Thule, or Vertues historie To the honorable and vertuous Mistris Amy Audely. By F.R. The first booke.

CANT. 4. (Book 4)

A stranger knight the mayde doth free, Which long had layne in pleasures bands: While she her foemans death doth see, Loosde by good fate from cursed hands, And with that knight her way doth take, Glad that foule prison to forsake.

THough deepe distresse still threaten heauy fall, And stormy cloudes thy fortunes wrack presage, Let not white-liuer'd feare thy thoughts appall, A power there is that can all stormes asswage, That makes the thunder bellow at his call, And parbreake sulphur vapours in his rage: This power is present still to ayde the iust, Though hembde in hostes they be of hellish lust.

So is the virgin heere preseru'd from shame, Which like a blood hound haunts her hallowed feete, For since vnto this shameles knight she came; She cannot turne but still he doth her meete, Tempting her soule to yeeld to foulest shame, With fayrest words that Pandors art did weete; But still she keepes her bulwark of defence, Hoping some happy day will rid her hence.

But long she watch't to see that happy day, Before misfortune left her tyranny, The sliding glasse of time doth spend away, And there with all her wasting hope doth fly, But he that in iust weights doth all things way; Viewing the poore opprest with cruelty, Sent meanes whose thought dispayring thoughts did pas, To helpe that dying Saint: And thus it was.

Sobrinus fame through all the Ile was blowne, (For he was borne of royall pedegree) And his fayre daughters name to all was knowne, That holy were and hated vanitie, Amongst the rest her vertuous praise was flowne, Vnto a Lady of no meane degree, Whose spotles heart was purenes purest pure, Whose soule no sensuall thoughts could ere allure.

Aguria was this holy widowes name, For she had layd her husband in the graue, And since like Ancres, or a Vestal dame, To heauenly thoughts her minde she wholy gaue: But her sweet sonne a iolly knight became, Great thoughts to try his valiance him draue, And he was meeke to those that hated ill, But to the wicked he was fearefull still.

This knight was moued by this damsels fame, And with his mothers leaue departed thence, Vowing by heauens-makers fearfull name, As long as life should stay, or liuely sence, Not euer to returne from whence he came, Before (as signe of his beneuolence) He shall salute this Lady face to face, And with his armes that Saint-like Nymph embrace.

Thus purposde foorth he goes, as errant knight, In glistring armes yclad and mightie lance, While vnder him in trappings gorgeous dight, A sturdie courser all the way doth dance, And as compacted of a liuely spright, His trampling hoofes aloft he doth aduance, And for aduentures armd in warlike wise, He pricks his palsreys sides and forward tries.

But what great dangers in his weary way, Or what he saw or did, my Muse must passe, For they would much my stories course delay: Besides they are ingrau'd in during brasse, By one who doth antiquitie bewray, Writing what euer in that Iland was: Let this suffice that he now iourneyes nye, Vnto that place whereas this Dame doth lye.

But Night had spread her gloomy wings abroad, Which forced thoughts of ease into his breast: Therefore with swifter pace he faster road, Hoping to get some place of gentle rest: But while an easie gale vnto him blowd, The sweetest sound that euer eare possest, Which made him turne his horse toward the noyse, At last he came where he had heard the voyce.

And askt if lodging for a Knight there were, Quoth he that sung, straight leaping from his seate, None can approach (fayre Sir) more welcome here, Then those that errant are, whom knightly heare Enforc'th to seeke aduentures farre and neere: And with this filed speech did worke deceit, The Knight full glad he had a harbour found, Dismounted straight and lighted to the ground.

But little did he thinke that fayrest mayd, Was prisoner in this cell of riotise: For this same castle where he now is stayd, Is that where poore Viceina captiue lyes, And sure they thought to haue this Knight betrayd, But his sweet thought did frustrate their surmise: Yet in this foolish hope vp was he led, Into a chamber fairely Arrased.

Where after delicates and curious feast, Full weary of his way and toylsome watch, To pleasing sleepe his body he addrest, Least during labour should him ouermatch: When he no sooner setled him to rest, But slumber in his sences seate did hatch, Partly by toyle wherewith he now was sore, Partly by Musick sounding at his dore.

Thus halfe her light fayre Cynthia had spent, And he in sleepe had spent halfe Cynthias light, Vntill a cry vnto his eare was sent, Which did his tumbling sences all affright, It seem'd to come from heart in peecesrent, The wofull ofspring of a wretched wight: But thus the plaint was form'd in dolefull sort, Carrying vnto his eares a sad report.

Haples Viceina, whom thy father lost, Ynough tormented not, though dearly lou'd, Nor sad remembrance of thy mothers ghost, Though she to teares mine eyes hath often mou'd, Nor thine owne harme which grieueth others most, Ynough thy hearts great patience hath prou'd: But here dispoyld of sweet virginitie, Thy spotted soule in vgly sinne shall dye.

But rather let the consort of dread Night, (Which sing sad notes before her chariot, When she in progresse rides to chase the light) Feare me before I take Sinnes filthy blot, The scriching Owle race out my loathed sight, Before it see that sight of wretched lot; The rauens of darknes take my corse for pray, That they may hide it from the blushing day.

And to those ghastly shades which haunt my soule, And to the Night consenting to this ill, My latest testament I will vnroule, The dreery summe of my death-grauen will, They shall my seruants be my bell to toule, To ring the dolefull accents of my knill, Death be the head, and Shame shall be the next, Then Night, and Guilt which holds my heart perplext.

These on their damned backs shal beare my corse, Vnto the funerall which is prepar'd, My soule prouide thy selfe against remorse, From hope of better death thou art debar'd; For Sinne still threatens his vngentle force, To wound thee deeply which had els been spar'd: But till death come take solace in the Night, For darkned soule there fits no better light.

This sayd, a bitter sigh euapour'd out The sad conclusion of a sadder tale, When gan the Knight his thoughts to stir about, Pondring what wight thus lay in sorry bale: But while he wauered in vncertaine doubt, He soone vnto his troubled minde did call, How that mayd had her selfe Viceina hight, Wherewith he gan to burst with raging spight.

As Tereus in the banquet of his sonne, When he a while his hungrie wombe had fed, Knowing the bloodie mischiefe that was done, And that he ate him whom before he bred, Into a headlong rage along did runne, And curs'th the liuing execrates the dead, In such a furie was this knight distraught, With thoughts of blood and vengeance fully fraught.

But well he could his raging sences tame, And thought this time was not so fit to get The freedome of this soule-diseased dame; The night and sudden noyse his deede would let, Therefore he rested till the morning came, When to this act himselfe he ready set, And watcht to see the Lady of his loue, That from this feare he might her soule remoue.

But he not long had sought the Lady fayre, Ere he had spide where as that lozell mate Walkt with her in the garden for the ayre; And he of lust and filthie sinne did prate, The Knight went straight vnto that louing payre, Not able longer to refraine his hate, When she straight blusht to see her selfe alone, Except this villaine compani'd of none.

Then lightned with reuenge thus gan the Knight; Thou foulest shame of all that breath this ayre, How dar'st thou to abuse this sacred wight, Inclosing her in den of black dispayre? Either defend thy deede in martiall fight, Or els here dye, my minde can like no prayer: Her champion I, and Aidon is my name, Thou or thy kind that dare defend the same.

But streight he quailing sunke vnto the ground, For he of warre before had neuer heard, The name of death straight cast him in a swound, His heart did pant, he was so much afeard, The while Sir Aidon gaue a deadly wound Vnto his heart, that all the ground besmeard With filthie blood, his foulest pleasures price, The nourishment of his vngodly vice.

His soule sunke downe gnashing for furious mad, That she should lose the pleasures of her bower, Repining at the cursed fate she had, Thus to be banisht in vnlookt for hower: This while the Knight vnto that Lady sad, Told why and whence he came, who thankt that power, Whose prouidence preuented her mis-hap, Sheelding her soule from deaths fierce thunderclap.

But thence departing to the hall they went, Where mingled wanton troopes of either kinde, Dallied together in their merriment, He that most filthie is, he seemes most kinde: The Knight could not refraine his discontent, But drawing foorth his sword, doth bid them finde Some fitter kinde of mirth, or fitter place: When all affrighted foorth they fled apace.

All fled, he sets on fire those walls of lust, Whose ayre infected was with filthie sent, Downe fall the walls consum'd to fruitles dust, With eating flames of firy force yspent, While Venus wept to see her fort combust, And those foundations from the bottome rent: But that fayre virgin with the errant Knight, Left those foule dwellings, glad they met so right.

But looke the Captaine now had chang'd his face, And out of knowledge he will shortly grow, If that I doe not follow him apace, A gowne he now hath got full hanging low: But wonder not at this his changed case, The hap which did befall, you straight shall know: But let me breath a while, it needs no haste, For yet I pant with chasing him so fast.