That darksome cave they enter, where they find
That cursed man, low fitting on the ground,
Mufing full fadly in his fullen mind;
His griefy locks, long growen, and unbound,
Disordred hung about his fhoulders round,
And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne
Lookt deadly dull, and ftared as astound;
His rawbone cheeks, through penury and pine,
Were fhrunk into his jaws, as he did never dine.
XXXVI.
His garment nought but many ragged clouts,
With thorns together pinn'd and patched was,
The which his naked fides he wrapt abouts;
And him befide there lay upon the grass
A dreary corfe, whofe life away did pafs,
All wallow'd in his own yet luke-warm blood,
That from his wound yet welled fresh alass;
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open paffage for the gufhing flood.
XXXVII.
Which pitious fpectacle, approving true
The woeful tale that Trevifan had told,
Whenas the gentle Redcrofs Knight did view,
With firie zeal he burnt in courage bold,
Him to avenge before his blood were cold,
And to the villain faid, thou damned wight,
The author of this fact we here behold,
What justice can but judge against thee right,
With thine own blood to price his blood, here shed in fight.
XXXVIII.
What frantick fit (quoth he) hath thus diftraught
Thee foolish man, fo rafh a doom to give?
What juftice ever other judgment taught,
But he fhould dye, who merits not to live?
None else to death this man defpairing drive,
But his own guilty mind deferving death.
Is then unjust to each his due to give?
Or let him dye, that loatheth living breath?
Or let him dye at ease, that liveth here uneath?
VOL. I.
Who travels by the weary wandring way,
To come unto his wifhed home in hafte,'
And meets a flood that doth his paffage stay,
Is not great grace to help him overpast,
Or free his feet, that in the mire stick faft?
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,
And fond, that joyeft in the woe thou haft,
Why wilt not let him pafs, that long hath stood
Upon the bank, yet wilt thyfelf not país the flood?
He there does now enjoy eternal rest
And happy eafe, which thou doft want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest:
What if fome little pain the paffage have,
That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave?
Is not fhort pain well borne, that brings long cafe,
And lays the foul to fleep in quiet grave?
Sleep after toil, port after ftormy feas,
Eafe after war, death after life does greatly please.
XLI.
The Knight much wondred at his fuddain wit,
And faid, the term of life is limited,
Ne may a man prolong, nor fhorten it;
The Souldier may not move from watchful fted,
Nor leave his ftand, until his Captain bed.
Who life did limit by almighty doom
(Quoth he) knows beft the terms established
And he that points the Centinel his room,
Doth license him depart at found of morning droom.
XLII.
Is not his deed, what ever thing is done,
In heaven and earth? did not he all create
To dye again? all ends that was begun.
Their times in his eternal book of fate
Are written fure, and have their certain date.
Who then can strive with ftrong neceffity,
That holds the world in his ftill changing ftate,
Or fhun the death ordain'd by destiny?
When hour of death is come, let none ask whence, nor why.
The longer life, I wote the greater fin;
The greater fin, the greater punishment :
All those great battles which thou boasts to win,
Through ftrife, and bloodshed, and avengëment,
Now prais'd, hereafter dear thou fhalt repent:
For life muft life, and blood must blood repay.
Is not enough thy evil life forefpent?
For he that once hath miffed the right way,
The further he doth go, the further he doth ftray.
XLIV.
Then do no further go, no further stray,
But here lye down, and to thy reft betake,
Th' ill to prevent, that life enfewen may.
For what hath life, that may it loved make,
And gives not rather cause it to forfake?
Fear, fickness, age, lofs, labour, forrow, ftrife,
Pain, hunger, cold, that makes the heart to quake,
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,
All which, and thousands more, do make a loathfome life.
XLV.
Thou wretched man, of death haft greatest need,
If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state:
For never Knight that dared warlike deed,
More lucklefs difaventures did amate:
Witness the dungeon deep, wherein of late
Thy life fhut up, for death fo oft did call;
And though good luck prolonged hath thy date,
Yet death then would the like mishaps foreftall,
Into the which hereafter thou mayst happen fall.
XLVI.
Why then doft thou, O man of fin, defire
To draw thy days forth to their last degree?
Is not the meafure of thy finful hire
High heaped up with huge iniquity,
Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?
Is not enough, that to this Lady mild
Thou falfed haft thy faith with perjury,
And fold thyself to ferve Duella vild,
With whom in all abuse thou haft thy felf defil'd ?
Is not he juft, that all this doth behold
From higheft heaven, and bears an equal eye?
Shall he thy fins up in his knowledge fold,
And guilty be of thine impiety?
Is not his law, let every finner dye:
Dye fhall all flesh? what then muft needs be done,
Is it not better to die willingly,
Than linger till the glafs be all out-run?
Death is the end of woes: dye foon, O Fairies fon.
XLVIII.
The Knight was much enmoved with his fpeech,
That as a fwords point through his heart did pierce,
And in his confcience made a fecret breach,
Well knowing true all that he did reherse,
And to his fresh remembrance did reverfe
The ugly view of his deformed crimes,
That all his manly powres it did difperfe,
As he were charmed with inchanted rimes,
That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes.
XLIX.
In which amazement, when the miscreant
Perceived him to waver weak and frail,
Whiles trembling horror did his confcience dant,
And hellish anguish did his foul affail;
To drive him to defpair, and quite to quail,
He fhew'd him painted in a table plain,
The damned ghosts that do in torments wail,
And thousand fiends that do them endless pain
With fire and brimftone, which for ever fhall remain.
L.
The fight whereof fo throughly him difmay'd,
That nought but death before his eyes he faw,
And ever burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of th' Almighties law:
Than 'gan the villain him to overcraw,
And brought unto him fwords, ropes, poifon, fire,
And all that might him to perdition draw;
And bade him chufe what death he would defire : For death was due to him, that had provokt Gods ire.
But whenas none of them he faw him take,
He to him raught a dagger sharp and keen,
And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake,
And tremble like a leaf of Afpin green,
And troubled blood through his pale face was feen
To come and go with tydings from the heart,
As it a running meffenger had, been.
At laft, refolv❜d to work his final fmart,
He lifted up his hand, that back again did start.
LII.
Which whenas Una faw, through every vein
The crudled cold ran to her Well of life,
As in a fwoun: but foon reliev'd again,
Out of his hand fhe fnatcht the curfed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
And to him said, fie, fie faint hearted Knight,
What meaneft thou by this reproachful ftrife?
Is this the battle which thou vaunt'ft to fight
With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright?
LIII.
Come, come away, frail, filly, fleshly wight,
Ne let vain words bewitch thy manly heart,
Ne divelish thoughts difmay thy conftant spright.
In heavenly mercies haft thou not a part?
Why shouldft thou then despair, that chofen art?
Where juftice grows, there grows eke greater grace,
The which doth quench the brond of hellifh fmart,
And that accurft hand-writing doth deface:
Arife, Sir Knight, arife, and leave this curfed place.
LIV.
So up he rofe, and thence amounted ftreight.
Which when the carl beheld, and faw his guest
Would fafe depart, for all his fubtile fleight,
He chofe an halter from among the reft,
And with it hung himself, unbid, unbleft.
But death he could not work himself thereby;
For thousand times he fo himself had drest,
Yet nathelefs it could not do him dye,
Till he should dye his laft, that is, eternally.
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