The Faerie Queene

The Legend of the Knight of the Red Cross, or of Holiness

Lo! I, the man whose Muse whylome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shephards weeds, Am now enforst, a farre unfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds, And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds; Whose praises having slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song.

Helpe then, O holy Virgin! chiefe of nyne, Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his undeserved wrong: O, helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong!

And thou, most dreaded impe of highest Jove, Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst rove, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart; Lay now thy deadly Heben bowe apart, And with thy mother mylde come to myne ayde; Come, both; and with you bring triumphant Mart, In loves and gentle jollities arraid, After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie rage allayd.