The Faerie Queene (14 page)

Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,

Which loue had launched with his deadly darts,

With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe,

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.

30
With which sad instrument of hastie death,

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 lie chaunce may beare:

But God you neuer let his charmed speeches heare.

31
How may a man (said he) with idle speach

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 subtile tong, like dropping honny, mealt'h

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.

32
Certes (said he) hence shall I neuer rest,

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.

33
Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight

His dwelling has, low in an hollow caue,

Farre vndemeath a craggie clift ypight,

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.

34
And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,

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 on the greene,

And throwne about the cliffs. 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.

35
That darkesome caue they enter, where they find

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 shronke into his iawes, as he did neuer dine.

36
His garment nought but many ragged clouts,

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.

37
Which piteous spectacle, approuing trew

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.

38
What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught

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?

39
Who trauels by the wearie wandring way,

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?

40
He there does now enioy eternall rest

And happie ease, which thou doest want and craue,

And further from it daily wanderest:

What if some Me 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.

41
The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit,

And said, The terme of life is 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.

42
Is not his deed, what euer thing is donne,

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.

43
The lenger life, I wote the greater sin,

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.

44
Then do no further goe, no further stray,

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.

45
Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,

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.

46
Why then doest thou, ô man of sin, desire

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 hast thy faith with periurie,

And sold thy selfe to seme
Duessa
vilde,

With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?

47
Is not he iust, that all this doth behold

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.

48
The knight was much enmoued with his speach,

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.

49
In which amazement, when the Miscreant

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.

50
The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid,

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.

51
But when as none of them he saw him take,

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.

52
Which when as
Vna
saw, through euery vaine

The cradled cold ran to her well of life,

As in a swowne: but soone reliu'd againe,

Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,

And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,

And to him said, Fie, fie, feint 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?

53
Come, come away, fraile, feeble, fleshly wight,

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,

Arise, Sir knight arise, and leaue this cursed place.

54
So vp he rose, and thence amounted streight.

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 Una brings
    to house of Holinesse,
Where he is taught repentance, and
   the way to heauenly blesse.

1
What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might,

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.

2
By that, which lately hapned,
Vna
saw,

That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;

And all his sinews woxen weake and raw,

Through long enprisonment, 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.

3
There was an auntient house not farre away,

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.

4
Dame
Cœlia
men did her call, as thought

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.

5
Arriued there, the dore they find fast lockt;

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
Humiltà.
They passe in stouping low;

For streight & narrow was the way, which he did show.

6
Each goodly thing is hardest to begin,

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.

7
There fairely them receiues a gentle Squire,

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, and eke vnfained sweet,

As might become a Squire so great persons to greet

8
And afterwards them to his Dame he leades,

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.

9
And her embracing said, ô happie earth,

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?

10
Strange thing it is an errant knight to see

Here in this place, or any other wight,

That hither turtles his steps. So few there bee,

That chose 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 lightest way;

O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?

11
Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbs to rest,

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,

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.

12
Thus as they gan of sundry things deuise,

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.

13
She was araied all in lilly white,

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.

14
Her younger sister, that
Speranza
hight,

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.

15
They seeing
Vna,
towards her gan wend,

Who them encounters with like courtesie;

Many kind speeches they betwene them spend,

And greatly ioy each other well 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 discourse of many a noble gest.

16
Then
Vna
thus; But she your sister deare,

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 trouble sore,

But thankt be God, and her encrease so euermore.

17
Then said the aged
Cœlia,
Deare dame,

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.

18
Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest,

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.

19
And that her sacred Booke, with bloud ywrit,

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.

20
And when she list poure out her larger spright,

She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay,

Or backward tume his course from heauens hight;

Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay,

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.

21
The faithfull knight now grew in litle space,

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, to end his wretched dayes:

So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.

22
But wise
Speranza
gaue him comfort sweet,

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.

23
And came to
Cœlia
to declare her smart,

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.

24
Who comming to that soule-diseased knight,

Could hardly him intreat, to tell his griefe:

Which knowne, and all that noyd his heauie spright,

Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply reliefe.

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

25
But yet the cause and root of all his ill,

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 diet tame his stubborne malady.

26
In ashes and sackcloth he did array

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

27
And bitter
Penance
with an yron whip,

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,

His bodie in salt water smarting sore,

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.

28
In which his torment often was so great,

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 he neuer cleare.