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 wearinesse of former fight 490
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. 495
* * * * *
The guilefull great Enchaunter
the Redcrosse Knight from truth,
Into whose stead faire Falshood steps,
and workes him wofull ruth.
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 all that in the wide deepe wandring arre: 5
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.
When those accursed messengers of hell,
That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged Spright[*]
Came to their wicked maister, and gan tell
Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night:
Who all in rage to see his skilfull might
Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine 15
And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright.
But when he saw his threatning was but vaine,
He cast about, and searcht his baleful bookes againe.
Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire,
And that false other Spright, on whom he spred 20
A seeming body of the subtile aire,
Like a young Squire, in loves and lustybed
His wanton dayes that ever loosely led,
Without regard of armes and dreaded fight:
Those two he tooke, and in a secret bed, 25
Coverd with darknesse and misdeeming night,
Them both together laid, to joy in vaine delight.
Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast
Unto his guest, who after troublous sights
And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast, 30
Whom suddenly he wakes with fearfull frights,
As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,
And to him cals, Rise, rise, unhappy Swaine
That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights
Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine, 35
Come see where your false Lady doth her honour staine.