Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree?

Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire High heaped up with huge iniquitie, 410 Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?

Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjurie, And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vilde, With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?

XLVII

415 Is not he just, that all this doth behold From highest heaven, and beares an equall eye?

Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold, And guilty be of thine impietie?

Is not his law, Let every sinner die: 420 Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne, Is it not better to doe willinglie, Then linger, till the gla.s.se be all out ronne?

Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne.

XLVIII

The knight was much enmoved with his speach, 425 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 remembraunce did reverse The ugly vew of his deformed crimes, 430 That all his manly powres it did disperse, As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes, That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes.

XLIX

In which amazement, when the Miscreant Perceived him to waver weake and fraile, 435 Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant, And h.e.l.lish anguish did his soule a.s.saile, To drive him to despaire, and quite to quaile, He shew'd him painted in a table plaine, The d.a.m.ned ghosts, that doe in torments waile, 440 And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remaine.

L

The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid, That nought but death before his eyes he saw, And ever burning wrath before him laid, 445 By righteous sentence of th' Almighties law.

Then gan the villein him to overcraw, And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire, And all that might him to perdition draw; And bad him choose, what death he would desire: 450 For death was due to him, that had provokt G.o.ds ire.

LI

But when as none of them he saw him take, He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene, And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake, And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene, 455 And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene To come, and goe with tidings from the heart, As it a running messenger had beene.

At last resolv'd to worke his finall smart, He lifted up his hand, that backe againe did start.

LII

460 Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine The crudled cold ran to her well of life, As in a swowne: but soone reliv'd againe, Out of his hand she s.n.a.t.c.ht the cursed knife, And threw it to the ground, enraged rife, 465 And to him said, Fie, fie, faint 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?

LIII

Come, come away, fraile, seely, fleshly wight, 470 Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart, Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright.

In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?

Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art?

Where justice growes, there grows eke greater grace, 475 The which doth quench the brond of h.e.l.lish smart, And that accurst hand-writing doth deface.

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

LIV

So up he rose, and thence amounted streight.

Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest 480 Would safe depart for all his subtill sleight, He chose an halter from among the rest, And with it hung himselfe, unbid unblest.

But death he could not worke himselfe thereby; For thousand times he so himselfe had drest, 485 Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die, Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.

CANTO X Her faithfull knight faire Una brings to house of Holinesse, Where he is taught repentance, and the way to heavenly blesse.

I

WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly might And vaine a.s.surance of mortality, Which all so soone as it doth come to fight Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by, 5 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 have, it is to ill, But all the good is G.o.ds, both power and eke will.

II

10 But that, which lately hapned, Una 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, 15 That yet he was unfit for bloudy fight: Therefore to cherish him with diets daint, She cast to bring him, where he chearen might.

Till he recovered had his late decayed plight.

III

There was an auntient house not farre away, 20 Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore, And pure unspotted life: so well they say It governd was, and guided evermore, Through wisedome of a matrone grave and h.o.r.e Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes 25 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 G.o.dly deedes.

IV

Dame Clia men did her call, as thought From heaven to come, or thither to arise, 30 The mother of three daughters, well upbrought In goodly thewes, and G.o.dly exercise: The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise, Fidelia and Speranza virgins were, Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize: 35 But faire Charissa to a lovely fere Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere.

V

Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt; For it was warely watched night and day, For feare of many foes: but when they knockt, 40 The Porter opened unto 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 Humilta. They pa.s.se in stouping low; 45 For streight and narrow was the way which he did show.

VI

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin, But entred in a s.p.a.cious court they see, Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in, Where them does meete a francklin faire and free, 50 And entertaines with comely courteous glee, His name was Zele, that him right well became, For in his speeches and behaviour hee Did labour lively to expresse the same, And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.

VII

55 There fairely them receives 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, 60 Hight Reverence. He them with speeches meet Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie, But simple true, and eke unfained sweet, As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

VIII

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades, 65 That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place: Who all this while was busy at her beades: Which doen, she up arose with seemely grace, And toward them full matronely did pace.

Where when that fairest Una she beheld, 70 Whom well she knew to spring from heavenly race, Her hart with joy unwonted inly sweld, As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.

IX

And her embracing said, O happie earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread, 75 Most vertuous virgin borne of heavenly berth, That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head, From tyrans rage, and ever dying dread, Hast wandred through the world now long a day; Yet ceasest not thy weary soles to lead, 80 What grace hath thee now hither brought this way?

Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither stray?

X

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see Here in this place, or any other wight, That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee 85 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 evill plight, Then with a few to walke the rightest way; 90 O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?

XI

Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes 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, 95 That up to heaven 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 devise, Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

XII

100 Thus as they gan of sundry things devise, Loe two most goodly virgins came in place, Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise, With countenance demure, and modest grace, They numbred even steps and equall pace: 105 Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, Like sunny beames threw from her christall face, That could have dazd the rash beholders sight, And round about her head did shine like heavens light.

XIII

She was araied all in lilly white, 110 And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, With wine and water fild up 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: 115 And in her other hand she fast did hold A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood: Wherin darke things were writ, hard to be understood.

XIV

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well; 120 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: Upon her arme a silver anchor lay, Whereon she leaned ever, as befell: 125 And ever up to heaven, as she did pray, Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.

XV

They seeing Una, towards her gan wend, Who them encounters with like courtesie; Many kind speeches they betwene them spend, 130 And greatly joy each other well to see: Then to the knight with shamefast modestie They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke request, And him salute with well beseeming glee; Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best, 135 And goodly gan discourse of many a n.o.ble gest.

XVI

Then Una 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: 140 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.

Indeed (quoth she) that should be trouble sore; But thankt be G.o.d, and her encrease so evermore.

XVII

145 Then said the aged Clia, Deare dame, And you good Sir, I wote that of youre 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.