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

www.TaleBooks.comIn which there written was, with cyphres old,Achilles armes, which Arthegall did win:And on his shield enveloped sevenfoldHe bore a crowned little Ermelin,That deckt the azure field with her fayre pouldred skin.XXVI. The Damzell well did vew his PersonageAnd liked well, ne further fastned not,But went her way; ne her unguilty ageDid weene, unwares, that her unlucky lotLay hidden in the bottome of the pot.Of hurt unwist most daunger doth redound;But the false Archer, which that arrow shotSo slyly that she did not feele the wound,Did smyle full smoothly at her weetlesse wofull stound.XXVII. Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest,Ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe;And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest,With which she earst tryumphed, now did quaile:Sad, solemn, sowre, and full of fancies fraile,She woxe; yet wist she nether how, nor why.She wist not, silly Mayd, what she did aile,Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy;Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy.XXVIII. So soone as Night had with her pallid hewDefaste the beautie of the shyning skye,And refte from men the worldes desired vew,She with her Nourse adowne to sleepe did lye;But sleepe full far away from her did fly:In stead thereof sad sighes and sorrowes deepeKept watch and ward about her warily,That nought she did but wayle, and often steepeHer dainty couch with teares which closely she did weepe.XXIX. And if that any drop of slombring restDid chaunce to still into her weary spright.When feeble nature felt her selfe opprest,Streight-way with dreames, and with fantastick sightOf dreadfull things, the same was put to flight;That oft out of her bed she did astart,As one with vew of ghastly feends affright:Tho gan she to renew her former smart,And thinke of that fayre visage written in her hart.XXX. One night, when she was tost with such unrest,Her aged Nourse, whose name was Glauce hight,Feeling her leape out of her loathed nest,Betwixt her feeble armes her quickly keight,And downe againe her in her warme bed dight:"Ah! my deare daughter, ah! my dearest dread,What uncouth fit," (sayd she) "what evill plightHath thee opprest, and with sad drearyheadPage 277 , Faerie Queene, The - Edmund Spenser