Nor leave his stand, untill his captaine bed.’ 365
‘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.
XLII
‘Is not His deed, what ever thing is donne 370
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 necessite, 375
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.
XLIII
‘The lenger life, I wote, the greater sin,
The greater sin, the greater punishment: 380
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.
Is not enough thy evill life forespent? 385
For he that once hath missed the right way,
The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.
XLIV
‘Then doe no further goe, no further stray,
But here Iy downe, and to thy rest betake,
Th’ ill to prevent, that life ensewen may. 390
For what hath life, that may it loved make,
And gives not rather cause it to forsake?
Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,
Payne, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake;
And ever fickle Fortune rageth rife; 395
All which, and thousands mo, do make a loathsome life.
XLV
‘Thou, wretched man, of death hast greatest need,
If in true ballaunce thou wilt weigh thy state:
For never knight, that dared warlike deed,
More luckless dissaventures did amate: 400
Witnes the dungeon deepe, wherein of late
Thy life shutt up for death so oft did call;
And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,
Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall,
Into the which heareafter thou maist happen fall. 405
XLVI
‘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 iniquitee,
Against the day of wrath, to burden thee? 410
Is not enough, that to this lady mild
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjuree,
And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vild,
With whom in al abuse thou hast thy selfe defild?
XLVII
‘Is not He just, that all this doth behold 415
From highest heven, and beares an equall eie?
Shall He thy sins up in His knowledge fold,
And guilty be of thine impietie?
Is not His lawe, Let every sinner die:
Die shall all flesh? What then must needs be donne, 420
Is it not better to doe willinglie,
Then linger till the glas be all out ronne?
Death is the end of woes: die soone, O Faries sonne.’
XLVIII
The knight was much enmoved with his speach,
That as a swords poynt through his hart did perse, 425
And in his conscience made a secrete breach,
Well knowing trew all that he did reherse;
And to his fresh remembraunce did reverse
The ugly vew of his deformed crimes,
That all his manly powres it did disperse, 430
As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes,
That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes.
XLIX
In which amazement when the miscreaunt
Perceived him to waver, weake and fraile,
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience daunt, 435
And hellish anguish did his soule assaile,
To drive him to despaire, and quite to quaile,
Hee shewd him, painted in a table plaine,
The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile,
And thousand feends, that doe them endlesse paine 440
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remaine.
L
The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid,
That nought but death before his eies he saw,
And ever burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of th’ Almighties law: 445
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:
For death was dew to him, that had provokt Gods ire. 450
LI
But whenas 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,
And troubled blood through his pale face was seene 455
To come and goe, with tidings from the heart,
As it a ronning messenger had beene.
At last, resolv’d to worke his finall smart,
He lifted up his hand, that backe againe did start.
LII
Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine 460
The crudled cold ran to her well of life,
As in a swowne: but soone reliv’d againe,
Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
And to him said: ‘Fie, fie, faint hearted knight! 465
What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife?
Is this the battaile, which thou vauntst to fight
With that fire-mouthed dragon, horrible and bright?
LIII
‘Come, come away, fraile, feeble, fleshly wight,
Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart, 470
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 greter grace,
The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart, 475
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
Would safe depart, for all his subtile sleight, 480
He chose an halter from among the rest,
And with it hong him selfe, unbid unblest.
But death he could not worke himselfe thereby;
For thousand times he so him selfe had drest,
Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die, 485
Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.
Faerie Queene Detailed Table of Contents
Glossary for ‘The Faerie Queene’
Canto X
Her faithfull knight faire Una brings
To House of Holinesse,
Where he is taught repentaunce, and
The way to hevenly blesse.
I
WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly might,
And vaine assuraunce of mortality,
Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight
Against spirituall foes, yields by and by,
Or from the fielde most cowardly doth fly? 5
Ne let the man as
cribe it to his skill,
That thorough grace hath gained victory.
If any strength we have, it is to ill,
But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.
II
By that which lately hapned, Una saw 10
That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;
And all his sinewes woxen weake and raw,
Through long enprisonment, and hard constraint,
Which he endured in his late restraint,
That yet he was unfitt for bloody fight: 15
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 auncient house not far away,
Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore 20
And pure unspotted life: so well, they say,
It governd was, and guided evermore,
Through wisedome of a matrone grave and hore;
Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes
Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore: 25
All night she spent in bidding of her bedes,
And all the day in doing good and godly deedes.
IV
Dame Cœlia men did her call, as thought
From heaven to come, or thether to arise;
The mother of three daughters, well upbrought 30
In goodly thewes, and godly exercise:
The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise,
Fidelia and Speranza, virgins were,
Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize;
But faire Charissa to a lovely fere 35
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,
The porter opened unto them streight way. 40
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 Humiltá. They passe in, stouping low;
For streight and narrow was the way which he did shew. 45
VI
Each goodly thing is hardest to begin;
But entred in, a spatious court they see,
Both plaine and pleasaunt to be walked in,
Where them does meete a francklin faire and free,
And entertaines with comely courteous glee: 50
His name was Zele, that him right well became;
For in his speaches and behaveour hee
Did labour lively to expresse the same,
And gladly did them guide, till to the hall they came.
VII
There fayrely them receives a gentle squyre, 55
Of myld demeanure and rare courtesee,
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attyre;
In word and deede that shewd great modestee,
And knew his good to all of each degree;
Hight Reverence, He them with speaches meet 60
Does faire entreat; no courting nicetee,
But simple trew, and eke unfained sweet,
As might become a squyre so great persons to greet.
VIII
And afterwardes them to his dame he leades,
That aged dame, the lady of the place: 65
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,
Whom well she knew to spring from hevenly race, 70
Her heart with joy unwonted inly sweld,
As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld:
IX
And her embracing, said: ‘O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread,
Most vertuous virgin, borne of hevenly berth, 75
That to redeeme thy woefull parents head
From tyrans rage, and ever-dying dread,
Hast wandred through the world now long a day,
Yett ceassest not thy weary soles to lead!
What grace hath thee now hether brought this way? 80
Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hether stray?
X
‘Straunge thing it is an errant knight to see
Here in this place, or any other wight,
That hether turnes his steps: so few there bee,
That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right: 85
All keepe the broad high way, and take delight
With many rather for to goe astray,
And be partakers of their evill plight,
Then with a few to walke the rightest way.
O foolish men! why hast ye to your owne decay?’ 90
XI
‘Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to rest,
O matrone sage,’ quoth she, ‘I hether came,
And this good knight his way with me addrest,
Ledd with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame,
That up to heven is blowne.’ The auncient dame 95
Him goodly greeted in her modest guyse,
And enterteynd them both, as best became,
With all the court’sies that she could devyse,
Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.
XII
Thus as they gan of sondrie thinges devise, 100
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:
Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, 105
Like sunny beames threw from her christall face,
That could have dazd the rash beholders sight,
And round about her head did shine like hevens light.
XIII
She was araied all in lilly white,
And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, 110
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 whitt did chaunge her constant mood:
And in her other hand she fast did hold 115
A booke that was both signd and seald with blood,
Wherin darke things were writt, hard to be understood.
XIV
Her younger sister, that Speranza hight,
Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well:
Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight, 120
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:
And ever up to heven, as she did pray, 125
Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.
XV
They, seeing Una, towardes her gan wend,
Who them encounters with like courtesee;
Many kind speeches they betweene them spend,
And greatly joy each other well to see: 130
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 bessemed best,
And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest. 135
XVI
Then Una thus: ‘But she your sister deare,
The deare Charissa, where is she become?
Or wants she health, or busie is elswhere?’
‘Ah no,’ said they, ‘but forth she may not come:
For she of late is lightned of her wombe, 140
And hath encreast the world with one some more,
That her to see should be but troublesome
.’
‘Indeed,’ quoth she, ‘that should her trouble sore;
But thankt be God, and her encrease so evermore.’
XVII
Then saide the aged Cœlia: ‘Deare dame, 145
And you, good sir, I wote that of youre toyle
And labors long, through which ye hether came,
Ye both forweaired be: therefore a whyle
I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle.’
Then called she a groome, that forth him ledd 150
Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile
Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bedd:
His name was meeke Obedience rightfully aredd.
XVIII
Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest,
And bodies were refresht with dew repast, 155
Fayre Una gan Fidelia fayre request,
To have her knight into her schoolehous plaste,
That of her heavenly learning he might taste,
And heare the wisedom of her wordes divine.
She graunted, and that knight so much agraste, 160
That she him taught celestiall discipline,
And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.
XIX
And that her sacred Booke, with blood ywritt,
That none could reade, except she did them teach,
She unto him disclosed every whitt, 165
And heavenly documents thereout did preach,
That weaker witt of man could never reach,
Of God, of grace, of justice, of free will,
That wonder was to heare her goodly speach:
For she was hable with her wordes to kill, 170
And rayse againe to life the hart that she did thrill.
XX
And when she list poure out her larger spright,
She would commaund the hasty sunne to stay,
Or backward turne his course from hevens hight:
Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay; 175
Dry-shod to passe, she parts the flouds in tway;
And eke huge mountaines from their native seat
She would commaund, themselves to beare away,
And throw in raging sea with roaring threat:
Almightie God her gave such powre and puissaunce great. 180
XXI
The faithfull knight now grew in little space,
By hearing her, and by her sisters lore,
To such perfection of all hevenly grace,
That wretched world he gan for to abhore,
And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore, 185
Greevd with remembrance of his wicked wayes,
And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore,
That he desirde to end his wretched dayes:
So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.
XXII
But wise Speranza gave him comfort sweet, 190
And taught him how to take assured hold
Upon her silver anchor, as was meet;
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