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Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;
And when she waked, he waited diligent,
With humble service to her will prepared ;

From her fair eyes he took commandément,
And ever by her looks conceived her intent.



The magician, Archimago, lures Una and the RedCross Knight into his abode; and while they are asleep, sends to Morpheus, the god of sleep, for a false dream, to produce discord between them.

A little lowly hermitage it was
Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side,
Far from resort of people, that did pass
In travel to and fro: a little wide
There was a holy chapel edified,
Wherein the hermit duly wont to say
His holy things each morn and eventide;

Thereby a crystal stream did gently play
Which from a sacred fountain wellèd forth alway.

Arrived there the little house they fill,
Nor look for entertainment where none was;
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will:
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
With fair discourse the evening so they pass,
For that old man of pleasing words had store,
And well could file his tongue as smooth as glass :

He told of saints and popes, and evermore
He strew'd an Ave Mary, after and before.

The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast;

And the sad humor, loading their eye-lids, | As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast

Sweet slumbering dew; the which to sleep them bids.
Unto their lodgings then his guests he rids ;
Where, when all drown'd in deadly sleep he finds,
He to his study goes, and there amids'

His magic books and arts of sundry kinds,
He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds.

Then choosing out few words most horrible
(Let none them read !) thereof did verses frame,
With which, and other spells like terrible,
He bad awake black Pluto's grisly dame,
And cursèd Heaven; and spake reproachful shame
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light:
A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name

Great Gorgon, prince of darkness and dead night;
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

And forth he call'd out of deep darkness dread
Legions of sprites, the which, like little flies,
Fluttering about his ever cursèd head,
Await where to their service he applies,
To aid his friends, or fray his enemies;
Of those he chose out two, the falsest two
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lies;

The one of them he gave a message to,
The other by himself staid other work to do.

He maketh speedy way through spersèd air,
And through the world of waters wide and deep,
To Morpheus' house doth hastily repair.-
Amid the bowels of the earth full steep,

And low, where dawning day doth never peep,
His dwelling is; there Tethys bis wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steep

In silver dew his ever-drooping head,
While sad night over him her mantle black doth spread.

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast;
The one fair fram'd of burnish'd ivory,
The other all with silver overcast;
And wakeful dogs before them far do lie,
Watching to banish Care their enemy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleep.
By them the sprite doth pass in quietly

And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deep
In drowsy fit he finds; of nothing he takes keep.

And more to lull him in his slumber soft,
A trickling stream, from high rock tumbling down,
And ever drizzling rain upon the loft,
Mix'd with a murmuring wind, much like the soun'
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swoun:
No other noise, nor people's troublous cries,
As still are wont t' annoy the wallèd town,

Might there be heard; but careless Quiet lies,
Wrapt in eternal silence, far from enemies.

The messenger approaching to him spake,
But his waste words return'd to him in vain,
So sound he slept, that naught might him awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and push'd with pain,
Whereat he 'gan to stretch: but he again
Shook him so hard, that forced him to speak
As one then in a dream, whose drier brain

Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weak,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence break.

The sprite then 'gan more boldly him to wake,
And threaten'd unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecaté: whereat he 'gan to quake,
And lifting up his lumpish head, with blame
Half angry asked him, for what he came.
“ Hither," quoth he, “me Archimago sent:
He that the stubborn sprites can wisely tame;

He bids thee to him send for his intent
A fit false dream, that can delude the sleeper's sent.”

The god obeyed; and calling forth straightway
A divers dream out of his prison dark,
Deliver'd it to him, and down did lay
His heavy head, devoid of careful cark;
Whose senses all were straight benumb’d and stark.
He, back returning by the ivory door,
Remounted up as light as cheerful lark;

And on his little wings the dream he bore
In haste unto his lord, where he him left afore.

THE CAVE OF MAMMON. Sir Guyon, another Knight, bound upon adventure, while crossing a desert, finds Mammon sitting amidst his gold in a gloomy valley, but successfully resists the temptation.

That house's form within was rude and strong,
Like a nuge cave hewn out of rocky clift,
From whose rough vault the ragged branches hung
Embost with massy gold of glorious gift,

And with rich metal loaded every rift,
That heavy ruin they did seem to threat;
And over them Arachne high did lift

Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net, Enwrapped in foul smoke, and clouds more black than jet.

Both roof and floor, and walls were all of gold,
But overgrown with dust and old decay,
And hid in darkness, that none could behold
The hue thereof; for view of cheerful day
Did never in that house itself display,
But a faint shadow of uncertain light;
Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away;

Or as the moon, clothed with cloudy night,
Does show to him that walks in fear and sad affright.

In all that room was nothing to be seen,
But huge great iron chests and coffers strong,
All barr'd with double bands, that none could ween
Them to enforce by violence or wrong;
On every side they placed were along ;
But all the ground with skulls was scattered,
And dead men's bones, which round about were flung,

Whose lives (it seemèd) whilome there were shed,
And their vile carcases now left unburied.

They forward pass, nor Guyon yet spake word,
Till that they came unto an iron door,
Which to them open'd of its own accord,
And show'd of riches such exceeding store,
As eye of man did never see before,
Nor ever could within one place be found,
Though all the wealth which is, or was of yore,

Could gathered be through all the world around,
And that above were added to that under ground.

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