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He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds,
And him no lesse, that any like did use ;
And, who with gratious breach the hungry feeds,
His alms for want of faith he doth abuse :
So every good to bad he doth abuse :
And eke the verse of famous poets witt
He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues
From leprous mouth on all that ever writt:
Such one vile Envy was, that fifte in row did sitt.

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,
Upon a lion, loth for to be led;
And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
The which he brandisheth about his hed:
His eies did hurle forth sparcles fiery red,
And stared sterne on all that him beheld ;
As ashes pale of hew, and seeming ded;
And on his dagger still his hand he held, (sweld.
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in bim

His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent;
Through unadvised rashness woxen wood;
For of his hands he had no government,
Ne car'd for blood in his avengëment :
But, when the furious fitt was overpast,
His cruel facts he often would repent;
Yet, wilfull man, he never would forecast, [hast.
How many mischeives should ensue his heedlesse

Full many mischiefes follow cruell Wrath ;
Abhorred Bloodshed, and tumultuous Strife,
Unmanly Murder, and unthrifty Scath,
Bitter Despight, with Rancours rusty knife ;
And fretting Griefe, the enemy of life :

All these, and many evils moe haunt Tre,
The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging rife,
The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire :
Such one was wrath, the last of this ungodly tire.

And, after all, upon the wagon beame
Rode Sathan with a smarting whip in hand,
With which he forward lashat the laesy teme,
So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand.
Huge routs of people did about them band,
Showting for joy; and still before their way
A foggy mist had covered all the land ;
And underneath their feet, all scattered lay
Dead sculls and bones of men, whose life had gone

astray.

So forth they marchen in this goodly sort,
To take the solace of the open aire,
And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport;
Emongst the rest rode that false lady faire,
The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire
Of proud Lucifer, as one of the traine :
But that good knight would not so nigh repaire,
Him selfe estraunging from their ioyance vaine,
Whose fellowship seemd far unfit for warlike swaine.

So, having solaced themselves a space
With pleasaunce of the breathing fields yfed,
They backe retourned to the princely place ;
Whereas an errant knight in armes ycled,
And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red
Was writ Sans ioy, they new arrived find :
Enflam’d with fury and fiers hardyhed,

He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts unkind, And nourish bloody vengeaunce in his bitter mind.

Who, when the shamed shield of slaine Sansfoy
He spide with that same Faery champions page,
Bewraying him that did of late destroy
His eldest brother; burning all with rage,
He to him lept, and that same envious gage
Of victors glory from snacht away:
But th’Elfin knight, which ought that warlike wage,
Disdaind to loose the meed he wonne in fray;
And, him rencountring fierce, reskewd the noble

pray.

Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily,
Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne,
And clash their shields, and shake their swords on hy;
That with their sturre they troubled all the traine:
Till that great queene, upon eternall paine
Of high displeasure that ensewen might,
Commaunded them their fury to refraine ;
And, if that either to that shield had right,
In equall lists they should the morrow next it fight.

“ Ah, dearest dame,” quoth then the Paynim hold, “Pardon the error of enraged wight, Whome great griefe made forgett the raines to hold Of reasons rule, to see this recreaunt knight, (No knight, but treachour full of false despight And shameful treason,) who through guile hath

slayn The prowest knight, that ever field did fight, Even stout Sansfoy, (O who can then refrayn?) Whose shield he beares renverst, the more to heap

disdayn.

“ And, to augment the glorie of his guile,
His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe
Is there possessed of the traytour vile;
Who reapes the harvest sowen by his foe :
Sowen in bloodie field, and bought with woe:
That-brothers hand shall dearely well requight,
So be, O queene, who equall favour showe.”
Him litle answerd th' angry Elsin knight;
He never meant with words, but swords, to plead

his right:

But threw his gauntlet, as a sacred pledg,
His cause in combat the next day to try :
So been they parted both, with harts on edg,
To be aveng'd each on his enimy.
That night they pas in ioy and iollity,
Feasting and courting both in bowre and hall;
For steward was excessive Gluttony,
That of his plenty poured forth to all :
Which doen, the chamberlain Slowth did to rest

them call.

Now whenas darksome Night bad all displayd
Her coleblacke curtein over brightest skye;
The warlike youthes, on dayntie couches layd,
Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish eye,
To muse on meanes of hoped victory.
Bnt whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace
Arrested all that courtly company,
Uprose Duessa from her resting place,
And to the Paynims lodging comes with silent
pace :

Whom broad awake she findes, in troublous fitt,
Fore-casting, how his foe he might annoy ;
And him amoves with speaches seeming fitt,
“ Ah deare Sansioy, next dearest to Sansfoy,
Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new ioy ;
Ioyous, to see his ymage in mine eye,
And greevd, to thinke how foe did him destroy
That was the flowre of grace and chevalrye;
Lo, his Fidessa, to thy secret faith I flye.”

With gentle wordes he can her fayrely greet,
And bad say on the secrete of her hart:
Then, sighing soft ; “I learne that litle sweet
Oft tempred is,” quoth she, “with muchell smart :
For, since my brest was launcht with lovely dart
Of deare Sansfoy, I never ioyed howre,
But in eternall woes my weaker hart
Have wasted, loving him with all my powre, (stowre.
And for his sake have felt full many an heavy

“ At last, when perils all I weened past,
And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care,
Into new woes unweeting I was cast
By this false faytor, who unworthie ware
His worthie shield, whom he with guilefull snare
Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull grave:
Me silly maid away with him hie bore,
And ever since hath kept in darksom cave ;
For that I would not yeeld that to Sansfoy I gave.

“ But since faire Sunne hath sperst that lowring

clowd, And to my loathed life now shewes some light, Under your beames I will me safely shrowd

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