The roiall virgin which beheld from farre,
In pensive plight and sad perplexitie,
The whole atchievement 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:
"Fayre braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,
That with your worth the world amazed make,
How shall I quite the paynes, ye suffer for my sake?

"And you, fresh budd of vertue springing fast,
Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto Deaths dore,
What hath poore virgin for such perill past
Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore
My simple selfe, and service evermore.
And He that high does sit, and all things see
With equall eye, their merites to restore,
Behold what ye this day have done for mee;
And, what I cannot quite, requite with -usuree!

"But sith the Heavens, and your faire handeling,
Have made you master of the field this day;
Your fortune maister eke with governing,
And, well begonne, 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 gave in charge unto his squyre,
That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;
Whyles he himselfe with greedie great desyre
Into the castle entred forcibly,

Where living 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 over all;

Then asked he, which way he in might pas:
He could not tell, againe he answered.
Thereat the courteous knight displeased was,
And said; "Old syre, it seemes thou hast not red
How ill it sits with that same silver hed,
In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed
With Natures pen, in ages grave degree,
Aread in graver wise what I demaund of thee."

His answere likewise was, He could not tell.
Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance,
Whenas the noble prince had marked well,
He ghest his nature by his countenance;
And calm'd his wrath with goodly temperance.
Then, to him stepping, from his arme did reache
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,
With royall arras, and resplendent gold,
And did with store of every thing abound,
That greatest princes presence might behold.
But all the floore (too filthy to be told)
With blood 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 over it was strowed new.

And there beside of marble stone was built
An altare, carv'd with cunning ymagery;
On which trew Christians blood was often spilt,
And holy martyres often doen to dye,
With cruell malice and strong tyranny:
Whose blessed sprites, from underneath the stone,
To God for vengeance cryde continually;
And with great griefe were often heard to grone;

At last, with creeping crooked pace forth came
An old old man, with beard as white as snow;
That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,
And guyde his wearie gate both too and fro;
For his eye sight him fayled long ygo:
And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,
The which unused rust did overgrow:
Those were the keyes of every inner dore; [store.
But he could not them use, but kept them still in

But very uncouth sight was to behold,
How he did fashion his untoward pace;
For as he forward moov'd his footing old,
So backward still was turnd his wrincled face:
Unlike to men, who ever, 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 gyaunt dead;
His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.

His reverend heares and holy gravitee
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.
Again he askt, where that same knight was layd,
Whom great Orgoglio with his puissance fell
Had made his caytive thrall: againe he sayde,
He could not tell; ne ever other answere made.

ous mone.

Through every rowme he sought, and everie bowr;
But no where could he find that wofull thrall.
At last he came unto 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 living wight
Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen might.
Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous plaintes and dolours did resound;
"O! who is that, which bringes me happy choyce
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darknesse bound?
For now three moones have changed thrice their hew,
And have been thrice hid underneath the ground,
Since I the Heavens cheare full face did vew: [trew."
O welcome, thou, that doest of death bring tydings

Which when that champion heard, with percing
Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore; [point
And trembling horrour ran through every joynt,
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 font could find no flore,
But all a deepe descent, as dark as Hell,
That breathed ever forth a filthie banefull smell.

But neither darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands, Nor noyons smell, his purpose could withhold, (Entire affection hateth nicer hands)

But that with constant zele and corage bold,
After long paines and labors manifold,
He found the meanes that prisoner up to reare;
Whose feeble thighes, unable to uphold

His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare;
A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere.

His sad dull eies, deepe sunck in hollow pits,
Could not endure th' unwonted Sunne to view;
His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits,
And empty sides deceived of their dew,
Could make a stony hart his hap to rew;
His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs
Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets hew,
Were ciene consum'd; and all his vitall powres
Decayd; and al his flesh shronk up like withered
flowres.

Whome when his lady saw, to him she ran
With hasty ioy: to see him made her glad,
And sad to view his visage pale and wan;
Who earst in flowres of treshest youth was clad.
Tho, when her well of teares she wasted had,
She said; "Ah, dearest lord! what evil starre
On you hath frownd, and pourd his induence bad,
That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre, [marre?
And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth

"But welcome now, my lord in wele or woe;
Whose presence I have lackt too long a day:
And fye on Fortune mine avowed foe,
Whose wrathful wreakes themselves doe now alay;
And for these wronges shall treble penaunce pay
Of treble good: good growes of evils priefe."
The chearlesse 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,
"The things, that grievous were to doe, or beare,
Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight;
Best musicke breeds delight in loathing eare:
But th' only good, that growes of passed feare,
Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.
This daies 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, And master these mishaps with patient might: Loe, where your foe liesstretcht 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 live, or die." "To doe her die," quoth Una, "were despight, And shame t'avenge so weake an enimy; But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly."

So, as she bad, that witch they disaraid,
And robd of roiall robes, and purple pall,
And ornaments hat richly were displaid;
Ne spared they to strip her naked all.
Then, when they had despoyld her tire and call,
Such, as she was, their eles might her behold,
That her misshaped parts did them appall;
A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old,
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told.

Her crafty head was altogether bald,
And, as in hate of honorable eld,
Was overgrowne with scurfe and filthy scald;
Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were feld,
And her sowre breath abhominably smeld;
Her dried dugs, lyke bladders lacking wind,
Hong downe, and filthy matter from them weld;
Her wrizled skin, as rough as maple rind, [kind.
So scabby was, that would have loathd all woman-

Her neather parts, the shame of all her kind,
My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to write
But at her rompe she growing had behind
A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight:
And cke 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 uneven paw:
More ugly shape yet never living creature saw.

Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were,
And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.
"Such then," said Una, "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 waies unknowne.

Shee, flying fast from Heavens hated face,
And from the world that her discovered wide,
Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace,
From living eies her open shame to hide;
And lurkt in rocks and caves, long unespide.
But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire,
Did in that castle afterwards abide,

To rest themselves, and weary powres repaire:
Where store they fownd of al, that dainty was and

rare.

CANTO IX.

His loves and lignage Arthure tells: The knights knitt friendly bands: Sir Trevisan flies from Despeyre,

Whom Redcros knight withstands.

O! GOODLY golden chayne, wherewith yfere
The vertues linked are in lovely wize;
And noble mindes of yore allyed were,
In brave poursuitt of chevalrous emprize,
That none did others safety despize,
Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands;
But friendly each did others praise devize,
How to advaunce with favourable hands,
As this good prince redeemd the Redcrosse knight
from bands.

Who when their powres, empayred through labor
With dew repast they had recured well, [long,
And that weake captive wight now wexed strong;
Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,
But forward fare, as their adventures fell:
But, ere they parted, Una faire besought
That straunger knight his name and nation tell;
Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,
Should die unknown, and buried be in thankles
thought.

So diversly discoursing of their loves,

The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew,
And sad remembraunce now the prince amoves
With fresh desire his voyage to pursew:
Als Una earnd her traveill to renew.
Then those two knights, fast frendship for to bynd,
And love establish each to other trew.
Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd,
And eke, as pledges firme, right hands together
ioynd.

Prince Arthur gave a boxe of diamond sure,
Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,
Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure,
Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent,
That any wownd could heale incontinent.
Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave
A booke, wherein his Saveours Testament
Was writt with golden letters rich and brave;
A worke of wondrous grace, and hable soules to save.

Thus beene they parted; Arthur on his way
To secke his love, and th' other for to fight
With Unaes foe, that all her realme d'd 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 recovered had his former hew:
For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew.

So as they traveild, lo! they gan espy
An armed knight towards them gallop fast,
That seemed from some feared foe to fly,
Or other griesly thing, that him aghast.
Still, as he fledd, his eye was backward cast,
As if his feare still followed him behynd:
Als flew his steed, as he his bandes had brast,
And with his winged heeles did tread the wynd,
As he had been a fole of Pegasus his kynd.

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head
To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares
Upstaring stiffe, dismaid with uncouth dread:
Nor drop of blood in all his face appeares,
Nor life in limbe; and, to increase his feares,
In fowle reproch of knighthoodes fayre 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,
To weet what mister wight was so dismayd:
There him he findes al sencelesse and aghast,
That of himselfe he seemd to be afrayd;
Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd,
Til he these wordes to h m deliver might;
"Sir Knight, aread who ha h ye thus arayd,
And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight?
For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight."

Feare to his first amazment, staring wyde
With stony eyes and hartlesse hollow hew,
Astonisht stood, as one that had aspyde
Infernall Furies with their chaines untyde.
Him yett againe, and yett againe, bespake
The gentle knight; who nought to him replyde;
But, trembling every ioynt, did inly quake,
And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth
to shake;

"For Gods deare love, sir Knight, doe me not stay;
For loe! he comes, he comes fast after mee!"
Eft looking back would faine have runne away;
But he him forst to stay, and tellen free
The secrete cause of his perplexitie:
Yet nathëmore by his bold hartie speach
Could his blood-frosen bart emboldned bee,
But through his boldnes rather feare did reach ;
Yett, forst, at last he made through silence suddein
breach:

"And am I now in safetie sure," quoth he,
"From him, that would have forced me to dye?
And is the point of death now turnd fro mee,
That I may tell this haplesse history?"

Fear nought," quoth he, "no daunger now is nye."
"Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,"
Said he, "the which with this unlucky 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 never chaunst!)
With a fayre knight to keepen companee,
Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst
In all affayres, and was both bold and free;
But not so happy as mote happy bee:
He lov'd, as was his lot, a lady gent,
That him againe lov'd in the least degree;
For she was proud, and of too high intent,
And joyd to see her lover languish and lament:
"From whom retourning sad and comfortlesse,
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 calls himselfe Despayre:
Who first us greets, and after fayre areedes
Of tydinges straunge, and of adventures 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
Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,
Which Love had launched with his deadly darts;
With wounding words, and termes of foule repriefe,
He pluckt from us all hope of dew reliefe,
That earst us held in love of lingring life:
Then hopelesse, hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe
Perswade us dye, to stint all further strife;
To me he lent this rope, to him a rusty knife:

"With which sad instrument of hasty death,
That wofull lover, loathing lenger light,
A wyde way made to let forth living breath.
But I, more fearfall or more lucky wight,
Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight,
Fledd fast away, halfe dead with dying feare;
Ne yet assur'd of life by you, sir Knight,
Whose like infirmity like chaunce may beare:
But God you never let his charmed speaches heare!"

"How may a man," said he, "with idle speach
Be wonne to spoyle the castle of his health?"
"I wote," quoth he, "whom tryall late did teach,
That like would not for all this worldes wealth.
His subtile tong, like dropping honny, mealt'h
Into the heart, and searcheth every vaine;
That, ere one be aware, by secret stealth
His powre is reft, and weaknes doth remaine.
O never, sir, desire to try his guilefull traine!"

"Certes," sayd he, "hence shall I never rest,
Till I that treachours art have heard and tryde:
And you, sir Knight, whose name mote I request,
Of grace do me unto his cabin guyde."
"I, that hight Trevisan," quoth he, "will ryde,
Against my liking, backe to doe you grace:
But not for gold nor glee will I abyde
By you, when ye arrive in that same place;
For lever had I die then see his deadly face."

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight
His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave,
Far underneath a craggy cliff ypight,
Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:
On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly owle,
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave
Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;

"What franticke fit," quoth he, "hath thus dis traught

Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give?
What justice ever other judgement taught,
But he should dye, who merites not to live?
None els to death this man despayring drive
But his owne guiltie mind, deserving death.
Is then uniust to each his dew to give?
Or let him dye, that loatheth living breath?
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?
"Who travailes by the wearie wandring way,
To come unto his wished home in haste,
And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay;
Is not great grace to helpe him over past,
Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast?
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good;
And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast;
Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood
Upon the bancke, yet wilt thy selfe not pas the flood?
"He there does now enioy eternall rest
And happy ease, which thou doest want and crave,
And further from it daily wanderest:
What if some little payne the passage have,
That makes frayle flesh to feare the bitter wave;
Is not short payne well borne, that bringes long ease,
And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?

howle:

And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,
Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seen,
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees;
On which had many wretches hanged beene,
Whose carcases were scattred on the greene,
And throwne about the cliffs. Arrived there,
That bare-head knight, for dread and doleful teene,
Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare;
But th' other forst him staye, and comforted in feare,
That darkesome cave 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 unbound,
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 shrouke into his iawes, as he did never dine.

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 upon the gras
A dreary corse, whose life away did pas,
All wallowd in his own yet luke-warme blood,
That from his wound yet welled fresh, alas!
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.

Which piteous spectacle, approving trew
The wofull tale that Trevisan had told,
Whenas the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew;
With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold
Him to avenge, before his blood were cold;
And to the villein sayd; "Thou damned wight,
The authour of this fact we here behold,
What iustice can but iudge against thee right,
With thine owne blood to price his blood, here
shed in sight?"

VOL. III

Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly

The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit,
And sayd; "The terme of life is limited,
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten, it:
The souldier may not move from watchfull sted,
Nor leave his stand untill 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 heense him depart at sound of morning droome.

"Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne
In Heaven 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 have their certein date.
Who then can strive 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;
The greater sin, the greater punishment >
All those great battels, which thou boasts to win
Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengëment,
Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent:
For life must life, and blood must blood, repay.
Is not enough thy evill life forespent?
For he that once hath missed the right way,
The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.

"Then doe no further goe, no further stray;
But here ly downe, and to thy rest betake,
Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may.
For what hath life, that may it loved make,
And gives not rather cause it to forsakę?
Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,
Payne, hunger, cold that makes the heart to quake;
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife;
[life.

All which, and thousands mo, do make a loathsome
G