THE FAERIE QUEENE by Edmund Spenser TO The ... - Planet.ee

www.TaleBooks.comThe stricken Deare doth chalenge by the bleeding wound."XIII. He stayd not lenger talke, but with fierce yreAnd zealous haste away is quickly goneTo seeke that knight, where him that crafty SquyreSupposd to be. They do arrive anoneWhere sate a gentle Lady all alone,With garments rent, and heare discheveled,Wringing her handes, and making piteous mone:Her swollen eyes were much disfigured,And her faire face with teares was fowly blubbered.XIV. The knight, approching nigh, thus to her said:"Fayre Lady, through fowle sorrow ill bedight,Great pitty is to see you thus dismayd,And marre the blossom of your beauty bright:For-thy appease your griefe and heavy plight,And tell the cause of your conceived payne;For, if he live that hath you doen despight,He shall you doe dew recompence agayne,Or els his wrong with greater puissance maintaine."XV. Which when she heard, as in despightfull wiseShe wilfully her sorrow did augment,And offred hope of comfort did despise:Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent,And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment;Ne would she speake, ne see, ne yet be seene,But hid her visage, and her head downe bent,Either for grievous shame, or for great teene,As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed beene:XVI. Till her that Squyre bespake: "Madame, my liefe,For Gods deare love be not so wilfull bent,But doe vouchsafe now to receive reliefe,The which good fortune doth to you present.For what bootes it to weepe and to waymentWhen ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,And the weake minde with double woe torment?"When she her Squyre heard speake, she gan appeaseHer voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease.XVII. Eftsoone she said; "Ah! gentle trustie Squyre,What comfort can I, wofull wretch, conceave?Or why should ever I henceforth desyreTo see faire heavens face, and life not leave,Sith that false Traytour did my honour reave?""False traytour certes," (saide the Faerie knight)"I read the man, that ever would deceaveA gentle Lady, or her wrong through might:Death were too litle paine for such a fowle despight.XVIII. "But now, fayre Lady, comfort to you make,And read who hath ye wrought this shamefull plight.That short revenge the man may overtake,Page 133 , Faerie Queene, The - Edmund Spenser