Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;
The one of them he gave a message to,

The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo.

XXXIX.

He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and deepe,
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,

Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.

XL.

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast;

The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory,
The other all with silver overcast;

And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.

By them the sprite doth passe in quietly,

And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe In drowsie fit he findes; of nothing he takes keepe.

XLI.

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft,

A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,

Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne.
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.

XLII.

The messenger approching to him spake;
But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine:

So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine, Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake.

XLIII.

The sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threatned unto him the dreaded name

Of Hecaté: whereat he gan to quake,

And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame

Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came.

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Hether," quoth he, "me Archimago sent,

He that the stubborne sprites can wisely tame,

He bids thee to him send for his intent

A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent."

XLIV.

The god obayde; and, calling forth straight way

A diverse dreame out of his prison darke,

Delivered it to him, and downe did lay
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke;

Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke.
He, backe returning by the yvorie dore,
Remounted up as light as chearefull larke;
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore
In hast unto his lord, where he him left afore.

XLV.

Who all this while, with charmes and hidden artes,

Had made a lady of that other spright,

And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes,

So lively, and so like in all mens sight,

That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight:
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight.
Her all in white he clad, and over it

Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit.

XLVI.

Now, when that ydle dreame was to him brought,

Unto that elfin knight he bad him fly,

Where he slept soundly void of evil thought,

And with false shewes abuse his fantasy,

In sort as he him schooled privily.

And that new creature, borne without her dew,
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly

He taught to imitate that lady trew,

Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew.

XLVII.

Thus, well instructed, to their worke they haste;
And, comming where the knight in slomber lay,
The one upon his hardie head him plaste,
And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play,
That nigh his manly hart did melt away.

XLIX.

In this great passion of unwonted lust,
Or wonted feare of doing ought amis,
He starteth up, as seeming to mistrust
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his.
Lo! there before his face his ladie is,
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke;
And as halfe blushing offred him to kis,

With gentle blandishment and lovely looke,

Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took

L.

All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight,
And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,
He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight;
But, hastie heat tempring with sufferance wise,
He stayde his hand; and gan himselfe advise
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned truth.
Wringing her hands, in wemens pitteous wise,
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth
Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth.

LI.

And sayd, "Ah Sir, my liege lord, and my love,
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate,

And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,
Or the blind god, that doth me thus amate,
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate?
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state,
You, whom my hard avenging destinie
Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.

LII.

"Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave
My fathers kingdom" — There she stopt with teares;
Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave;
And then againe begun: "My weaker yeares,
Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares,
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde:

Let me not die in languor and long teares.”

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'Why, dame," quoth he, what hath ye thus dismayd? What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?"

LIII.

"Love of your selfe," she saide, "and deare constraint, Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie night

In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,

Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight."
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight
Suspect her truth; yet since no untruth he knew,
Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight
He would not shend; but said, "Deare dame, I rew,
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew:

LIV.

"Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;

For all so deare as life is to my hart,

I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound:
Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,
Where cause is none; but to your rest depart."

Not all content, yet seemd she to appease

Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,

And fed with words that could not chose but please; So, slyding softly forth she turnd as to her ease.

LV.

Long after lay he musing at her mood,
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle dame so light,
For whose defence he was to shed his blood.
At last, dull wearines of former fight.

Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,

That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare delight: But, when he saw his labour all was vaine, With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.

CANTO II.

The guilefull great Enchaunter parts
The Redcrosse Knight from Truth:
Into whose stead faire Falshood steps,
And workes him woefull ruth.

I.

By this the northerne wagoner had set
His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre
That was in ocean waves yet never wet,
But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre
To al that in the wide deepe wandring arre;
And chearefull chaunticlere with his note shrill
Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre
In hast was climbing up the easterne hill,
Full envious that night so long his roome did fill:

II.

When those accursed messengers of hell,

That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged spright,
Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel

Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night: