SPENSER’S FAERIE QUEENE (continued 3)

And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, amaz’d xx At flashing beames of that sunshiny shield, Became starke blind, and all his senses daz’d, That downe he tumbled on the durtie field, And seem’d himselfe as conquered to yield. Whom when his maistresse proud perceiu’d to fall, Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintnesse reeld, Vnto the Gyant loudly she gan call, O helpe Orgoglio, helpe, or else we perish all. At her so pitteous cry was much amoou’d[277] xxi Her champion stout, and for to ayde his frend, Againe his wonted angry weapon proou’d: But all in vaine: for he has read his end In that bright shield, and all their[278] forces spend Themselues in vaine: for since that glauncing sight, He hath no powre to hurt, nor to defend; As where th’Almighties lightning brond does light, It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the senses quight. Whom when the Prince, to battell new addrest, xxii And threatning high his dreadfull stroke did see, His sparkling blade about his head he blest, And smote off quite his right leg by the knee, That downe he tombled; as an aged tree, High growing on the top of rocky clift, Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh hewen be, The mightie trunck halfe rent, with ragged rift Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift. Or as a Castle reared high and round, xxiii By subtile engins and malitious slight Is vndermined from the lowest ground, And her foundation forst, and feebled quight, At last downe falles, and with her heaped hight Her hastie ruine does more heauie make, And yields it selfe vnto the victours might; Such was this Gyaunts fall, that seemd to shake The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake.

The knight then lightly leaping to the pray, xxiv With mortall steele him smot againe so sore, That headlesse his vnweldy bodie lay, All wallowd in his owne fowle bloudy gore, Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.[279] But soone as breath out of his[280] breast did pas, That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore, Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas Was nothing left, but like an emptie bladder was. Whose grieuous fall, when false Duessa spide, xxv Her golden cup she cast vnto the ground, And crowned mitre rudely threw aside; Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound, That she could not endure that dolefull stound, But leauing all behind her, fled away: The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around, And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay, So brought vnto his Lord, as his deserued pray. The royall Virgin, which beheld from farre, xxvi In pensiue plight, and sad perplexitie, The whole atchieuement of this doubtfull warre, Came running fast to greet his victorie, With sober gladnesse, and myld modestie, And with sweet ioyous cheare him thus bespake; Faire braunch of noblesse, flowre of cheualrie, That with your worth the world amazed make, How shall I quite the paines, ye suffer for my sake? And you fresh bud of vertue springing fast, xxvii Whom these sad eyes saw nigh vnto deaths dore, What hath poore Virgin for such perill past, Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore My simple selfe, and seruice euermore; And he that high does sit, and all things see With equall eyes[281], their merites to restore, Behold what ye this day haue done for mee, And what I cannot quite, requite with vsuree.

But sith the heauens, and your faire handeling[282] xxviii Haue made you maister[283] of the field this day, Your fortune maister eke with gouerning, And well begun end all so well, I pray, Ne let that wicked woman scape away; For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall, My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay, Where he his better dayes hath wasted all. O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call. Forthwith he gaue in charge vnto his Squire, xxix That scarlot whore to keepen carefully; Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire Into the Castle entred forcibly,[284] Where liuing creature none he did espye; Then gan he lowdly through the house to call: But no man car’d to answere to his crye. There raignd a solemne silence ouer all, Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall. At last with creeping crooked pace forth came xxx An[285] old old man, with beard as white as snow, That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame, And guide his wearie gate both too and fro: For his eye sight him failed long ygo, And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore, The which vnused rust did ouergrow: Those were the keyes of euery inner dore, But he could not them vse, but kept them still in store. But very vncouth sight was to behold, xxxi How he did fashion his vntoward pace, For as he forward moou’d his footing old, So backward still was turnd his wrincled face, Vnlike to men, who euer as they trace, Both feet and face one way are wont to lead. This was the auncient keeper of that place, And foster father of the Gyant dead; His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.

His reuerend haires and holy grauitie xxxii The knight much honord, as beseemed well, And gently askt, where all the people bee, Which in that stately building wont to dwell. Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell. Againe he askt, where that same knight was layd, Whom great Orgoglio with his puissaunce fell Had made his caytiue thrall;[286] againe he sayde, He could not tell: ne euer other answere made. Then asked he, which way he in might pas: xxxiii He could not tell, againe he answered. Thereat the curteous[287] knight displeased was, And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red How ill it sits[288] with that same siluer hed In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee: But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed With natures pen, in ages graue degree, Aread in grauer wise, what I demaund of thee. His answere likewise was, he could not tell. xxxiv Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance When as the noble Prince had marked well, He ghest his nature by his countenance, And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance. Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance. Each dore he opened without any breach; There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach. There all within full rich arayd he found, xxxv With royall arras and resplendent gold. And did with store of euery thing abound, That greatest Princes presence might behold. But all the floore (too filthy to be told) With bloud of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew, Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold, Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew, And sacred ashes ouer it was strowed new.

And there beside of marble stone was built xxxvi An Altare, caru’d with cunning imagery, On which true Christians bloud was often spilt, And holy Martyrs often doen to dye, With cruell malice and strong tyranny: Whose blessed sprites from vnderneath the stone To God for vengeance cryde continually, And with great griefe were often heard to grone, That hardest heart would bleede, to heare their piteous mone. Through euery rowme he sought, and euery bowr, xxxvii But no where could he find that wofull thrall: At last he came vnto an yron doore, That fast was lockt, but key found not at all Emongst that bounch, to open it withall; But in the same a little grate was pight, Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call With all his powre, to weet, if liuing wight Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen might. Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce xxxviii These piteous plaints and dolours did resound; O who is that, which brings me happy choyce Of death, that here lye dying euery stound, Yet liue perforce in balefull darkenesse bound? For now three Moones haue changed thrice their hew, And haue beene thrice hid vnderneath the ground, Since I the heauens chearefull face did vew, O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew. Which when that Champion heard, with percing point xxxix Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore, And trembling horrour ran through euery ioynt, For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore: Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore, With furious force, and indignation fell; Where entred in, his foot could find no flore, But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell, That breathed euer forth a filthie banefull smell.

But neither darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands, xl Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold, (Entire affection hateth nicer hands) But that with constant zeale, and courage bold, After long paines and labours manifold, He found the meanes that Prisoner vp to reare; Whose feeble thighes, vnhable to vphold His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare, A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere. His sad dull eyes deepe sunck in hollow pits, xli Could not endure th’vnwonted sunne to view; His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits, And empty sides deceiued of their dew, Could make a stony hart his hap to rew; His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs Were wont to riue steele plates, and[289] helmets hew, Were cleane consum’d, and all his vitall powres Decayd, and all his flesh shronk vp like withered flowres. Whom when his Lady saw, to him she ran xlii With hasty ioy: to see him made her glad, And sad to view his visage pale and wan, Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad. Tho when her well of teares she wasted had, She said, Ah dearest Lord, what euill starre On you hath fround, and pourd his influence bad, That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre, And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre? But welcome now my Lord, in wele or woe, xliii Whose presence I haue lackt too long a day; And fie[290] on Fortune mine auowed foe, Whose wrathfull wreakes them selues do now alay. And for these wrongs shall treble penaunce pay Of treble good: good growes of euils priefe. The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay, Had no delight to treaten of his griefe; His long endured famine needed more reliefe.

Faire Lady, then said that victorious knight, xliv The things, that grieuous were to do, or beare, Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight; Best musicke breeds †delight[291] in loathing eare: But th’onely good, that growes of passed feare, Is to be wise, and ware of like agein. This dayes ensample hath this lesson deare Deepe written in my heart with yron pen, That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men. Henceforth sir knight, take to you wonted strength, xlv And maister these mishaps with patient might; Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length, And loe that wicked woman in your sight, The roote of all your care, and wretched plight, Now in your powre, to let her liue, or dye. To do her dye (quoth Vna) were despight, And shame t’auenge so weake an enimy; But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly. So as she bad, that witch they disaraid, xlvi And robd of royall robes, and purple pall, And ornaments that richly were displaid; Ne spared they to strip her naked all. Then when they had despoild her tire and call, Such as she was, their eyes might her behold, That her misshaped[292] parts did them appall, A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill fauoured, old, Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told. Her craftie head was altogether bald, xlvii And as in hate of honorable eld, Was ouergrowne with scurfe and filthy scald; Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were feld, And her sowre breath abhominably smeld; Her dried dugs, like bladders lacking wind, Hong downe, and filthy matter from them weld; Her wrizled skin as rough, as maple rind, So scabby was, that would haue loathd all womankind.

Her neather parts, the shame of all her kind, xlviii My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to write;[293] But at her rompe she growing had behind A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight; And eke her feete most monstrous were in sight; For one of them was like an Eagles claw, With griping talaunts armd to greedy fight, The other like a Beares vneuen paw: More vgly shape yet neuer liuing creature saw. Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were, xlix And wondred at so fowle deformed wight. Such then (said Vna) as she seemeth here, Such is the face of falshood, such the sight Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne. Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight, And all her filthy feature open showne, They let her goe at will, and wander wayes vnknowne. She flying fast from heauens hated face, l And from the world that her discouered wide, Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace, From liuing eyes her open shame to hide, And lurkt[294] in rocks and caues long vnespide. But that faire crew of knights, and Vna faire Did in that castle afterwards abide, To rest them selues, and weary powres repaire, Where store they found of all, that dainty was and rare.

His loues and lignage Arthur tells:[295] The knights knit friendly bands[296]: Sir Treuisan flies from Despayre, Whom Redcrosse knight withstands.

O Goodly golden chaine, wherewith yfere i The vertues linked are in lonely wize: And noble minds of yore allyed were, In braue poursuit of cheualrous emprize, That none did others safety despize, Nor aid enuy to him, in need that stands, But friendly each did others prayse deuize[297] How to aduaunce with fauourable hands, As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse knight from bands. Who when their powres,[298] empaird through labour long, ii With dew repast they had recured well, And that weake captiue wight now wexed strong, Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell, But forward fare, as their aduentures fell, But ere they parted, Vna faire besought That straunger knight his name and nation tell; Least so great good, as he for her had wrought, Should die vnknown, and buried be in thanklesse thought. Faire virgin (said the Prince) ye me require iii A thing without the compas of my wit: For both the lignage and the certain Sire, From which I sprong, from me are hidden yit. For all so soone as life did me admit Into this world, and shewed heauens light, From mothers pap I taken was vnfit: And streight deliuered to a Faery knight, To be vpbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might.

Vnto old Timon he me brought byliue, iv Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene In warlike feates th’expertest man aliue, And is the wisest now on earth I weene; His dwelling is low in a valley greene, Vnder the foot of Rauran mossy hore, From whence the riuer Dee as siluer cleene His tombling billowes rolls with gentle rore: There all my dayes he traind me vp in vertuous lore. Thither the great Magicien Merlin came, v As was his vse, ofttimes to visit me: For he had charge my discipline to frame, And Tutours nouriture to ouersee. Him oft and oft I askt in priuitie, Of what loines and what lignage I did spring: Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee, That I was sonne and heire vnto a king, As time in her iust terme the truth to light should bring. Well worthy impe, said then the Lady gent, vi And Pupill fit for such a Tutours hand. But what aduenture, or what high intent Hath brought you hither into Faery land, Aread Prince Arthur, crowne of Martiall band? Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright The course of heauenly cause, or vnderstand The secret meaning of th’eternall might, That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of liuing wight. For whither he through fatall deepe foresight vii Me hither sent, for cause to me vnghest, Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day and night Whilome doth rancle in my riuen brest, With forced fury following his behest, Me hither brought by wayes yet neuer found, You to haue helpt I hold my selfe yet blest. Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound Could euer find, to grieue the gentlest hart on ground?

Deare Dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparkes awake, viii Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow, Ne euer will their feruent fury slake, Till liuing moysture into smoke do flow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low. Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But told it flames, and hidden it does glow, I will reuele, what ye so much desire: Ah Loue, lay downe thy bow, the[299] whiles I may respire. It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares, ix When courage first does creepe in manly chest, Then first the[300] coale of kindly heat appeares To kindle loue in euery liuing brest; But me had warnd old Timons[301] wise behest, Those creeping flames by reason to subdew, Before their rage grew to so great vnrest, As miserable louers vse to rew, Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new. That idle name of loue, and louers life, x As losse of time, and vertues enimy I euer scornd, and ioyd to stirre vp strife, In middest of their mournfull Tragedy, Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry, And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent: Their God himselfe, grieu’d at my libertie, Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent, But I them warded all with wary gouernment. But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong, xi Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound, But will at last be wonne with battrie long, Or vnawares[302] at disauantage found; Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground: And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might, And boasts, in beauties chaine not to be bound, Doth soonest fall in disauentrous fight, And yeeldes his caytiue neck to victours most despight.

Ensample make of him your haplesse ioy, xii And of my selfe now mated, as ye see; Whose prouder vaunt that proud auenging boy Did soone pluck downe, and curbd my libertie. For on a day prickt forth with iollitie Of looser life, and heat of hardiment, Raunging the forest wide on courser free, The fields, the floods, the heauens with one consent Did seeme to laugh on[303] me, and fauour mine intent. For-wearied with my sports, I did alight xiii From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd; The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight, And pillow was my helmet faire displayd: Whiles euery sence the humour sweet embayd, And slombring soft my hart did steale away, Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay: So faire a creature yet saw neuer sunny day. Most goodly glee and louely blandishment xiv She to me made, and bad me loue her deare, For dearely sure her loue was to me bent, As when iust time expired should appeare. But whether dreames delude, or true it were, Was neuer hart so rauisht with delight, Ne liuing man like words did euer heare, As she to me deliuered all that night; And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight. When I awoke, and found her place deuoyd, xv And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen, I sorrowed all so much, as earst I ioyd, And washed all her place with watry eyen. From that day forth I lou’d that face diuine; From that day forth I cast in carefull mind, To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne, And neuer vow[304] to rest, till her I find, Nine monethes I seeke in vaine yet ni’ll that vow vnbind.

Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale, xvi And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray; Yet still he stroue to cloke his inward bale, And hide the smoke, that did his fire display, Till gentle Vna thus to him gan say; O happy Queene of Faeries, that hast found Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound: True Loues are often sown, but seldom grow on ground. Thine, O then, said the gentle Redcrosse knight, xvii Next to that Ladies loue, shalbe the place, O fairest virgin, full of heauenly light, Whose wondrous faith, exceeding earthly race, Was firmest fixt in mine extremest case. And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life, Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace: For onely worthy you through prowes priefe Yf liuing man mote worthy be, to be her liefe. So diuersly discoursing of their loues, xviii The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew, And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoues, With fresh desire his voyage to pursew: Als Vna earnd her traueill to renew. Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bynd, And loue establish each to other trew, Gaue goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd, And eke as[305] pledges firme, right hands together ioynd. Prince Arthur gaue a boxe of Diamond sure, xix Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament, Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure, Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent, That any wound could heale incontinent: Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gaue A booke, wherein his[306] Saueours testament Was writ with golden letters rich and braue; A worke of wondrous grace, and able[307] soules to saue.

Thus beene they parted, Arthur on his way xx To seeke his loue, and th’other for to fight With Vnaes foe, that all her realme did pray. But she now weighing the decayed plight, And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight, Would not a while her forward course pursew, Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight, Till he recouered had his former hew: For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew. So as they traueild, lo they gan espy xxi An armed knight towards them gallop fast, That seemed from some feared foe to fly, Or other griesly thing, that him agast. Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast, As if his feare still followed him behind; Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast, And with his winged heeles did tread the wind, As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kind. Nigh as he drew, they might perceiue his head xxii To be vnarmd, and curld vncombed heares Vpstaring stiffe, dismayd with vncouth dread; Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares, In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire degree, About his neck an hempen rope he weares, That with his glistring armes does ill agree; But he of rope or armes has now no memoree. The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast, xxiii To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd: There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast, That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd; Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd, Till he these wordes to him deliuer might; Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd, And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight: For neuer knight I saw in such misseeming plight.

He answerd nought at all, but adding new xxiv Feare to his first amazment, staring wide With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew, Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide[308] Infernall furies, with their chaines vntide. Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake The gentle knight; who nought to him replide, But trembling euery ioynt did inly quake, And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake. For Gods deare loue, Sir knight, do me not stay; xxv For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee. Eft looking backe would faine haue runne away; But he him forst to stay, and tellen free The secret cause of his perplexitie: Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach, Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee, But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach, Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach. And am I now in safetie sure (quoth he) xxvi From him, that would haue forced me to dye? And is the point of death now turnd fro mee, That I may tell this haplesse history? Feare nought: (quoth he) no daunger now is nye.[309] Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace, (Said he) the which with this vnlucky eye I late beheld, and had not greater grace Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place. I lately chaunst (Would I had neuer chaunst) xxvii With a faire knight to keepen companee, Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe aduaunst In all affaires, and was both bold and free, But not so happie as mote happie bee: He lou’d, as was his lot, a Ladie gent, That him againe lou’d in the least degree: For she was proud, and of too high intent, And ioyd to see her louer languish and lament.

From whom returning sad and comfortlesse, xxviii As on the way together we did fare, We met that villen (God from him me blesse) That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare, A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire: Who first vs greets, and after faire areedes Of tydings strange, and of aduentures rare: So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes, Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes. Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts xxix Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe, Which loue had launched[310] with his deadly darts, With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe[311] He pluckt from vs all hope of due reliefe, That earst vs held in loue of lingring life; Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe Perswade vs die, to stint all further strife: To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife. With which sad instrument of hastie death, xxx That wofull louer, loathing lenger light, A wide way made to let forth liuing breath. But I more fearefull, or more luckie wight, Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight, Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare: Ne yet assur’d of life by you, Sir knight, Whose like infirmitie like chaunce may beare: But God you neuer let his charmed speeches heare. How may a man (said he) with idle speach xxxi Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health? I wote (quoth he) whom triall late did teach, That like would not for all this worldes wealth: His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt’th[312] Into the hart, and searcheth euery vaine, That ere one be aware, by secret stealth His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine. O neuer Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.

Certes (said he) hence shall I neuer rest, xxxii Till I that treachours art haue heard and tride; And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request, Of grace do me vnto his cabin guide. I that hight Treuisan (quoth he) will ride Against my liking backe, to doe you grace: But nor for gold nor glee will I abide By you, when ye arriue in that same place; For leuer had I die, then see his deadly face. Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight xxxiii His dwelling has, low in an hollow caue, Farre vnderneath a craggie clift ypight[313], Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedie graue, That still for carrion carcases doth craue: On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle, Shrieking his balefull note, which euer draue Farre from that haunt all other chearefull fowle; And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle. And all about old stockes and stubs of trees, xxxiv Whereon nor fruit, nor leafe was euer seene, Did hang vpon the ragged rocky knees; On which had many wretches hanged beene, Whose carcases were scattered[314] on the greene, And throwne about the cliffs[315]. Arriued there, That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene, Would faine haue fled, ne durst approchen neare, But th’other forst him stay, and comforted in feare. That darkesome caue they enter, where they find xxxv That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind; His griesie lockes, long growen, and vnbound, Disordred hong about his shoulders round, And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound; His raw-bone cheekes through penurie and pine, Were[316] shronke into his iawes, as he did neuer dine.

His garment nought but many ragged clouts, xxxvi With thornes together pind and patched was, The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts; And him beside there lay vpon the gras A drearie corse, whose life away did pas, All wallowd in his owne yet luke-warme blood, That from his wound yet welled fresh alas; In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood, And made an open passage for the gushing flood. Which piteous spectacle, approuing trew xxxvii The wofull tale that Treuisan had told, When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew, With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold, Him to auenge, before his bloud were cold, And to the villein said, Thou damned wight, The author of this fact, we here behold, What iustice can but iudge against thee right, With thine owne bloud to price his bloud, here shed in sight?[317] What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught xxxviii Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to giue? What iustice euer other iudgement taught, But he should die, who merites not to liue? None else to death this man despayring driue, But his owne guiltie mind deseruing death. Is then vniust to each his due to giue? Or let him die, that loatheth liuing breath? Or let him die at ease, that liueth here vneath? Who trauels[318] by the wearie wandring way, xxxix To come vnto his wished home in haste, And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay, Is not great grace to helpe him ouer past, Or free his feet, that in the myre sticke fast? Most enuious man, that grieues at neighbours good, And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast, Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood Vpon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?

He there does now enioy eternall rest xl And happie ease, which thou doest want and craue, And further from it daily wanderest: What if some litle paine the passage haue, That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter waue? Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet graue? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please. The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit, xli And said, The terme of life is[319] limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The souldier may not moue from watchfull sted, Nor leaue his stand, vntill his Captaine bed. Who life did limit by almightie doome, (Quoth he) knowes best the termes established; And he, that points the Centonell his roome, Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome. Is not his deed, what euer thing is donne, xlii In heauen and earth? did not he all create To die againe? all ends that was begonne. Their times in his eternall booke of fate Are written sure, and haue their certaine date. Who then can striue with strong necessitie, That holds the world in his still chaunging state, Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie? When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why. The lenger life, I wote the greater sin, xliii The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battels, which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and bloud-shed, and auengement, Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent: For life must life, and bloud must bloud repay. Is not enough thy euill life forespent? For he, that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.

Then do no further goe, no further stray, xliv But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake, Th’ill to preuent, that life ensewen may. For what hath life, that may it loued make, And giues not rather cause it to forsake? Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife, Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake; And euer fickle fortune rageth rife, All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life. Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need, xlv If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state: For neuer knight, that dared warlike deede, More lucklesse disauentures did amate: Witnesse the dongeon deepe, wherein of late Thy life shut vp, for death so oft did call; And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date, Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall, Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall. Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire xlvi To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree? Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire High heaped vp with huge iniquitie, Against the day of wrath, to burden thee? Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde Thou falsed[320] hast thy faith with periurie, And sold thy selfe to serue Duessa vilde, With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde? Is not he iust, that all this doth behold xlvii From highest heauen, and beares an equall eye? Shall he thy sins vp in his knowledge fold, And guiltie be of thine impietie? Is not his law, Let euery sinner die: Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne, Is it not better to doe willinglie, Then linger, till the glasse be all out ronne? Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne.

The knight was much enmoued with his speach, xlviii That as a swords point through his hart did perse, And in his conscience made a secret breach, Well knowing true all, that he did reherse, And to his fresh remembrance did reuerse The vgly vew of his deformed crimes, That all his manly powres it did disperse, As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes, That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes. In which amazement, when the Miscreant xlix Perceiued him to wauer weake and fraile, Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant, And hellish anguish did his soule assaile, To driue him to despaire, and quite to quaile, He shew’d him painted in a table plaine, The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile, And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine With fire and brimstone, which for euer shall remaine. The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid, l That nought but death before his eyes he saw, And euer burning wrath before him laid, By righteous sentence of th’Almighties law: Then gan the villein him to ouercraw, And brought vnto him swords, ropes, poison, fire, And all that might him to perdition draw; And bad him choose, what death he would desire: For death was due to him, that had prouokt Gods ire. But when as none of them he saw him take, li He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene, And gaue it him in hand: his hand did quake, And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene, And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene To come, and goe with tydings from the hart, As it a running messenger had beene. At last resolu’d to worke his finall smart, He lifted vp his hand, that backe againe did start.

Which when as Vna saw[321], through euery vaine lii The crudled cold ran to her well of life, As in a swowne: but soone reliu’d[322] againe, Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife, And threw it to the ground, enraged rife, And to him said, Fie, fie, faint harted knight, What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife? Is this the battell, which thou vauntst to fight With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright? Come, come away, fraile, feeble[323], fleshly wight, liii Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart, Ne diuelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright. In heauenly mercies hast thou not a part? Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art? Where iustice growes, there grows eke greater grace, The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart, And that accurst hand-writing doth deface.[324] Arise, Sir knight arise, and leaue this cursed place. So vp he rose, and thence amounted streight. liv Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest Would safe depart, for all his subtill sleight, He chose an halter from among the rest, And with it hung himselfe, vnbid vnblest. But death he could not worke himselfe thereby; For thousand times he so himselfe had drest, Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die, Till he should die his last, that is eternally.

Her faithfull knight faire Vna brings to house of Holinesse, Where he is taught repentance, and the way to heauenly blesse.

What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might, i And vaine assurance of mortality, Which all so soone, as it doth come to fight, Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by, Or from the field most cowardly doth fly? Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill, That thorough grace hath gained victory. If any strength we haue, it is to ill, But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will. By that, which lately hapned, Vna saw, ii That this her knight was feeble, and too faint; And all his sinews woxen weake and raw, Through long enprisonment[325], and hard constraint, Which he endured in his late restraint, That yet he was vnfit for bloudie fight: Therefore to cherish him with diets daint, She cast to bring him, where he chearen might, Till he recouered had his late decayed plight. There was an auntient house not farre away, iii Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore, And pure vnspotted life: so well they say It gouernd was, and guided euermore, Through wisedome of a matrone graue and hore; Whose onely ioy was to relieue the needes Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore: All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, And all the day in doing good and godly deedes.

Dame Cœlia men did her call, as thought iv From heauen to come, or thither to arise, The mother of three daughters, well vpbrought In goodly thewes, and godly exercise: The eldest two most sober, chast, and wise, Fidelia and Speranza virgins were, Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize; But faire Charissa to a louely fere Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere. Arriued there, the dore they find fast lockt; v For it was warely watched night and day, For feare of many foes: but when they knockt, The Porter opened vnto them streight way: He was an aged syre, all hory gray, With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow, Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay, Hight Humiltá. They passe in stouping low; For streight and narrow was the way, which he did show. Each goodly thing is hardest to begin, vi But entred in a spacious court they see, Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in, Where them does meete a francklin faire and free, And entertaines with comely courteous glee, His name was Zele, that him right well became, For in his speeches and behauiour hee Did labour liuely to expresse the same, And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came. There fairely them receiues a gentle Squire, vii Of milde demeanure, and rare courtesie, Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire; In word and deede that shew’d great modestie, And knew his good to all of each degree, Hight Reuerence. He them with speeches meet Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie, But simple true[326], and eke vnfained sweet, As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades, viii That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place: Who all this while was busie at her beades: Which doen, she vp arose with seemely grace, And toward them full matronely did pace. Where when that fairest Vna she beheld, Whom well she knew to spring from heauenly race, Her hart with ioy vnwonted inly sweld, As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld. And her embracing said, O happie earth, ix Whereon thy innocent feet doe euer tread, Most vertuous virgin borne of heauenly berth, That to redeeme thy woefull parents head, From tyrans rage, and euer-dying dread, Hast wandred through the world now long a day; Yet ceasest not thy wearie soles to lead, What grace hath thee now hither brought this way? Or doen thy feeble feet vnweeting hither stray? Strange thing it is an errant knight to see x Here in this place, or any other wight, That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee, That chose[327] the narrow path, or seeke the right: All keepe the broad high way, and take delight With many rather for to go astray, And be partakers of their euill plight, Then with a few to walke the rightest way; O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay? Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbs to rest, xi O matrone sage (quoth she) I hither came, And this good knight his way with me addrest, Led with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame, That vp to heauen is blowne. The auncient Dame[328] Him goodly greeted in her modest guise, And entertaynd them both, as best became, With all the court’sies, that she could deuise, Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

Thus as they gan of sundry things deuise, xii Loe two most goodly virgins came in place, Ylinked arme in arme in louely wise, With countenance demure, and modest grace, They numbred euen steps and equall pace: Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, Like sunny beames threw from her Christall face, That could haue dazd the rash beholders sight, And round about her head did shine like heauens light. She was araied all in lilly white, xiii And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, With wine and water fild vp to the hight, In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold, That horrour made to all, that did behold; But she no whit did chaunge her constant mood: And in her other hand she fast did hold A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood, Wherein darke things were writ, hard to be vnderstood. Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, xiv Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well; Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight, As was her sister; whether dread did dwell, Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell: Vpon her arme a siluer anchor lay, Whereon she leaned euer, as befell: And euer vp to heauen, as she did pray, Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarued other way. They seeing Vna, towards her gan wend, xv Who them encounters with like courtesie; Many kind speeches they betwene them spend, And greatly ioy each other well[329] to see: Then to the knight with shamefast modestie They turne themselues, at Vnaes meeke request, And him salute with well beseeming glee; Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best, And goodly gan[330] discourse of many a noble gest.

Then Vna thus; But she your sister deare; xvi The deare Charissa where is she become? Or wants she health, or busie is elsewhere? Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come: For she of late is lightned of her wombe, And hath encreast the world with one sonne more, That her to see should be but troublesome. Indeede (quoth she) that should her[331] trouble sore, But thankt be God, and her encrease so euermore. Then said the aged Cœlia, Deare dame, xvii And you good Sir, I wote that of your toyle, And labours long, through which ye hither came, Ye both forwearied be: therefore a whyle I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle. Then called she a Groome, that forth him led Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed; His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared. Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest, xviii And bodies were refresht with due repast, Faire Vna gan Fidelia faire request, To haue her knight into her schoolehouse plaste, That of her heauenly learning he might taste, And heare the wisedome of her words diuine. She graunted, and that knight so much agraste, That she him taught celestiall discipline, And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine. And that her sacred Booke, with bloud ywrit, xix That none could read, except she did them teach, She vnto him disclosed euery whit, And heauenly documents thereout did preach, That weaker wit of man could neuer reach, Of God, of grace, of iustice, of free will, That wonder was to heare her goodly speach: For she was able, with her words to kill, And raise againe to life the hart, that she did thrill.

And when she list poure out her larger spright, xx She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay, Or backward turne his course from heauens hight; Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay, Dry-shod to passe, she parts the flouds in tway;[332] And eke huge mountaines from their natiue seat She would commaund, themselues to beare away, And throw in raging sea with roaring threat. Almightie God her gaue such powre, and puissance great. The faithfull knight now grew in litle space, xxi By hearing her, and by her sisters lore, To such perfection of all heauenly grace, That wretched world he gan for to abhore, And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore, Greeu’d with remembrance of his wicked wayes, And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore, That he desirde[333] to end his wretched dayes: So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes. But wise Speranza gaue him comfort sweet, xxii And taught him how to take assured hold Vpon her siluer anchor, as was meet; Else had his sinnes so great, and manifold Made him forget all that Fidelia told. In this distressed doubtfull agonie, When him his dearest Vna did behold, Disdeining life, desiring leaue to die, She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie. And came to Cœlia to declare her smart, xxiii Who well acquainted with that commune plight, Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart, Her wisely comforted all that she might, With goodly counsell and aduisement right; And streightway sent with carefull diligence, To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight In that disease of grieued conscience, And well could cure the same; His name was Patience.

Who comming to that soule-diseased knight, xxiv Could hardly him intreat, to tell his griefe: Which knowne, and all that noyd his heauie spright[334] Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply reliefe[335] Of salues and med’cines, which had passing priefe, And thereto added words of wondrous might: By which to ease he him recured briefe, And much asswag’d the passion of his plight, That he his paine endur’d, as seeming now more light. But yet the cause and root of all his ill, xxv Inward corruption, and infected sin, Not purg’d nor heald, behind remained still, And festring sore did rankle yet within, Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin. Which to extirpe, he laid him priuily Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in, Whereas he meant his corrosiues to apply, And with streight[336] diet tame his stubborne malady. In ashes and sackcloth he did array xxvi His daintie corse, proud humors to abate, And dieted with fasting euery day, The swelling of his wounds to mitigate, And made him pray both earely and eke late: And euer as superfluous flesh did rot Amendment readie still at hand did wayt, To pluck it out with pincers firie whot, That soone in him was left no one corrupted iot. And bitter Penance with an yron whip, xxvii Was wont him once to disple euery day: And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip, That drops of bloud thence like a well did play; And sad Repentance vsed to embay[337] His bodie in salt water smarting sore,[338] The filthy blots of sinne to wash away. So in short space they did to health restore The man that would not liue, but earst lay at deathes dore.

In which his torment often was so great, xxviii That like a Lyon he would cry and rore, And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat. His owne deare Vna hearing euermore His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore Her guiltlesse garments, and her golden heare, For pitty of his paine and anguish sore; Yet all with patience wisely she did beare; For well she wist, his crime could else be neuer cleare. Whom thus recouer’d by wise Patience, xxix And trew Repentance they to Vna brought: Who ioyous of his cured conscience, Him dearely kist, and fairely eke besought Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought To put away out of his carefull brest. By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought, Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest; To her faire Vna brought this vnacquainted guest. She was a woman in her freshest age, xxx Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare, With goodly grace and comely personage, That was on earth not easie to compare; Full of great loue, but Cupids wanton snare As hell she hated, chast in worke and will; Her necke and breasts were euer open bare, That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill; The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still. A multitude of babes about her hong, xxxi Playing their sports, that ioyd her to behold, Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake and young, But thrust them forth still, as they wexed old: And on her head she wore a tyre of gold, Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire,[339] Whose passing price vneath was to be told; And by her side there sate a gentle paire Of turtle doues, she sitting in an yuorie chaire.

The knight and Vna entring, faire her greet, xxxii And bid her ioy of that her happie brood; Who them requites with court’sies seeming meet, And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood. Then Vna her besought, to be so good, As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight, Now after all his torment well withstood, In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright Had past the paines of hell, and long enduring night. She was right ioyous of her iust request, xxxiii And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne, Gan him instruct in euery good behest, Of loue, and righteousnesse, and well to donne, And wrath, and hatred warely to shonne, That drew on men Gods hatred, and his wrath, And many soules in dolours had fordonne: In which when him she well instructed hath, From thence to heauen she teacheth him the ready path. Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide, xxxiv An auncient matrone she to her does call, Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride: Her name was Mercie, well knowne ouer all, To be both gratious, and eke liberall: To whom the carefull charge of him she gaue, To lead aright, that he should neuer fall In all his wayes through this wide worldes[340] waue, That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might saue. The godly Matrone by the hand him beares xxxv Forth from her presence, by a narrow way, Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares, Which still before him she remou’d away, That nothing might his ready passage stay: And euer when his feet encombred were, Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray, She held him fast, and firmely did vpbeare, As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare.

Eftsoones vnto an holy Hospitall, xxxvi That was fore by the way, she did him bring, In which seuen Bead-men that had vowed all Their life to seruice of high heauens king Did spend their dayes in doing godly thing: Their[341] gates to all were open euermore, That by the wearie way were traueiling, And one sate wayting euer them before, To call in commers-by[342], that needy were and pore. The first of them that eldest was, and best, xxxvii Of all the house had charge and gouernement, As Guardian and Steward of the rest: His office was to giue entertainement And lodging, vnto all that came, and went: Not vnto such, as could him feast againe, And double quite, for that he on them spent, But such, as want of harbour did constraine: Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine. The second was as[343] Almner of the place, xxxviii His office was, the hungry for to feed, And thristy giue to drinke, a worke of grace: He feard not once him selfe to be in need, Ne car’d to hoord for those, whom he did breede: The grace of God he layd vp still in store, Which as a stocke he left vnto his seede; He had enough, what need him care for more? And had he lesse, yet some he would giue to the pore. The third had of their wardrobe custodie, xxxix In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay, The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie, But clothes[344] meet to keepe keene could away, And naked nature seemely to aray; With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad, The images of God in earthly clay; And if that no spare cloths[345] to giue he had, His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad.

The fourth appointed by his office was, xl Poore prisoners to relieue with gratious ayd, And captiues to redeeme with price of bras, From Turkes and Sarazins, which them had stayd; And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd, That God to vs forgiueth euery howre Much more then that, why they in bands were layd, And he that harrowd hell with heauie stowre, The faultie soules from thence brought to his heauenly bowre. The fift had charge sicke persons to attend, xli And comfort those, in point of death which lay; For them most needeth comfort in the end, When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay The feeble soule departing hence away. All is but lost, that liuing we bestow, If not well ended at our dying day. O man haue mind of that last bitter throw; For as the tree does fall, so lyes it euer low. The sixt had charge of them now being dead, xlii In seemely sort their corses to engraue, And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed, That to their heauenly spouse both sweet and braue They might appeare, when he their soules shall saue. The wondrous workemanship of Gods owne mould, Whose face he made, all beasts to feare, and gaue All in his hand, euen dead we honour should. Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould. The seuenth now after death and buriall done, xliii Had charge the tender Orphans of the dead And widowes ayd, least they should be vndone: In face of iudgement he their right would plead, Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread In their defence, nor would for gold or fee Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread: And when they stood in most necessitee, He did supply their want, and gaue them euer free.

There when the Elfin knight arriued was, xliv The first and chiefest of the seuen, whose care Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas: Where seeing Mercie, that his steps vp bare, And alwayes led, to her with reuerence rare He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse, And seemely welcome for her did prepare: For of their order she was Patronesse, Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse. There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest, xlv That to the rest more able he might bee: During which time, in euery good behest And godly worke of Almes and charitee She him instructed with great industree; Shortly therein so perfect he became, That from the first vnto the last degree, His mortall life he learned had to frame In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame. Thence forward by that painfull way they pas, xlvi Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy; On top whereof a sacred chappell was, And eke a litle Hermitage thereby, Wherein an aged holy man did lye, That day and night said his deuotion, Ne other worldly busines did apply; His name was heauenly Contemplation; Of God and goodnesse was his meditation. Great grace that old man to him giuen had; xlvii For God he often saw from heauens hight, All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad, And through great age had lost their kindly sight, Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright, As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne: That hill they scale with all their powre and might, That his frayle thighes nigh wearie and fordonne Gan faile, but by her helpe the top at last he wonne.

There they do finde that godly aged Sire, xlviii With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed, As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded. Each bone might through his body well be red, And euery sinew seene through his long fast: For nought he car’d his carcas long vnfed; His mind was full of spirituall repast, And pyn’d his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast. Who when these two approching he aspide xlix At their first presence grew agrieued sore, That forst him lay his heauenly thoughts aside; And had he not that Dame respected more, Whom highly he did reuerence and adore, He would not once haue moued for the knight. They him saluted standing far afore; Who well them greeting, humbly did requight, And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height. What end (quoth she[346]) should cause vs take such paine, l But that same end, which euery liuing wight Should make his marke, high heauen to attaine? Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right To that most glorious house, that glistreth bright With burning starres, and euerliuing fire, Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight By wise Fidelia? she doth thee require, To shew it to this knight, according his desire. Thrise happy man, said then the father graue, li Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead, And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to saue. Who better can the way to heauen aread, Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred In heauenly throne, where thousand Angels shine? Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead Present before the maiestie diuine, And his auenging wrath to clemencie incline.

Yet since[347] thou bidst, thy pleasure shalbe donne. lii Then come thou man of earth, and see the way, That neuer yet was seene of Faeries sonne, That neuer leads the traueiler astray, But after labours long, and sad delay, Brings[348] them to ioyous rest and endlesse blis. But first thou must a season fast and pray, Till from her bands the spright assoiled is, And haue her strength recur’d from fraile infirmitis. That done, he leads him to the highest Mount; liii Such one, as that same mighty man of God, That bloud-red billowes like a walled front On either side disparted with his rod, Till that his army dry-foot through them yod, Dwelt fortie dayes vpon; where writ in stone With bloudy letters by the hand of God, The bitter doome of death and balefull mone He did receiue, whiles flashing fire about him shone. Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie, liv Adornd with fruitfull Oliues all arownd, Is, as it were for endlesse memory Of that deare Lord, who oft thereon was fownd, For euer with a flowring girlond crownd: Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay Through famous Poets verse each where renownd, On which the thrise three learned Ladies play Their heauenly notes, and make full many a louely lay. From thence, far off he vnto him did shew lv A litle path, that was both steepe and long, Which to a goodly Citie led his vew; Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell; Too high a ditty for my simple song; The Citie of the great king hight it well, Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see lvi The blessed Angels to and fro descend From highest heauen, in gladsome companee, And with great ioy into that Citie wend, As commonly as friend does with his frend. Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere, What stately building durst so high extend Her loftie towres vnto the starry sphere, And what vnknowen nation there empeopled were. Faire knight (quoth he) Hierusalem that is, lvii The new Hierusalem, that God has built For those to dwell in, that are chosen his, His chosen people purg’d from sinfull guilt, With pretious[349] bloud, which cruelly was spilt On cursed tree, of that vnspotted lam, That for the sinnes of all the world was kilt: Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam, More deare vnto their God, then younglings to their dam. Till now, said then the knight, I weened well, lviii That great Cleopolis, where I haue beene, In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell,[350] The fairest Citie was, that might be seene; And that bright towre all built of christall cleene, Panthea, seemd the brightest thing, that was: But now by proofe all otherwise I weene; For this great Citie that does far surpas, And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas. Most trew, then said the holy aged man; lix Yet is Cleopolis for earthly frame[351], The fairest peece, that eye beholden can: And well beseemes all knights of noble name, That couet in th’immortall booke of fame To be eternized, that same to haunt, And doen their seruice to that soueraigne Dame, That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt: For she is heauenly borne, and heauen may iustly vaunt.

And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race, lx How euer now accompted[352] Elfins sonne, Well worthy doest thy seruice for her grace, To aide a virgin desolate foredonne. But when thou famous victorie hast wonne, And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield, Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne, And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field: For bloud can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield. Then seeke this path, that I to thee presage, lxi Which after all to heauen shall thee send; Then peaceably thy[353] painefull pilgrimage To yonder same Hierusalem do bend, Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end: For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see, Shalt be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee, Saint George of mery England, the signe of victoree. Vnworthy wretch (quoth he) of so great grace, lxii How dare I thinke such glory to attaine? These that haue it attaind, were in like cace (Quoth he) as wretched, and liu’d in like paine.[354] But deeds of armes must I at last be faine, And Ladies loue to leaue so dearely bought? What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine, (Said he) and battailes none are to be fought?[355] As for loose loues are vaine,[356] and vanish into nought. O let me not (quoth he) then turne[357] againe lxiii Backe to the world, whose ioyes so fruitlesse are; But let me here for aye in peace remaine, Or streight way on that last long voyage fare, That nothing may my present hope empare. That may not be (said he) ne maist thou yit Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care, Who did her cause into thy hand commit, Till from her cursed foe thou haue her freely quit.

Then shall I soone, (quoth he) so God me grace, lxiv Abet that virgins cause disconsolate, And shortly backe returne vnto this place, To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate. But now aread, old father, why of late Didst thou behight me borne of English blood, Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate?[358] That word shall I (said he) auouchen good, Sith to thee is vnknowne the cradle of thy brood. For well I wote, thou springst from ancient race lxv Of Saxon kings, that haue with mightie hand And many bloudie battailes fought in place[359] High reard their royall throne in Britane[360] land, And vanquisht them, vnable to withstand: From thence a Faerie thee vnweeting reft, There as thou slepst in tender swadling band, And her base Elfin brood there for thee left. Such men do Chaungelings call, so chaungd by Faeries theft. Thence she thee brought into this Faerie lond, lxvi And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde, Where thee a Ploughman all vnweeting fond, As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde, And brought thee vp in ploughmans state to byde, Whereof Georgos he thee gaue to name; Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde, To Faery court thou cam’st to seeke for fame, And proue thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became. O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quight lxvii The many fauours I with thee haue found, That hast my name and nation red aright, And taught the way that does to heauen bound? This said, adowne he looked to the ground, To haue returnd, but dazed were his eyne, Through passing brightnesse, which did quite confound His feeble sence, and too exceeding shyne. So darke are earthly things compard to things diuine.

At last whenas himselfe he gan to find, lxviii To Vna back he cast him to retire; Who him awaited still with pensiue mind. Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre, He thence departing gaue for his paines hyre. So came to Vna, who him ioyd to see, And after litle rest, gan him desire, Of her aduenture mindfull for to bee. So leaue they take of Cœlia, and her daughters three.

The knight with that old Dragon fights two dayes incessantly: The third him ouerthrowes, and gayns most glorious victory.

High time now gan it wex for Vna faire[361], i To thinke of those her captiue Parents deare, And their forwasted kingdome to repaire: Whereto whenas they now approched neare, With hartie words her knight she gan to cheare, And in her modest manner thus bespake; Deare knight, as deare, as euer knight was deare, That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake, High heauen behold the tedious toyle, ye for me take. Now are we come vnto my natiue soyle, ii And to the place, where all our perils dwell; Here haunts that feend, and does his dayly spoyle, Therefore henceforth be at[362] your keeping well, And euer ready for your foeman fell. The sparke of noble courage now awake, And striue your excellent selfe to excell; That shall ye euermore renowmed make, Aboue all knights on earth, that batteill vndertake.

And pointing forth, lo yonder is (said she) iii[363] The brasen towre in which my parents deare For dread of that huge feend emprisond be,[364] Whom I from far[365] see on the walles appeare, Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare: And on the top of all I do espye The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare, That O my parents might I happily Vnto you bring, to ease you of your misery. With that they heard a roaring hideous sound, iv That all the ayre with terrour filled wide, And seemd vneath to shake the stedfast ground. Eftsoones that dreadfull Dragon they espide, Where stretcht[366] he lay vpon the sunny side[367] Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill. But all so soone, as he from far descride Those glistring armes, that heauen with light did fill, He rousd himselfe full blith, and hastned them vntill. Then bad the knight his[368] Lady yede aloofe, v And to an hill her selfe with draw aside, From whence she might behold that battailles proof And eke be safe from daunger far descryde: She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde. Now O thou sacred Muse, most learned Dame, Faire ympe of Phœbus and his aged bride, The Nourse of time, and euerlasting fame, That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name; O gently come into my feeble brest, vi Come gently, but not with that mighty rage, Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest, And harts of great Heroës doest enrage, That nought their kindled courage may aswage,[369] Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd;[370] The God of warre with his fiers equipage Thou doest awake, sleepe neuer he so sownd, And scared[371] nations doest with horrour sterne astownd.

Faire Goddesse lay that furious fit aside, vii Till I of warres and bloudy Mars do sing, And Briton fields with Sarazin bloud bedyde, Twixt that great faery Queene and Paynim king, That with their horrour heauen and earth did ring, A worke of labour long, and endlesse prayse: But now a while let downe that haughtie string, And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse, That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze. By this the dreadfull Beast drew nigh to hand, viii Halfe flying, and halfe footing in his hast, That with his largenesse measured much land, And made wide shadow vnder his huge wast; As mountaine doth the valley ouercast. Approching nigh, he reared high afore His body monstrous, horrible, and vast[372], Which to increase his wondrous greatnesse more, Was swolne with wrath, and poyson, and with bloudy gore. And ouer, all with brasen scales was armd, ix Like plated coate of steele, so couched neare, That nought mote perce, ne might his corse be harmd With dint of sword[373], nor push of pointed speare; Which as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare, His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight, So shaked he, that horrour was to heare, For as the clashing of an Armour bright, Such noyse his rouzed scales did send vnto the knight. His flaggy wings when forth he did display, x Were like two sayles, in which the hollow wynd Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way: And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd,[374] Were like mayne-yards, with flying canuas lynd[375], With which whenas him list the ayre to beat, And there by force vnwonted passage find, The cloudes before him fled for terrour great, And all the heauens stood still amazed with his threat.

His huge long tayle wound vp in hundred foldes, xi Does ouerspred his long bras-scaly backe, Whose wreathed boughts when euer he vnfoldes, And thicke entangled knots adown does slacke,[376] Bespotted as[377] with shields of red and blacke, It sweepeth all the land behind him farre, And of three furlongs does but litle lacke; And at the point two stings in-fixed arre, Both deadly sharpe, that sharpest steele exceeden farre. But stings and sharpest steele did far exceed xii The sharpnesse of his cruell rending clawes; Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed, What euer thing does touch his rauenous pawes, Or what within his reach he euer drawes. But his most hideous head my toung to tell[378] Does tremble: for his deepe deuouring iawes Wide gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell, Through which into his darke abisse all rauin fell. And that more wondrous was, in either iaw xiii Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were, In which yet trickling bloud and gobbets raw Of late deuoured bodies did appeare, That sight thereof bred cold congealed feare: Which to increase, and all atonce to kill, A cloud of smoothering smoke and sulphur seare Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still, That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill. His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shields, xiv Did burne with wrath, and sparkled liuing fyre; As two broad Beacons, set in open fields, Send forth their flames farre off to euery shyre, And warning giue, that enemies conspyre, With fire and sword the region to inuade; So flam’d his eyne with rage and rancorous yre: But farre within, as in a hollow glade, Those glaring lampes were set, that made a dreadfull shade.

So dreadfully he towards him did pas, xv Forelifting vp aloft his speckled brest, And often bounding on the brused gras, As for great ioyance of his newcome guest. Eftsoones he gan aduance his haughtie crest, As chauffed Bore his bristles doth vpreare, And shoke his scales to battell readie drest; That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for feare, As bidding bold defiance to his foeman neare. The knight gan fairely couch his steadie speare, xvi And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might: The pointed steele arriuing rudely theare, His harder hide would neither perce, nor bight, But glauncing by forth passed forward right; Yet sore amoued with so puissant push, The wrathfull beast about him turned light, And him so rudely passing by, did brush With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush. Both horse and man vp lightly rose againe, xvii And fresh encounter towards him addrest: But th’idle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine, And found no place his deadly point to rest. Exceeding rage enflam’d the furious beast, To be auenged of so great despight; For neuer felt his imperceable brest So wondrous force, from hand of liuing wight; Yet had he prou’d the powre of many a puissant knight. Then with his wauing wings displayed wyde, xviii Himselfe vp high he lifted from the ground, And with strong flight did forcibly diuide The yielding aire, which nigh too feeble found Her flitting partes, and element vnsound, To beare so great a weight: he cutting way With his broad sayles, about him soared round: At last low stouping with vnweldie sway, Snatcht vp both horse and man, to beare them quite away.

Long he them bore aboue the subiect plaine, xix So farre as Ewghen bow a shaft may send, Till struggling strong did him at last constraine, To let them downe before his flightes end: As hagard hauke presuming to contend With hardie fowle, aboue his hable might, His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend, To trusse the pray too heauie for his flight; Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight. He so disseized of his gryping grosse, xx The knight his thrillant speare againe assayd In his bras-plated body to embosse, And three mens strength vnto the stroke he layd; Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as affrayd, And glauncing from his scaly necke, did glyde Close vnder his left wing, then broad displayd. The percing steele there wrought a wound full wyde, That with the vncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde. He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore, xxi When wintry storme his wrathfull wreck does threat, The rolling billowes beat the ragged shore, As they the earth would shoulder from her seat, And greedie gulfe does gape, as he would eat His neighbour element in his reuenge: Then gin the blustring brethren boldly threat, To moue the world from off his stedfast henge, And boystrous battell make, each other to auenge. The steely head stucke fast still in his flesh, xxii Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood, And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh A gushing riuer of blacke goarie blood, That drowned all the land, whereon he stood; The streame thereof would driue a water-mill. Trebly augmented was his furious mood With bitter sense of his deepe rooted ill, That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill.

His hideous tayle then hurled he about, xxiii And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout Striuing to loose the knot, that fast him tyes, Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes, That to the ground he is perforce constraynd To throw his rider: who can quickly ryse From off[379] the earth, with durty bloud distaynd, For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd. And fiercely tooke his trenchand blade in hand, xxiv With which he stroke so furious and so fell, That nothing seemd the puissance could withstand: Vpon his crest the hardned yron fell, But his more hardned crest was armd so well, That deeper dint therein it would not make; Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell, That from thenceforth he shund the like to take, But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake. The knight was wrath[380] to see his stroke beguyld, xxv And smote againe with more outrageous might; But backe againe the sparckling steele recoyld, And left not any marke, where it did light; As if in Adamant rocke it had bene pight. The beast impatient of his smarting wound, And of so fierce and forcible despight, Thought with his wings to stye aboue the ground; But his late wounded wing vnseruiceable found. Then full of griefe and anguish vehement, xxvi He lowdly brayd, that like was neuer heard, And from his wide deuouring ouen sent A flake of fire, that flashing in his beard, Him all amazd, and almost made affeard: The scorching flame sore swinged[381] all his face, And through his armour all his bodie seard, That he could not endure so cruell cace, But thought his armes to leaue, and helmet to vnlace.

Not that great Champion of the antique world, xxvii Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt[382], And hath for twelue huge labours high extold, So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt, When him the poysoned garment did enchaunt With Centaures bloud, and bloudie verses charm’d, As did this knight twelue thousand dolours daunt, Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm’d, That erst him goodly arm’d, now most of all him harm’d. Faint, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieued, brent xxviii With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire That neuer man such mischiefes did torment; Death better were, death did he oft desire, But death will neuer come, when needes require. Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld, He cast to suffer him no more respire, But gan his sturdie sterne about to weld, And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld. It fortuned (as faire it then befell) xxix Behind his backe vnweeting, where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a siluer flood, Full of great vertues, and for med’cine good. Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got That happie land, and all with innocent blood Defyld those sacred waues, it rightly hot The well of life, ne yet his vertues had forgot. For vnto life the dead it could restore, xxx And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away, Those that with sicknesse were infected sore, It could recure, and aged long decay Renew, as one[383] were borne that very day. Both Silo this, and Iordan did excell, And th’English Bath, and eke the german Spau, Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this well: Into the same the knight backe ouerthrowen, fell.

Now gan the golden Phœbus for to steepe xxxi His fierie face in billowes of the west, And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe, Whiles from their iournall labours they did rest, When that infernall Monster, hauing kest His wearie foe into that liuing well, Can high aduance his broad discoloured brest, Aboue his wonted pitch, with countenance fell, And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell. Which when his pensiue Ladie saw from farre, xxxii Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay, As weening that the sad end of the warre, And gan to highest God entirely pray, That feared chance from her to turne away; With folded hands and knees full lowly bent All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment, But praying still did wake, and waking did lament. The morrow next gan early to appeare, xxxiii That Titan rose to runne his daily race; But early ere the morrow next gan reare Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face, Vp rose the gentle virgin from her place, And looked all about, if she might spy Her loued knight to moue his manly pace: For she had great doubt of his safety, Since late she saw him fall before his enemy. At last she saw, where he vpstarted braue xxxiv Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay; As Eagle fresh out of the Ocean waue, Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray, And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay, Like Eyas hauke vp mounts vnto the skies, His newly budded pineons to assay, And marueiles[384] at himselfe, still as he flies: So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise.

Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy, xxxv No wonder if he wondred at the sight, And doubted, whether his late enemy It were, or other new supplied knight. He, now to proue his late renewed might, High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade, Vpon his crested scalpe so sore did smite, That to the scull a yawning wound it made: The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid. I wote not, whether the reuenging steele xxxvi Were hardned with that holy water dew, Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele, Or his baptized hands now greater grew; Or other secret vertue did ensew; Else neuer could the force of fleshly arme, Ne molten mettall in his bloud embrew: For till that stownd could neuer wight him harme, By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme. The cruell wound enraged him so sore, xxxvii That loud he yelded[385] for exceeding paine; As hundred ramping Lyons seem’d to rore, Whom rauenous hunger did thereto constraine: Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine, And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore, That to his force to yeelden it was faine; Ne ought his sturdie strokes might stand afore, That high trees ouerthrew, and rocks in peeces tore. The same aduauncing high aboue his head, xxxviii With sharpe intended sting so rude him smot, That to the earth him droue, as stricken dead, Ne liuing wight would haue him life behot: The mortall sting his angry needle shot Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd, Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got: The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd, Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd.

But yet more mindfull of his honour deare, xxxix Then of the grieuous smart, which him did wring, From loathed soile he can him lightly reare, And stroue to loose the farre infixed sting[386]: Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling, Inflam’d with wrath, his raging blade he heft, And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string[387] Of his huge taile he quite a sunder[388] cleft, Fiue ioynts thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left. Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes, xl With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire, The hell-bred beast threw forth vnto the skyes, That all was couered with darknesse dire: Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire, He cast at once him to auenge for all, And gathering vp himselfe out of the mire, With his vneuen wings did fiercely fall[389] Vpon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall. Much was the man encombred with his hold, xli In feare to lose his weapon in his paw, Ne wist yet, how his talants to vnfold; Nor[390] harder was from Cerberus greedie iaw To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw To reaue by strength[391] the griped gage away: Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw, And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay, It booted nought to thinke, to robbe him of his pray. Tho when he saw no power might preuaile, xlii His trustie sword he cald to his last aid, Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile, And double blowes about him stoutly laid, That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid; As sparckles from the Anduile vse to fly, When heauie hammers on the wedge are swaid; Therewith at last he forst him to vnty One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby.

The other foot, fast fixed on his shield,[392] xliii Whenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraine To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield, He smot thereat with all his might and maine, That nought so wondrous puissance might sustaine; Vpon the ioynt the lucky steele did light, And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine; The paw yet missed not his minisht might, But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight. For griefe thereof, and diuelish despight, xliv From his infernall fournace forth he threw Huge flames, that dimmed all the heauens light, Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew; As burning Aetna from his boyling stew Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke, And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new, Enwrapt in coleblacke clouds and filthy smoke, That all the land with stench, and heauen with horror choke. The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence xlv So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire A little backward for his best defence, To saue his bodie from the scorching fire, Which he from hellish entrailes did expire. It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide) As he recoyled backward, in the mire His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide, And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide. There grew a goodly tree him faire beside, xlvi Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red, As they in pure vermilion had beene dide, Whereof great vertues ouer all were red: For happie life to all, which thereon fed, And life eke euerlasting did befall: Great God it planted in that blessed sted With his almightie hand, and did it call The tree of life,[393] the crime of our first fathers fall.

In all the world like was not to be found, xlvii Saue in that soile, where all good things did grow, And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground, As incorrupted Nature did them sow, Till that dread Dragon all did ouerthrow. Another like faire tree eke grew thereby, Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did know Both good and ill: O mornefull memory: That tree through one mans fault hath doen vs all to dy. From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well, xlviii A trickling streame of Balme, most soueraine And daintie deare, which on the ground still fell, And ouerflowed all the fertill plaine, As it had deawed bene with timely raine: Life and long health that gratious ointment gaue, And deadly woundes could heale,[394] and reare againe The senselesse corse appointed for the graue. Into that same he fell: which did from death him saue. For nigh thereto the euer damned beast xlix Durst not approch, for he was deadly made, And all that life preserued, did detest: Yet he it oft aduentur’d to inuade. By this the drouping day-light gan to fade, And yeeld his roome[395] to sad succeeding night, Who with her sable mantle gan to shade The face of earth, and wayes of liuing wight, And high her burning torch set vp in heauen bright. When gentle Vna saw the second fall l Of her deare knight, who wearie of long fight, And faint through losse of bloud, mou’d not at all, But lay as in a dreame of deepe delight, Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might Did heale his wounds, and scorching heat alay, Againe she stricken was with sore affright, And for his safetie gan deuoutly pray; And watch the noyous night, and wait for ioyous day.

The ioyous day gan early to appeare, li And faire Aurora from the[396] deawy bed Of aged Tithone gan her selfe to reare, With rosie cheekes, for shame as blushing red; Her golden lockes for haste were loosely shed About her eares, when Vna her did marke Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,[397] From heauen high to chase the chearelesse darke;[398] With merry note her loud salutes the mounting larke. Then freshly vp arose the doughtie knight, lii All healed of his hurts and woundes[399] wide, And did himselfe to battell readie dight; Whose early foe awaiting him beside To haue deuourd, so soone as day he spyde, When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare, As if late fight had nought him damnifyde, He woxe dismayd, and gan his fate to feare; Nathlesse with wonted rage he him aduaunced neare. And in his first encounter, gaping wide, liii He thought attonce him to haue swallowd quight, And rusht vpon him with outragious pride; Who him r’encountring fierce, as hauke in flight, Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright Taking aduantage of his open iaw, Ran through his mouth with so importune might, That deepe emperst his darksome hollow maw, And back retyrd, his life bloud forth with all did draw. So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath, liv That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift; So downe he fell, that th’earth him vnderneath Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift; So downe he fell, as an huge rockie clift, Whose false foundation waues haue washt away, With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift, And rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay; So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.

The knight himselfe euen trembled at his fall, lv So huge and horrible a masse it seem’d; And his deare Ladie, that beheld it all, Durst not approch for dread, which she misdeem’d, But yet at last, when as the direfull feend She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright, She nigher drew, and saw that ioyous end: Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight, That had atchieu’d so great a conquest by his might.

Faire Vna to the Redcrosse knight betrouthed is with ioy: Though false Duessa it to barre her false sleights doe imploy.

Behold I see the hauen nigh at hand, i To which I meane my wearie course to bend; Vere the maine shete, and beare vp with the land, The which afore is fairely to be kend, And seemeth safe from stormes, that may offend; There this faire virgin wearie of her way Must landed be, now at her iourneyes end: There eke my feeble barke a while may stay, Till merry wind and weather call her thence away. Scarsely had Phœbus in the glooming East ii Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme, Ne reard aboue the earth his flaming creast, When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme, That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme[400] Vnto the watchman on the castle wall; Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme, And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call, To tell, how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall.[401]

Vprose with hastie ioy, and feeble speed iii That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land, And looked forth, to weet, if true indeede Those tydings were, as he did vnderstand, Which whenas true by tryall he out fond[402], He bad to open wyde his brazen gate, Which long time had bene shut, and out of hond Proclaymed ioy and peace through all his state; For dead now was their foe, which them forrayed late. Then gan triumphant Trompets sound on hie, iv That sent to heauen the ecchoed report Of their new ioy, and happie victorie Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort, And fast imprisoned in sieged fort. Then all the people, as in solemne feast, To him assembled with one full consort, Reioycing at the fall of that great beast, From whose eternall bondage now they were releast. Forth came that auncient Lord and aged Queene, v Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground, And sad habiliments right well beseene; A noble crew about them waited round Of sage and sober Peres, all grauely gownd; Whom farre before did march a goodly band Of tall young men, all hable armes to sownd, But now they laurell braunches bore in hand; Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land. Vnto that doughtie Conquerour they came, vi And him before themselues prostrating low, Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame, And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw. Soone after them all dauncing on a row The comely virgins came, with girlands dight, As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow, When morning deaw vpon their leaues doth light: And in their hands sweet Timbrels all vpheld on hight.

And them before, the fry of children young vii Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play, And to the Maydens sounding tymbrels[403] sung In well attuned notes, a ioyous lay, And made delightfull musicke all the way, Vntill they came, where that faire virgin stood; As faire Diana in fresh sommers day[404] Beholds her Nymphes, enraung’d in shadie wood, Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood. So she beheld those maydens meriment viii With chearefull vew; who when to her they came, Themselues to ground with gratious[405] humblesse bent, And her ador’d by honorable name, Lifting to heauen her euerlasting fame: Then on her head they set a girland greene, And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game; Who in her selfe-resemblance well beseene, Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene. And after,[406] all the raskall many ran, ix Heaped together in rude rablement, To see the face of that victorious man: Whom all admired, as from heauen sent, And gazd vpon with gaping wonderment. But when they came, where that dead Dragon lay, Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent, The sight with idle feare did them dismay, Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay. Some feard, and fled; some feard and well it faynd; x One that would wiser seeme, then all the rest, Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd Some lingring life within his hollow brest, Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed; Another said, that in his eyes did rest Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed; Another said, he saw him moue his eyes indeed.