XXXI

A multitude of babes about her hong,

Playing their sports, that joyd her to behold,

Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake and young,

But thrust them forth still as they wexed old:

And on her head she wore a tyre of gold,

Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire,

And by her side there sate a gentle paire

Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvorie chaire.

XXXII

The knight and Una entring faire her greet,

And bid her joy of that her happie brood;

Who them requites with court'sies seeming meet,

And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood.

Then Una her besought, to be so good

As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight,

Now after all his torment well withstood,

In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright

Had past the paines of hell, and long enduring night.

XXXIII

She was right joyous of her just request,

And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne,

Gan him instruct in every good behest,

And wrath, and hatred warely to shonne,

That drew on men Gods hatred and his wrath,

And many soules in dolours had fordonne:

In which when him she well instructed hath,

From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.

XXXIV

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide,

An auncient matrone she to her does call,

Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride:

Her name was Mercie, well knowne over all,

To be both gratious, and eke liberall:

To whom the carefull charge of him she gave,

To lead aright, that he should never fall

In all his wayes through this wide worldes wave,

That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might save.

XXXV

The godly Matrone by the hand him beares

Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,

Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares,

Which still before him she remov'd away,

That nothing might his ready passage stay:

And ever when his feet encombred were,

Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray,

She held him fast, and firmely did upbeare,

As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare.

XXXVI

Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall,

That was fore by the way, she did him bring,

Their life to service of high heavens king,

Did spend their dayes in doing godly thing:

Their gates to all were open evermore,

That by the wearie way were traveiling,

And one sate wayting ever them before,

To call in commers by, that needy were and pore.

XXXVII

The first of them that eldest was, and best,

Of all the house had charge and governement,

As Guardian and Steward of the rest:

His office was to give entertainement

And lodging, unto all that came, and went:

Not unto such, as could him feast againe,

And double quite, for that he on them spent,

But such, as want of harbour did constraine:

Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine.

XXXVIII

The second was as Almner of the place,

His office was, the hungry for to feed,

And thristy give to drinke, a worke of grace:

He feard not once him selfe to be in need,

Ne car'd to hoord for those whom he did breede:

The grace of God he layd up still in store,

Which as a stocke he left unto his seede;

He had enough, what need him care for more?

And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the pore.

XXXIX

The third had of their wardrobe custodie,

In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,

The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie,

But clothes meet to keepe keene could away,

And naked nature seemely to aray;

With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad,

The images of God in earthly clay;

And if that no spare cloths to give he had,

His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad.

XL

The fourth appointed by his office was,

Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious ayd,

And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd,

That God to us forgiveth every howre

Much more then that why they in bands were layd,

The faultie soules from thence brought to his heavenly bowre.

XLI

The fift had charge sicke persons to attend,

And comfort those, in point of death which lay;

For them most needeth comfort in the end,

When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay

The feeble soule departing hence away.

All is but lost, that living we bestow,

If not well ended at our dying day.

O man have mind of that last bitter throw

For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.

XLII

The sixt had charge of them now being dead,

In seemely sort their corses to engrave,

And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed,

That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave

The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould,

Whose face he made all beasts to feare, and gave

All in his hand, even dead we honour should.

XLIII

The seventh, now after death and buriall done,

Had charge the tender orphans of the dead

Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread

In their defence, nor would for gold or fee

Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread:

And, when they stood in most necessitee,

He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.

XLIV

There when the Elfin knight arrived was,

The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care

Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas:

Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare,

And alwayes led, to her with reverence rare

He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse,

And seemely welcome for her did prepare:

For of their order she was Patronesse,

Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.

XLV

There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest,

That to the rest more able he might bee:

During which time, in every good behest

And godly worke of almes and charitee,

She him instructed with great industree;

Shortly therein so perfect he became,

That from the first unto the last degree,

His mortall life he learned had to frame

In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame.

XLVI

Thence forward by that painfull way they pas,

Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;

On top whereof a sacred chappell was,

And eke a little Hermitage thereby,

Wherein an aged holy man did lye,

That day and night said his devotion,

Ne other worldly busines did apply;

His name was heavenly Contemplation;

Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

XLVII

Great grace that old man to him given had;

For God he often saw from heavens hight,

All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad,

And through great age had lost their kindly sight,

Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright,

As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne:

That hill they scale with all their powre and might,

XLVIII

There they do finde that godly aged Sire,

With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed,

As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire

The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded.

Each bone might through his body well be red,

And every sinew seene through his long fast:

His mind was full of spirituall repast,

And pyn'd his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.

XLIX

Who when these two approaching he aspide,

At their first presence grew agrieved sore,

That forst him lay his heavenly thoughts aside;

And had he not that Dame respected more,

Whom highly he did reverence and adore,

He would not once have moved for the knight.

They him saluted, standing far afore;

Who well them greeting, humbly did requight,

And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.

L

What end (quoth she) should cause us take such paine,

But that same end which every living wight

Should make his marke, high heaven to attaine?

Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right

To that most glorious house that glistreth bright

With burning starres and everliving fire,

Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight

By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require,

To show it to his knight, according his desire.

LI

Thrise happy man, said then the father grave,

Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,

And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to save.

Who better can the way to heaven aread,

Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred

In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine?

Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead

Present before the majestie divine,

And his avenging wrath to clemencie incline.

LII

Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne.

Then come thou man of earth, and see the way,

That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne,

That never leads the traveiler astray,

But after labors long, and sad delay,

Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis.

But first thou must a season fast and pray,

Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,

And have her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis.

LIII

That donne, he leads him to the highest Mount;

On either side disparted with his rod,

Till that his army dry-foot through them yod,

Dwelt forty dayes upon; where writ in stone

With bloudy letters by the hand of God,

The bitter doome of death and balefull mone

He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.

LIV

Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd,

Is, as it were for endlesse memory

Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd,

For ever with a flowring girlond crownd:

Through famous Poets verse each where renownd,

On which the thrise three learned Ladies play

Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.

LV

From thence, far off he unto him did shew

A litle path, that was both steepe and long,

Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong

Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong

Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell;

Too high a ditty for my simple song;

The Citie of the great king hight it well,

Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.

LVI

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see

The blessed Angels to and fro descend

From highest heaven in gladsome companee,

And with great joy into that Citie wend,

As commonly as friend does with his frend.

Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,

What stately building durst so high extend

Her loftie towres unto the starry sphere,

And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.

LVII

Faire knight (quoth he) Hierusalem that is,

The new Hierusalem, that God has built

For those to dwell in, that are chosen his,

His chosen people purg'd from sinfull guilt

With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt

On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam,

That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt:

Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam,

More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam.

LVIII

Till now, said then the knight, I weened well,

In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell,

The fairest citie was that might be seene;

And that bright towre all built of christall cleene,

But now by proofe all otherwise I weene;

For this great Citie that does far surpas,

And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas.

LIX

Most trew, then said the holy aged man;

The fairest peece that eye beholden can;

And well beseemes all knights of noble name,

That covett in th' immortall booke of fame

To be eternized, that same to haunt,

And doen their service to that soveraigne dame,

That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt:

For she is heavenly borne, and heaven may justly vaunt.

LX

And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race,

How ever now accompted Elfins sonne,

Well worthy doest thy service for her grace,

To aide a virgin desolate fordonne.

But when thou famous victory hast wonne,

And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield,

Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne,

And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field:

For blood can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield.

LXI

Then seek this path, that I to thee presage,

Which after all to heaven shall thee send;

Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage

To yonder same Hierusalem do bend,

Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end:

For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see,

Shall be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend

And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee,

LXII

How dare I thinke such glory to attaine?

These that have it attaind, were in like cace,

(Quoth he) as wretched, and liv'd in like paine.

But deeds of armes must I at last be faine

And Ladies love to leave so dearely bought?

What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine,

(Said he,) and battailes none are to be fought?

As for loose loves, they're vain, and vanish into nought.

LXIII

O let me not (quoth he) then turne againe

Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruitlesse are;

But let me here for aye in peace remaine,

Or streight way on that last long voyage fare,

That nothing may my present hope empare.

That may not be, (said he) ne maist thou yit

Who did her cause into thy hand commit,

Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quit.

LXIV

Then shall I soone (quoth he) so God me grace,

Abet that virgins cause disconsolate,

And shortly backe returne unto this place,

To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.

But now aread, old father, why of late

Didst thou behight me borne of English blood,

Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate?

That word shall I (said he) avouchen good,

Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy blood.

LXV

For well I wote thou springst from ancient race

Of Saxon kings, that have with mightie hand

High reard their royall throne in Britane land,

And vanquisht them, unable to withstand:

From thence a Faerie thee unweeting reft,

There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,

And her base Elfin brood there for thee left.

LXVI

Thence she thee brought into this Faerie lond,

And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde,

Where thee a Ploughman all unweeting fond,

As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde,

And brought thee up in ploughmans state to byde

Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde,

To Faerie court thou cam'st to seeke for fame,

And prove thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became.

LXVII

O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quight

The many favours I with thee have found,

That hast my name and nation red aright,

And taught the way that does to heaven bound?

This said, adowne he looked to the ground,

To have returnd, but dazed were his eyne

Through passing brightnesse, which did quite confound

His feeble sence and too exceeding shyne.

So darke are earthly things compard to things divine.

LXVIII

At last whenas himselfe he gan to find,

To Una back he cast him to retire;

Who him awaited still with pensive mind.

Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre

He thence departing gave for his paines hyre.

So came to Una, who him joyd to see,

And after little rest, gan him desire

Of her adventure mindfull for to bee.

So leave they take of Cœlia, and her daughters three.

I

HIGH time now gan it wex for Una faire

To thinke of those her captive Parents deare,

And their forwasted kingdome to repaire:

Whereto whenas they now approched neare,

With hartie wordes her knight she gan to cheare,

And in her modest manner thus bespake;

Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was deare,

That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake,

High heaven behold the tedious toyle ye for me take.

II

Now are we come unto my native soyle,

And to the place where all our perils dwell;

Here haunts that feend, and does his dayly spoyle;

And ever ready for your foeman fell.

The sparke of noble courage now awake,

And strive your excellent selfe to excell:

That shall ye evermore renowmed make,

Above all knights on earth that batteill undertake.

III

The brasen towre in which my parents deare

For dread of that huge feend emprisond be,

Whom I from far, see on the walles appeare,

Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare:

And on the top of all I do espye

The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare,

That O my parents might I happily

Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery.

IV

With that they heard a roaring hideous sound,

That all the ayre with terrour filled wide,

Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill.

But all so soone as he from far descride

Those glistring armes, that heaven with light did fill,

He rousd himselfe full blith, and hastned them untill.

V

Then bad the knight his Lady yede aloofe,

And to an hill her selfe withdraw aside:

From whence she might behold that battailles proof,

And eke be safe from daunger far descryde:

She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde.

Faire ympe of Phœbus and his aged bride,

The Nourse of time and everlasting fame,

That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name;

VI

O gently come into my feeble brest

Come gently, but not with that mighty rage,

Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest,

And harts of great Heroës doest enrage,

That nought their kindled courage may aswage,

Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd,

The God of warre with his fiers equipage

Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sownd,

All scared nations doest with horrour sterne astownd.

VII

Faire Goddesse, lay that furious fit aside,

And Briton fields with Sarazin bloud bedyde,

Twixt that great Faery Queene, and Paynim king,

That with their horrour heaven and earth did ring;

A worke of labour long and endlesse prayse:

And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse,

That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze.

VIII

By this the dreadfull Beast drew nigh to hand,

Halfe flying, and halfe footing in his haste,

That with his largenesse measured much land,

And made wide shadow under his huge wast,

As mountaine doth the valley overcast.

Approching nigh, he reared high afore

His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste,

Which to increase his wondrous greatnesse more,

Was swoln with wrath, and poyson, and with bloudy gore.

IX

And over, all with brasen scales was armd,

Like plated coate of steele, so couched neare,

That nought mote perce, ne might his corse be harmd

With dint of sword, nor push of pointed speare;

Which, as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare,

His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight;

So shaked he, that horrour was to heare,

For as the clashing of an Armour bright,

Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto the knight.

X

His flaggy wings when forth he did display,

Were like two sayles, in which the hollow wynd

Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way:

And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd,

Were like mayne-yards, with flying canvas lynd;

With which whenas him list the ayre to beat,

And there by force unwonted passage find,

The cloudes before him fled for terrour great,

And all the heavens stood still amazed with his threat.

XI

His huge long tayle wound up in hundred foldes,

Does overspred his long bras-scaly backe,

Whose wreathed boughts when ever he unfoldes,

And thicke entangled knots adown does slacke,

Bespotted as with shields of red and blacke,

It sweepeth all the land behind him farre,

And of three furlongs does but litle lacke;

And at the point two stings in-fixed arre,

Both deadly sharpe, that sharpest steele exceeden farre.

XII

But stings and sharpest steele did far exceed

The sharpnesse of his cruell rending clawes;

Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed,

What ever thing does touch his ravenous pawes,

Or what within his reach he ever drawes.

But his most hideous head my toung to tell

Does tremble: for his deepe devouring jawes

Wide gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell,

Through which into his darke abisse all ravin fell.

XIII

And that more wondrous was, in either jaw

Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were,

In which yet trickling blood, and gobbets raw

Of late devoured bodies did appeare,

That sight thereof bred cold congealed feare:

Which to increase, and as atonce to kill,

A cloud of smoothering smoke and sulphure seare,

Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still,

That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill.

XIV

His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shields,

Did burne with wrath, and sparkled living fyre:

Send forth their flames far off to every shyre,

And warning give, that enemies conspyre

With fire and sword the region to invade;

So flam'd his eyne with rage and rancorous yre:

But farre within, as in a hollow glade,

Those glaring lampes were set, that made a dreadfull shade.

XV

So dreadfully he towards him did pas,

Forelifting up aloft his speckled brest,

And often bounding on the brused gras,

As for great joyance of his newcome guest.

Eftsoones he gan advance his haughtie crest,

As chauffed Bore his bristles doth upreare,

And shoke his scales to battell ready drest;

That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for feare,

As bidding bold defiance to his foeman neare.

XVI

The knight gan fairely couch his steadie speare,

And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might:

The pointed steele arriving rudely theare,

His harder hide would neither perce, nor bight,

But glauncing by forth passed forward right;

Yet sore amoved with so puissaunt push,

The wrathfull beast about him turned light,

And him so rudely passing by, did brush

With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush.

XVII

Both horse and man up lightly rose againe,

And fresh encounter towards him addrest:

But th'idle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine,

And found no place his deadly point to rest.

Exceeding rage enflam'd the furious beast,

To be avenged of so great despight;

For never felt his imperceable brest

So wondrous force, from hand of living wight;

Yet had he prov'd the powre of many a puissant knight.