With ceaseless pains and toils Sir Calidore resumed his task. It was in some respects easier than before, for the Beast had gradually waxed more powerful, and wherever it went left traces of its spoil.
The knight found that it had invaded the homes of men of all conditions of life and in all had done great damage; that at length it had reached the clergy, and among them had wrought such spoil and havoc, and committed such thefts that to tell all would be impossible. And now Sir Calidore, who had followed its track with ceaseless care, came to a monastery, where he found the Blattant Beast destroying and despoiling with might and main. It had broken into the cloisters and scattered the monks hither and thither; it had pursued them into their cells and had not spared even the holy things of religion. For it broke into the church and robbed the chancel; threw down the desks and injured the altar, and cast everything into confusion.
Here Sir Calidore found it; and the Blattant Beast, knowing his power of old, at once fled, but the knight pursued with great swiftness and got nearer and nearer to the monster, until at length he overtook it in a narrow place. Attacking it fiercely, Sir Calidore forced the Beast to turn and face him. Then the knight struck it with his sharp steel, and in return it rushed savagely upon him, its ugly mouth wide open so as to expose the double row of iron teeth, and the thousand yelling, barking, back-biting tongues therein. Not one whit afraid, Sir Calidore fell upon the monster with such might that he obliged it to give way, and for a moment so mastered it that all it could do was to spit forth poisonous venom from its foaming, bloody jaws, threatening in vain to bite. Then rearing itself on its hind legs, it attacked him with its claws as if it would have rent him in pieces. But Sir Calidore was on his guard, and thrust his shield before him; then putting out all his strength he forced the creature back until it fell. Quick as thought the knight flung his shield upon it, and with all his strength held it down.
At this the Beast raged and roared most horribly, and foamed out bloody gore, and strove in vain to rear itself upright. The more it strove, the firmer the knight held it. It bit, and scratched, and threw out venom, and behaved like a very fiend, so mad was its rage that any should hold it under, and still Sir Calidore kept on, for the more its anger increased the greater became his power.
Then when the Beast felt it could do nothing against the knight, it began to reveal its deepest, most wicked nature, and used its tongue no longer to spit out blood or venom, but to speak reproaches and to utter wicked lies of Sir Calidore. But even these could not cause this true knight so to forget himself as to grow angry and release his hold for a single moment. He held on tighter and tighter until the Beast was almost strangled in his grasp. At length when he saw that the creature's power was growing less, he drew forth a muzzle made of the strongest iron, and with it closed its cruel mouth and shut in its blasphemous tongues. To the muzzle he fastened a long chain, and by this drew forth the Blattant Beast, cowed and captive. Never before had any dared to curb its will or restrain its tongues, and it greatly repined at its bondage, inwardly chafing under a restraint which nevertheless it did not dare to withstand. It trembled under Sir Calidore's mighty hand, and like a beaten dog followed him where he went. Thus was the once powerful Beast led through all Faeryland, its former victims thronging out of the towns to see it captive and to praise and admire its captor. Thus then did Sir Calidore rid the world during his lifetime of a scandalous pest, although after his days the Beast broke its chain and ranged once more at liberty.
His quest ended, the knight returned to Pastorella, to whom a strange fortune had befallen.
Sir Bellamour and Claribell had known troublous days in their youth. In these days an infant daughter had been born to them, which, owing to the sad woes that had befallen them, Claribell was forced to send away from her. Her maid Melissa had borne the infant to the fields. With many tears she had laid it down and watched behind bushes until a shepherd coming to the spot lifted the babe and carried it away.
And now Melissa, who still lived with Claribell, recognized a certain mark on Pastorella's fair skin by which she was persuaded that the damsel was none other than the long-lost babe. She ran to her mistress with the glad tidings; at first Claribell could hardly believe her, and trembling with uncertain joy, hurried to Pastorella and asked her many questions. To all Pastorella gave satisfactory answers, and Claribell overcome with the gladness of a mother's love, tenderly embraced her child, and then went to tell her husband. Deeply rejoiced, he too acknowledged Pastorella as his daughter.
Thus was the fair shepherdess proved to be a right worthy bride for the mighty Sir Calidore by birth as well as by beauty and goodness, and we may be very sure that they were, as the old story-books say, "happy ever after."