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Eustace recalled her, and bespake her thus:

       "Beauty's chief darling, let those sorrows be,

       For such assistance shall you find in us

       As with your need, or will, may best agree:"

       With that she cheered her forehead dolorous,

       And smiled for joy, that Phoebus blushed to see,

       And had she deigned her veil for to remove,

       The God himself once more had fallen in love.

      LXXXV

       With that she broke the silence once again,

       And gave the knight great thanks in little speech,

       She said she would his handmaid poor remain,

       So far as honor's laws received no breach.

       Her humble gestures made the residue plain,

       Dumb eloquence, persuading more than speech:

       Thus women know, and thus they use the guise,

       To enchant the valiant, and beguile the wise.

      LXXXVI

       And when she saw her enterprise had got

       Some wished mean of quick and good proceeding,

       She thought to strike the iron that was hot,

       For every action hath his hour of speeding:

       Medea or false Circe changed not

       So far the shapes of men, as her eyes spreading

       Altered their hearts, and with her syren's sound

       In lust, their minds, their hearts, in love she drowned.

      LXXXVII

       All wily sleights that subtle women know,

       Hourly she used, to catch some lover new.

       None kenned the bent of her unsteadfast bow,

       For with the time her thoughts her looks renew,

       From some she cast her modest eyes below,

       At some her gazing glances roving flew,

       And while she thus pursued her wanton sport,

       She spurred the slow, and reined the forward short.

      LXXXVIII

       If some, as hopeless that she would be won,

       Forebore to love, because they durst not move her,

       On them her gentle looks to smile begun,

       As who say she is kind if you dare prove her

       On every heart thus shone this lustful sun,

       All strove to serve, to please, to woo, to love her,

       And in their hearts that chaste and bashful were,

       Her eye's hot glance dissolved the frost of fear.

      LXXXIX

       On them who durst with fingering bold assay

       To touch the softness of her tender skin,

       She looked as coy, as if she list not play,

       And made as things of worth were hard to win;

       Yet tempered so her deignful looks alway,

       That outward scorn showed store of grace within:

       Thus with false hope their longing hearts she fired,

       For hardest gotten things are most desired.

      XC

       Alone sometimes she walked in secret where,

       To ruminate upon her discontent,

       Within her eyelids sate the swelling tear,

       Not poured forth, though sprung from sad lament,

       And with this craft a thousand souls well near

       In snares of foolish ruth and love she hent,

       And kept as slaves, by which we fitly prove

       That witless pity breedeth fruitless love.

      XCI

       Sometimes, as if her hope unloosed had

       The chains of grief, wherein her thoughts lay fettered,

       Upon her minions looked she blithe and glad,

       In that deceitful lore so was she lettered;

       Not glorious Titan, in his brightness clad,

       The sunshine of her face in lustre bettered:

       For when she list to cheer her beauties so,

       She smiled away the clouds of grief and woe.

      XCII

       Her double charm of smiles and sugared words,

       Lulled on sleep the virtue of their senses,

       Reason shall aid gainst those assaults affords,

       Wisdom no warrant from those sweet offences;

       Cupid's deep rivers have their shallow fords,

       His griefs, bring joys; his losses, recompenses;

       He breeds the sore, and cures us of the pain:

       Achilles' lance that wounds and heals again.

      XCIII

       While thus she them torments twixt frost and fire,

       Twixt joy and grief, twixt hope and restless fear,

       The sly enchantress felt her gain the nigher,

       These were her flocks that golden fleeces bear:

       But if someone durst utter his desire,

       And by complaining make his griefs appear,

       He labored hard rocks with plaints to move,

       She had not learned the gamut then of love.

      XCIV

       For down she bet her bashful eyes to ground,

       And donned the weed of women's modest grace,

       Down from her eyes welled the pearls round,

       Upon the bright enamel of her face;

       Such honey drops on springing flowers are found

       When Phoebus holds the crimson morn in chase;

       Full seemed her looks of anger, and of shame;

       Yet pity shone transparent through the same.

      XCV

       If she perceived by his outward cheer,

       That any would his love by talk bewray,

       Sometimes she heard him, sometimes stopped her ear,

       And played fast and loose the livelong day:

       Thus all her lovers kind deluded were,

       Their earnest suit got neither yea nor nay;

       But like the sort of weary huntsmen fare,

       That hunt all day, and lose at night the hare.

      XCVI

       These were the arts by which she captived

       A thousand souls of young and lusty knights;

       These were the arms wherewith love conquered

       Their feeble hearts subdued in wanton fights:

       What wonder if Achilles were misled,

       Of great Alcides at their ladies' sights,

       Since these true champions of the Lord above

       Were thralls to beauty, yielden slaves to lore.

FIFTH BOOK

      

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