s talk assaysTo turn these forces from this present war,Or that I wish you should your armies raiseFrom Sion’s walls, my speech tends not so far:But we that venture all for fame and praise,That to no charge nor service bounden are,Forth of our troop may ten well spared beTo succor her, which naught can weaken thee.

“And know, they shall in God’s high service fight,That virgins innocent save and defend:Dear will the spoils be in the Heaven’s sight,That from a tyrant’s hateful head we rend:Nor seemed I forward in this lady’s right,With hope of gain or profit in the end;But for I know he arms unworthy bears,To help a maiden’s cause that shuns or fears.

“Ah! be it not pardie declared in France,Or elsewhere told where courtesy is in prize,That we forsook so fair a chevisance,For doubt or fear that might from fight arise;Else, here surrender I both sword and lance,And swear no more to use this martial guise;For ill deserves he to be termed a knight,That bears a blunt sword in a lady’s right.”

Thus parleyed he, and with confused sound,The rest approved what the gallant said,Their general their knights encompassed round,With humble grace, and earnest suit they prayed:“I yield,” quoth he, “and it be happy found,What I have granted, let her have your aid:Yours be the thanks, for yours the danger is,If aught succeed, as much I fear, amiss.

“But if with you my words may credit find,Oh temper then this heat misguides you so!”Thus much he said, but they with fancy blind,Accept his grant, and let his counsel go.What works not beauty, man’s relenting mindIs eath to move with plaints and shows of woe:Her lips cast forth a chain of sugared words,That captive led most of the Christian lords.

Eustace recalled her, and bespake her thus:“Beauty’s chief darling, let those sorrows be,For such assistance shall you find in usAs with your need, or will, may best agree:”With that she cheered her forehead dolorous,And smiled for joy, that Phoebus blushed to see,And had she deigned her veil for to remove,The God himself once more had fallen in love.

With that she broke the silence once again,And gave the knight great thanks in little speech,She said she would his handmaid poor remain,So far as honor’s laws received no breach.Her humble gestures made the residue plain,Dumb eloquence, persuading more than speech:Thus women know, and thus they use the guise,To enchant the valiant, and beguile the wise.

And when she saw her enterprise had gotSome wished mean of quick and good proceeding,She thought to strike the iron that was hot,For every action hath his hour of speeding:Medea or false Circe changed notSo far the shapes of men, as her eyes spreadingAltered their hearts, and with her syren’s soundIn lust, their minds, their hearts, in love she drowned.

All wily sleights that subtle women know,Hourly she used, to catch some lover new.None kenned the bent of her unsteadfast bow,For with the time her thoughts her looks renew,From some she cast her modest eyes below,At some her gazing glances roving flew,And while she thus pursued her wanton sport,She spurred the slow, and reined the forward short.

If some, as hopeless that she would be won,Forebore to love, because they durst not move her,On them her gentle looks to smile begun,As who say she is kind if you dare prove herOn every heart thus shone this lustful sun,All strove to serve, to please, to woo, to love her,And in their hearts that chaste and bashful were,Her eye’s hot glance dissolved the frost of fear.

On them who durst with fingering bold assayTo touch the softness of her tender skin,She looked as coy, as if she list not play,And made as things of worth were hard to win;Yet tempered so her deignful looks alway,That outward scorn showed store of grace within:Thus with false hope their longing hearts she fired,For hardest gotten things are most desired.

Alone sometimes she walked in secret where,To ruminate upon her discontent,Within her eyelids sate the swelling tear,Not poured forth, though sprung from sad lament,And with this craft a thousand souls well nearIn snares of foolish ruth and love she hent,And kept as slaves, by which we fitly proveThat witless pity breedeth fruitless love.

Sometimes, as if her hope unloosed hadThe chains of grief, wherein her thoughts lay fettered,Upon her minions looked she blithe and glad,In that deceitful lore so was she lettered;Not glorious Titan, in his brightness clad,The sunshine of her face in lustre bettered:For when she list to cheer her beauties so,She smiled away the clouds of grief and woe.

Her double charm of smiles and sugared words,Lulled on sleep the virtue of their senses,Reason shall aid gainst those assaults affords,Wisdom no warrant from those sweet offences;Cupid’s deep rivers have their shallow fords,His griefs, bring joys; his losses, recompenses;He breeds the sore, and cures us of the pain:Achilles’ lance that wounds and heals again.

While thus she them torments twixt frost and fire,Twixt joy and grief, twixt hope and restless fear,The sly enchantress felt her gain the nigher,These were her flocks that golden fleeces bear:But if someone durst utter his desire,And by complaining make his griefs appear,He labored hard rocks with plaints to move,She had not learned the gamut then of love.

For down she bet her bashful eyes to ground,And donned the weed of women’s modest grace,Down from her eyes welled the pearls round,Upon the bright enamel of her face;Such honey drops on springing flowers are foundWhen Phoebus holds the crimson morn in chase;Full seemed her looks of anger, and of shame;Yet pity shone transparent through the same.

If she perceived by his outward cheer,That any would his love by talk bewray,Sometimes she heard him, sometimes stopped her ear,And played fast and loose the livelong day:Thus all her lovers kind deluded were,Their earnest suit got neither yea nor nay;But like the sort of weary huntsmen fare,That hunt all day, and lose at night the hare.

These were the arts by which she captivedA thousand souls of young and lusty knights;These were the arms wherewith love conqueredTheir feeble hearts subdued in wanton fights:What wonder if Achilles were misled,Of great Alcides at their ladies’ sights,Since these true champions of the Lord aboveWere thralls to beauty, yielden slaves to lore.