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

www.TaleBooks.comInfernall furies with their chaines untyde.Him yett againe, and yett againe, bespakeThe gentle knight; who nought to him replyde;But, trembling every joynt, did inly quake,And foltring tongue, at last, these words seemd forth toshake;XXV. "For Gods deare love, Sir knight, doe me not stay;For loe! he comes, he comes fast after mee."Eft looking back would faine have runne away;But he him forst to stay, and tellen freeThe secrete cause of his perplexitie:Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speachCould his blood frosen hart emboldened bee,But through his boldnes rather feare did reach;Yett, forst, at last he made through silence suddeinbreach.XXVI. "And am I now in safetie sure," (quoth he)"From him that would have forced me to dye?And is the point of death now turnd fro mee,That I may tell this haplesse history?""Fear nought," (quoth he) "no daunger now is nye.""Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,"(Said he) "the which with this unlucky eyeI late beheld; and, had not greater graceMe reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.XXVII. "I lately chaunst (Would I had never chaunst!)With a fayre knight to keepen companee,Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunstIn all affayres, and was both bold and free;But not so happy as mote happy bee:He lov'd, as was his lot, a Lady gentThat him againe lov'd in the least degree;For she was proud, and of too high intent,And joyd to see her lover languish and lament:XXVIII. "From whom retourning sad and comfortlesse,As on the way together we did fare,We met that villen, (God from him me blesse!)That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare,A man of hell that calls himselfe Despayre:Who first us greets, and after fayre areedesOf tydinges straunge, and of adventures rare:So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes,Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.XXIX. "Which when he knew, and felt our feeble hartsEmbost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,Which love had launched with his deadly darts,With wounding words, and termes of foule repriefe,He pluckt from us all hope of dew reliefe,That earst us held in love of lingring life;Page 93 , Faerie Queene, The - Edmund Spenser