Spenser's The Faerie Queene Part 17

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.

185 Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast, As if his feare still followed him behind; Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast, And with his winged heeles did tread the wind, As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kind.

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190 Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares Upstaring stiffe, dismayd with uncouth dread; Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares 195 In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire 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.

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The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast, 200 To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd: There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast, That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd; Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd, Till he these wordes to him deliver might; 205 Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd, And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight: For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.

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He answerd nought at all, but adding new Feare to his first amazment, staring wide 210 With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew, Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide Infernall furies, with their chaines untide.

Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake The gentle knight; who nought to him replide, 215 But trembling every joint did inly quake, And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake.

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For G.o.ds deare love, Sir knight, do me not stay; For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee.

Eft looking back would faine have runne away; 220 But he him forst to stay, and tellen free The secret cause of his perplexitie: Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee, But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach, 225 Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach.

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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?

230 Feare 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.

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235 I lately chaunst (would I had never chaunst) With a faire knight to keepen companee, Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst In all affaires, and was both bold and free, But not so happy as mote happy bee: 240 He lov'd, as was his lot, a Ladie 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.

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From whom returning sad and comfortlesse, 245 As on the way together we did fare, We met that villen (G.o.d from him me blesse) That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare, A man of h.e.l.l, that cals himselfe Despaire: Who first us greets, and after faire areedes 250 Of tydings strange, and of adventures rare: So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes, Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.

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Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe, 255 Which love had launched with his deadly darts, With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe, He pluckt from us all hope of due reliefe, That earst us held in love of lingring life; Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe 260 Perswade us die, to stint all further strife: To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.

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With which sad instrument of hasty death, That wofull lover, loathing lenger light, A wide way made to let forth living breath.

265 But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight, Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight, Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare: Ne yet a.s.sur'd of life by you, Sir knight, Whose like infirmitie like chaunce may beare: 270 But G.o.d you never let his charmed speeches heare.

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How may a man (said he) with idle speach Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?

I wote (quoth he) whom triall late did teach, That like would not for all this worldes wealth: 275 His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt'h Into the hart, and searcheth every vaine; That ere one be aware, by secret stealth His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine.

O never Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.

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280 Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest, Till I that treacherours art have heard and tride; And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request, Of grace do me unto his cabin guide.

I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride, 285 Against my liking backe, to do you grace: But not for gold nor glee will I abide By you, when ye arrive in that same place For lever had I die, then see his deadly face.

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Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight 290 His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight, Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave, That still for carrion carcases doth crave: On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle, 295 Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle; And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.

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And all about old stockes and stubs of trees, Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene, 300 Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees; On which had many wretches hanged beene, Whose carcases were scattered on the greene, And throwne about the clifts. Arrived there, That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene, 305 Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare, But th' other forst him stay, and comforted in feare.

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That darkesome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind; 310 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, 315 Were shronke into his jawes, as he did never dine.

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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 320 A drearie corse, whose life away did pas, All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood, That from his wound yet welled fresh alas; In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood, And made an open pa.s.sage for the gus.h.i.+ng flood.

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325 Which piteous spectacle, approving trew The wofull tale that Trevisan had told, When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew, With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold, Him to avenge, before his bloud were cold, 330 And to the villein said, Thou d.a.m.ned wight, The author of this fact we here behold, What justice can but judge against thee right, With thine owne bloud to price his bloud, here shed in sight.

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What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught 335 Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give?

What justice ever other judgement taught, But he should die, who merites not to live?

None else to death this man despayring drive, But his owne guiltie mind deserving death.

340 Is then unjust to each his due to give?

Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?

Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?

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Who travels by the wearie wandring way, To come unto his wished home in haste, 345 And meetes a flood, that doth his pa.s.sage 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 joyest in the woe thou hast, 350 Why wilt not let him pa.s.se, that long hath stood Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not pa.s.se the flood?

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He there does now enjoy eternall rest And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest: 355 What if some little paine the pa.s.sage have, That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave?

Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?

Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, 360 Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.

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The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit, And said, The terme of life is limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The souldier may not move from watchfull sted, 365 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 license him depart at sound of morning droome.

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370 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 certaine date.

375 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.

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The lenger life, I wote the greater sin, 380 The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battels, which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengement, Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent: For life must life, and blood must blood repay.

385 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.

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Then do no further goe, no further stray, But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake, 390 Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may.

For what hath life, that may it loved make, And gives not rather cause it to forsake?

Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife, Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake; 395 And ever fickle fortune rageth rife, All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.

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Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need, If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state: For never knight, that dared warlike deede, 400 More lucklesse disaventures did amate: Witnesse the dungeon deepe, wherein of late Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call; And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date, Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall, 405 Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall.

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