Cant. VI.
the Faerie Queene.
257
From that, which feeble nature couets faine;But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies,And foes of life, she better can abstaine;Yet vertue vauntes in both her victories,And Guyon in them all shewes goodly maysteries.
Whom bold Cymochles traueiling to finde,With cruell purpose bent to wreake on himThe wrath, which Atin kindled in his mind,Came to a riuer, by whose vtmost brimWayting to passe, he saw whereas did swimA long the shore, as swift as glaunce of eye,A litle Gondelay, bedecked trimWith boughes and arbours wouen cunningly,That like a litle forrest seemed outwardly.
And therein sate a Lady fresh and fayre,Making sweete solace to herselfe alone;Sometimes she song, as lowd as larke in ayre,Sometimes she laught, as merry as Pope Ione,Yet was there not with her else any one,That to her might moue cause of meriment:Matter of merth enough, though there were noneShe could deuife, and thousand waies inuent,To feede her foolish humour, and vaine iolliment.
Which when far of Cymochles heard, and saw,He lowdly cald to such, as were abord,The little barke vnto the shore to draw,And him to ferry ouer that deepe ford:The merry mariner vnto his wordSoone hearkned, and her painted bote streightwayTurnd to the shore, where that same warlike LordShe in receiu'd; but Atin by no wayShe would admit, albe the knight her much did pray.
Eft-
