Full iolly[118] knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
    As one for knightly giusts[119] and fierce encounters fitt. 
      And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
      The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
      For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
      And dead, as living ever, him ador’d: 
      Upon his shield the like was also scor’d,
      For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had,
      Right faithfull true he was in deede and word;
      But of his cheere[120] did seeme too solemne sad;
    Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.[121]

This sleepy bit, from the dwelling of Morpheus, invites us to linger: 

      And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft,
      A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
      And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,
      Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
      Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne. 
      No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
      As still are wont t’annoy the walled towne,
      Might there be heard:  but carelesse Quiet lyes,
      Wrapt in eternal silence farre from enimyes.

The description of Una shows the poet’s sense of ideal beauty: 

      One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,
      From her unhastie beast she did alight;
      And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay
      In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight;
      From her fayre head her fillet she undight,[122]
      And layd her stole aside; Her angels face,
      As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,
      And made a sunshine in the shady place;
    Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. 
      It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
      A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly,
      Hunting full greedy after salvage blood: 
      Soone as the royall Virgin he did spy,
      With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
      To have at once devourd her tender corse: 
      But to the pray whenas he drew more ny,
      His bloody rage aswaged with remorse,[123]
    And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 
      Instead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
      And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong;
      As he her wronged innocence did weet.[124]
      O how can beautie maister the most strong,
      And simple truth subdue avenging wrong!

MINOR POEMS. Next to his masterpiece, the Shepherd’s Calendar (1579) is the best known of Spenser’s poems; though, as his first work, it is below many others in melody.  It consists of twelve pastoral poems, or eclogues, one for each month of the year.  The themes are generally rural life, nature, love in the fields; and the speakers are shepherds and shepherdesses.  To increase the rustic effect Spenser uses strange forms of speech and obsolete words, to such an extent that Jonson complained his works are not English or any other language.  Some are melancholy poems on his lost Rosalind; some are satires on the clergy; one, “The Briar and the Oak,” is an allegory; one flatters Elizabeth, and others are pure fables touched with the Puritan spirit.  They are written in various styles and meters, and show plainly that Spenser was practicing and preparing himself for greater work.