Classic Poem

XLVII

And at the upper end of that faire rowme,
There was an altar built of pretious stone,
Of passing valew and of great renowme,
On which there stood an image all alone
Of massy gold, which with his owne light shone;
And winges it had with sondry colours dight,
More sondry colours then the proud pavone
Beares in his boasted fan, or Iris bright,
When her discolourd bow she spreds through hevens hight.
XLVIII

Blyndfold he was, and in his cruell fist
A mortall bow and arrowes keene did hold,
With which he shot at randon, when him list,
Some headed with sad lead, some with pure gold;
(Ah! man, beware how thou those dartes behold.)
A wounded dragon under him did ly,
Whose hideous tayle his lefte foot did enfold,
And with a shaft was shot through either eye,
That no man forth might draw, ne no man remedye.
XLIX

And underneath his feet was written thus,
Unto the victor of the gods this bee.
And all the people in that ample hous
Did to that image bowe their humble knee,
And oft committed fowle idolatree.
That wondrous sight faire Britomart amazd,
Ne seeing could her wonder satisfie,
But ever more and more upon it gazd,
The whiles the passing brightnes her fraile sences dazd.
L

Tho as she backward cast her busie eye,
To search each secrete of that goodly sted,
Over the dore thus written she did spye,
Bee bold : she oft and oft it over-red,
Yet could not find what sence it figured:
But what so were therein or writ or ment,
She was no whit thereby discouraged
From prosecuting of her first intent,
But forward with bold steps into the next roome went
LI

Much fayrer then the former was that roome,
And richlier by many partes arayd;
For not with arras made in painefull loome,
But with pure gold, it all was overlayd,
Wrought with wilde antickes, which their follies playd
In the rich metall, as they living were:
A thousand monstrous formes therein were made,
Such as false Love doth oft upon him weare,
For Love in thousand monstrous formes doth oft appeare.
LII

And all about, the glistring walles were hong
With warlike spoiles and with victorious prayes
Of mightie conquerours and captaines strong,
Which were whilome captived in their dayes
To cruell Love, and wrought their owne decayes:
Their swerds and speres were broke, and hauberques rent,
And their proud girlonds of tryumphant bayes
Troden in dust with fury insolent,
To shew the victors might and mercilesse intent.
LIII

The warlike mayd, beholding earnestly
The goodly ordinaunce of this rich place,
Did greatly wonder, ne could satisfy
Her greedy eyes with gazing a long space;
But more she mervaild that no footings trace
Nor wight appear'd, but wastefull emptinesse
And solemne silence over all that place:
Straunge thing it seem'd, that none was, to possesse
So rich purveyaunce, ne them keepe with carefulnesse.
LIV

And as she lookt about, she did behold
How over that same dore was likewise writ,
Be bolde, be bolde , and every where Be bold ,
That much she muz'd, yet could not construe it
By any ridling skill or commune wit
At last she spyde at that rowmes upper end
Another yron dore, on which was writ,
Be not too bold , whereto though she did bend
Her earnest minde, yet wist not what it might intend
IV

Thus she there wayted untill eventyde,
Yet living creature none she saw appeare:
And now sad shadowes gan the world to hyde
From mortall vew, and wrap in darkenes dreare:
Yet'nould she d'off her weary armes, for feare
Of secret daunger, ne let sleepe oppresse
Her heavy eyes with natures burdein deare,
But drew her selfe aside in sickernesse,
And her welpointed wepons did about her dresse.