The Faerie Queene

"The Faerie Queene is perhaps the most difficult poem in English. Quite how difficult, I am only now beginning to realize after forty years of reading it."

"Adverse criticism of the stories in The Faerie Queene is usually based on a false expectation. Both the complaints against "faceless knights" and those against "characters with no insides" come alike from readers who are looking for a novelistic-like interest. But it is quite wrong to approach the poem with this demand; for Spenser never meant to supply it. Occasionally, of course, he makes a very brief approach to the kind of fiction now valued in the novel. [...] We should never concentrate, however, on passages such as these. It is always a great mistake to value a work of one kind for its occasional slight approximations to some other kind which happens to be preferred. If we can't learn to like a work of art for what it is, we had best give it up. There is no point in trying to twist it or force it into a form it was never meant to have. And certainly to read The Faerie Queene as a novel is perverse and unrewarding enough. It is like going to a Mozart opera just for the spoken bits."

"The Faerie Queene is the most extended and extensive meditation on sex in the history of poetry."

"There has been and continue to be controversy about the nature and status of to be sex in The Faerie Queene. Most criticism assumes that what Spenser says is what he means. But a poet may not always be master of his own poem, for imagination can overwhelms moral intention. Some of the poetically strongest and most fully realized material in The Faerie Queene is pornographic. Like Blake's Milton, Spenser may be one of the devil's party without knowing it. In a paradox cherished by Sade and Baudelaire, the presence of moral sexual law and taboo intensifies the luxury of evil. A great poet always has profound ambivalences and obscurities whose motivation criticism has scarcely begun to study in this case. The Faerie Queene is didactic but also self-pleasuring. Not despite the complexity of erotic response, Spenser was a sexual psychologist of the first rank, surpassed only by Freud and Shakespeare. His treatment of erotic archetype, and perversion, dream, civilization, fantasy, obsession, and sacrifice lifts The Faerie Queene out of national into world literature."

"The Faerie Queene (1st ed., 1590; 2nd ed., 1596; 3rd ed., 1609)"

"Spenser's Faerie Queene. A New Edition with a Glossary, And Notes explanatory and critical, ed. John Upton, Vols. I–II (London: Printed for J. and R. Tonson, 1758)"

"Spenser and his Poetry, by George Lillie Craik, Vols. I–III (London: Charles Knight & Co., 1845)"

"The Canterbury Tales and Faerie Queene, with other poems of Chaucer and Spenser, edited for popular perusal, with current illustrative and explanatory notes, by D. Laing Purves (Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo, 1874)"

"A Complete Dictionary of Poetical Quotations, ed. Sarah Josepha Hale (Philadelphia: E. Claxton & Co., 1881)"

"Familiar Quotations, ed. John Bartlett, 9th ed. (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1895)"

"The Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations, ed. Jehiel Keeler Hoyt, a new edition, revised, corrected and enlarged (New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1896)"

"A Popular Manual of English Literature, by Maude Gillette Phillips, Vol. I (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1897)"

"Ne ought it mote the noble Mayd auayle, Ne slake the fury of her cruell flame, But that shee still did waste, and still did wayle, That through long languour, & hart-burning brame She shortly like a pyned ghost became."

"Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily In liuing brests, ykindled first aboue, Emongst th'eternall spheres and lamping sky, And thence pourd into men, which men call Loue."

"For Merlin had in Magick more insight, Then euer him before or after liuing wight.'For he by wordes could call out of the sky Both Sunne and Moone, and make them him obay: The Land to sea, and sea to maineland dry, And darksom night he eke could turne to day: Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay, And hostes of men of meanest thinges could frame, When so him list his enimies to fray: That to this day for terror of his fame, The feends do quake, whē any him to them does name."

"Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly."

"Where is the Antique glory now become, That whylome wont in wemen to appeare? Where be the braue atchieuements doen by some? Where be the batteilles, where the shield & speare, And all the conquests, which them high did reare, That matter made for famous Poets verse, And boastfull men so oft abasht to heare? Beene they all dead, and laide in dolefull herse? Or doen they onely sleepe, and shall againe reuerse?"

"She shortly thus; Fly they, that need to fly; Wordes fearen babes. I meane not thee entreat To passe; but maugre thee will passe or dy."

"But ah, who can deceiue his destiny, Or weene by warning to auoyd his fate?"

"But well I wote, that to an heauy hart Thou art the roote and nourse of bitter cares, Breeder of new, renewer of old smarts: In stead of rest thou lendest rayling teares, In stead of sleepe thou sendest troublous feares, And dreadfull visions, in the which aliue The dreary image of sad death appeares: So from the wearie spirit thou doest driue Desired rest, and men of happinesse depriue."

"Vnder thy mantle black there hidden lye, Light-shonning thefte, and traiterous intent, Abhorred bloodshed, and vile felony, Shamefull deceipt, and daunger imminent; Fowle horror, and eke hellish dreriment."

"Whether yt diuine Tobacco were, Or Panachaea, or Polygony, Shee fownd, and brought it to her patient deare."

"Thus warred he long time against his will, Till that through weakness he was forced at last To yield himself unto the mighty ill, Which, as a victor proud, 'gan ransack fast His inward parts and all his entrails waste, That neither blood in face nor life in heart It left, but both did quite dry up and blast: As piercing levin, which the inner part Of everything consumes and calcineth by art."

"Little she weened that love he close concealed; Yet still he wasted as the snow congealed, When the bright sun his beams thereon doth beat."

"So all did make in her a perfect complement."

"Her birth was of the womb of morning dew, And her conception of the joyous prime."

"Roses red and violets blue And all the sweetest flowers that in the forest grew."

"All that in this delightful garden grows Should happy be and have immortal bliss."

"There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke at once the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits' load; The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad."

"And in the thickest covert of that shade There was a pleasant arbour, not by art But of the trees' own inclination made, Which knitting their rank branches part to part, With wanton ivy twine entrailed athwart, And eglantine and caprifole among, Fashioned above within their inmost part, That neither Phoebus' beams could through them throng, Nor Aeolus' sharp blast could work them any wrong."

"With that, adown out of her crystal eyne Few trickling tears she softly forth let fall, That like to orient pearls did purely shine Upon her snowy cheek."

"Hard is to teach an old horse amble true."

"A fool I do him firmly hold That loves his fetters, though they were of gold."

"Mans wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, & fades at euening late."

"A famous history to be enrolled In everlasting monuments of brass."

"And otherwhiles with amorous delights And pleasing toys he would her entertain, Now singing sweetly to surprise her sprites, Now making lays of love and lovers' pain, Bransles, ballads, virelays and verses vain; Oft purposes, oft riddles he devised, And thousands like which flowed in his brain, With which he fed her fancy and enticed To take to his new love and leave her old despised."

"Yet can he never die, but dying lives, And doth himself with sorrow new sustain, That death and life at once unto him gives, And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain."

"Foul Jealousy, that turnest love divine To joyless dread, and makest the loving heart With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine And feed itself with self-consuming smart: Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art."

"Life is not lost, (said she) for which is bought Endlesse renowm."

"And as she looked about, she did behold How over that same door was likewise writ, Be bold, be bold, and everywhere Be bold, That much she mused, yet could not construe it By any riddling skill or common wit. At last she spied at that room's upper end Another iron door, on which was writ, Be not too bold."

"Next him was Fear, all armed from top to toe, Yet thought himself not safe enough thereby, But feared each shadow moving to and fro; And his own arms when glittering he did spy Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly, As ashes pale of hue and wingy-heeled; And evermore on danger fixed his eye, 'Gainst whom he always bent a brazen shield, Which his right hand unarmed fearfully did wield."

"With him went Hope in rank, a handsome maid, Of cheerful look and lovely to behold; In silken samite she was light arrayed, And her fair locks were woven up in gold; She always smiled, and in her hand did hold A holy-water sprinkle dipped in dew, With which she sprinkled favours manifold On whom she list, and did great liking show; Great liking unto many, but true love to few."

"He lowered on her with dangerous eye-glance, Showing his nature in his countenance; His rolling eyes did never rest in place, But walked each where for fear of hid mischance, Holding a lattice still before his face, Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace."

"Dan Chaucer, well of English undefiled, On Fame's eternal beadroll worthy to be filed."

"Born of one mother in one happy mould, Born at one burden in one happy morn."

"And with unwearied fingers drawing out The lines of life, from living knowledge hid."

"That cruell Atropos eftsoones vndid, With cursed knife cutting the twist in twaine: Most wretched men, whose dayes depend on thrids so vaine."

"Sweete is the loue that comes alone with willingnesse."

"Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent, Ne better had he, ne for better cared: With blistred hands emongst the cinders brent, And fingers filthie, with long nayles vnpared, Right fit to rend the food, on which he fared. His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade, That neither day nor night from working spared, But to small purpose yron wedges made; Those be vnquiet thoughts, that carefull minds inuade."

"What equal torment to the grief of mind, And pining anguish hid in gentle heart, That inly feeds itself with thoughts unkind, And nourisheth her own confusing smart? What medicine can any leech's art Yield such a sore, that doth her grievance hide, And will to none her malady impart?"