Cant. X.
the Faery Queene.
153
O let me not (quoth he) then turne againeBacke to the world, whose ioyes so fruitlesse are,But let me heare for aie in peace remaine,Or streight way on that last long voiage fare,That nothing may my present hope empare.That may not be (said he) ne maist thou yittForgoe that royal maides bequeathed care,Who did her cause into thy hand committ,Till from her cursed foe thou haue her freely quitt.
Then shall I soone, (qd. he) so God me grace,Abett that virgins cause disconsolate,And shortly back returne vnto this place,To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.But now aread, old father, why of lateDidst thou behight me borne of English blood,Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate?That word shall I (said he) auouchen good,Sith to thee is vnknowne the cradle of thy brood.
For well I wote, thou springst from ancient raceOf Saxon kinges, that haue with mightie handAnd many bloody battailes fought in faceHigh reard their royall throne in Britans landAnd vanquisht them, vnable to withstand:From thence a Faery thee vnweeting reft,There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,And her base Elfin brood there for thee left.Such men do Chaungelings call, so chaungd by Faeries theft.
Thence she thee brought into this Faery lond,And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde,Where thee a Ploughman all vnweeting fond,As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde,
And
