XXIV

The knight then lightly leaping to the pray,

With mortall steele him smot againe so sore,

That headlesse his unweldy bodie lay,

All wallowd in his owne fowle bloudy gore,

Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.

But soone as breath out of his breast did pas,

That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore,

Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas

Was nothing left, but like an emptie bladder was.

XXV

Whose grievous fall, when false Duessa spide,

Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,

And crowned mitre rudely threw aside;

Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound,

That she could not endure that dolefull stound,

But leaving all behind her, fled away;

The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around,

And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,

So brought unto his Lord, as his deserved pray.

XXVI

The royall Virgin which beheld from farre,

In pensive plight, and sad perplexitie,

The whole atchievement of this doubtfull warre,

Came running fast to greet his victorie,

With sober gladnesse, and myld modestie,

And with sweet joyous cheare him thus bespake:

Faire braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,

That with your worth the world amazed make,

How shall I quite the paines ye suffer for my sake?

XXVII

And you fresh budd of vertue springing fast,

Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto deaths dore,

What hath poore Virgin for such perill past

Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore

My simple selfe, and service evermore;

And he that high does sit, and all things see

With equall eyes, their merites to restore,

Behold what ye this day have done for mee,

And what I cannot quite, requite with usuree.

XXVIII

But sith the heavens, and your faire handeling

Have made you master of the field this day,

And well begun end all so well, I pray.

Ne let that wicked woman scape away;

For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall,

My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay,

Where he his better dayes hath wasted all.

O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call.

XXIX

Forthwith he gave in charge unto his Squire,

That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;

Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire

Into the Castle entred forcibly,

Where living creature none he did espye;

Then gan he lowdly through the house to call:

But no man car'd to answere to his crye.

There raignd a solemne silence over all,

Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall.

XXX

At last with creeping crooked pace forth came

An old old man, with beard as white as snow,

That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,

And guide his wearie gate both to and fro:

For his eye sight him failed long ygo,

And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,

Those were the keyes of every inner dore,

But he could not them use, but kept them still in store.

XXXI

But very uncouth sight was to behold,

How he did fashion his untoward pace,

For as he forward moov'd his footing old,

So backward still was turnd his wrincled face,

Unlike to men, who ever as they trace,

Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.

This was the auncient keeper of that place,

And foster father of the Gyant dead;

His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.

XXXII

His reverend haires and holy gravitie

The knight much honord, as beseemed well,

And gently askt, where all the people bee,

Which in that stately building wont to dwell.

Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell.

Again he askt, where that same knight was layd,

Whom great Orgoglio with his puissance fell

Had made his caytive thrall, againe he sayde,

He could not tell: ne ever other answere made.

XXXIII

Then asked he, which way he in might pas:

He could not tell, againe he answered.

Thereat the curteous knight displeased was,

And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red

How ill it sits with that same silver hed,

In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:

But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed

Aread in graver wise, what I demaund of thee.

XXXIV

His answere likewise was, he could not tell.

Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance

When as the noble Prince had marked well,

He ghest his nature by his countenance,

And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.

Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach

Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance.

Each dore he opened without any breach;

There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach.

XXXV

There all within full rich arrayd he found,

With royall arras and resplendent gold.

And did with store of every thing abound,

But all the floore (too filthy to be told)

Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold,

Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew,

XXXVI

And there beside of marble stone was built

On which true Christians bloud was often spilt,

And holy Martyrs often doen to dye,

With cruell malice and strong tyranny:

Whose blessed sprites from underneath the stone

To God for vengeance cryde continually,

And with great griefe were often heard to grone,

That hardest heart would bleede, to hear their piteous mone.

XXXVII

Through every rowme he sought, and every bowr,

But no where could he find that woful thrall:

At last he came unto an yron doore,

That fast was lockt, but key found not at all

Emongst that bounch, to open it withall;

But in the same a little grate was pight,

Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call

With all his powre, to weet, if living wight

Were housed there within, whom he enlargen might.

XXXVIII

Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce

These pitteous plaints and dolours did resound;

O who is that, which brings me happy choyce

Of death, that here lye dying every stound,

Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?

For now three Moones have changed thrice their hew,

And have been thrice hid underneath the ground,

Since I the heavens chearfull face did vew,

O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew.

XXXIX

Which when that Champion heard, with percing point

Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore,

And trembling horrour ran through every joynt

For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore:

Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore,

With furious force, and indignation fell;

Where entred in, his foot could find no flore,

But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell,

That breathed ever forth a filthie banefull smell.

XL

But neither darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands,

Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold,

(Entire affection hateth nicer hands)

But that with constant zeale, and courage bold,

After long paines and labours manifold,

He found the meanes that Prisoner up to reare;

Whose feeble thighes, unhable to uphold

His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare.

A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere.

XLI

His sad dull eyes deepe sunck in hollow pits,

Could not endure th' unwonted sunne to view;

His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits,

And empty sides deceived of their dew,

Could make a stony hart his hap to rew;

Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets hew,

Were cleane consum'd, and all his vitall powres

Decayd, and all his flesh shronk up like withered flowres.

XLII

Whom when his Lady saw, to him she ran

With hasty joy: to see him made her glad,

And sad to view his visage pale and wan,

Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad.

Tho when her well of teares she wasted had,

On you hath fround, and pourd his influence bad,

That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre,

And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre?

XLIII

But welcome now my Lord, in wele or woe,

Whose presence I have lackt too long a day;

Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe now alay.

And for these wrongs shall treble penaunce pay

The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay,

Had no delight to treaten of his griefe;

His long endured famine needed more reliefe.

XLIV

Faire Lady, then said that victorious knight,

The things, that grievous were to do, or beare,

Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight;

But th' onely good, that growes of passed feare,

Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.

This dayes ensample hath this lesson deare

Deepe written in my heart with yron pen,

That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men.

XLV

Henceforth sir knight, take to you wonted strength,

And maister these mishaps with patient might;

Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length,

And loe that wicked woman in your sight,

The roote of all your care, and wretched plight,

Now in your powre, to let her live, or dye.

To do her dye (quoth Una) were despight,

And shame t'avenge so weake an enimy;

But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly.

XLVI

And robd of royall robes, and purple pall,

And ornaments that richly were displaid;

Ne spared they to strip her naked all.

Then when they had despoiled her tire and call,

Such as she was, their eyes might her behold,

That her misshaped parts did them appall,

A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old,

Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told.

XLIX

Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were,

And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.

Such then (said Una) as she seemeth here,

Such is the face of falshood, such the sight

Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light

Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne.

Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight,

And all her filthy feature open showne,

They let her goe at will, and wander wayes unknowne.

L

She flying fast from heavens hated face,

And from the world that her discovered wide,

Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace,

From living eyes her open shame to hide,

And lurkt in rocks and caves long unespide.

But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire

Did in that castle afterwards abide,

To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire,

Where store they found of all that dainty was and rare.

I

The vertues linked are in lovely wize:

And noble mindes of yore allyed were,

In brave poursuit of chevalrous emprize,

That none did others safety despize,

Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands,

But friendly each did others prayse devize,

How to advaunce with favourable hands,

As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse knight from bands.

II

Who when their powres empaird through labour long,

With dew repast they had recured well,

And that weake captive wight now wexed strong,

Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,

But forward fare, as their adventures fell,

But ere they parted, Una faire besought

That straunger knight his name and nation tell;

Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,

III

Faire virgin (said the Prince) ye me require

A thing without the compas of my wit:

For both the lignage and the certain Sire,

From which I sprong, from me are hidden yit.

For all so soone as life did me admit

Into this world, and shewed heavens light,

From mothers pap I taken was unfit:

To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might.

IV

Unto old Timon he me brought bylive,

Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene

In warlike feates th'expertest man alive,

And is the wisest now on earth I weene;

His dwelling is low in a valley greene,

His tombling billowes roll with gentle rore:

There all my dayes he traind me up in vertuous lore.

V

Thither the great magicien Merlin came,

As was his use, ofttimes to visit me:

And Tutours nouriture to oversee.

Him oft and oft I askt in privitie,

Of what loines and what lignage I did spring:

Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee,

That I was sonne and heire unto a king,

VI

Well worthy impe, said then the Lady gent,

And pupill fit for such a Tutours hand.

But what adventure, or what high intent

Hath brought you hither into Faery land,

Aread Prince Arthur, crowne of Martiall band?

Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright

The course of heavenly cause, or understand

The secret meaning of th' eternall might,

That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of living wight.

VII

For whether he through fatall deepe foresight

Me hither sent, for cause to me unghest,

Whilome doth rancle in my riven brest,

Me hither brought by wayes yet never found;

You to have helpt I hold myself yet blest.

Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound

VIII

Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow,

Ne ever will their fervent fury slake,

Till living moysture into smoke do flow,

And wasted life do lye in ashes low.

Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire,

I will revele what ye so much desire:

Ah Love, lay down thy bow, the whiles I may respire.

IX

It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares,

When courage first does creepe in manly chest,

Then first the coale of kindly heat appeares

To kindle love in every living brest;

But me had warnd old Timons wise behest,

Those creeping flames by reason to subdew,

Before their rage grew to so great unrest,

As miserable lovers use to rew,

Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new.

X

That idle name of love, and lovers life,

As losse of time, and vertues enimy,

I ever scornd, and joyd to stirre up strife,

In middest of their mournfull Tragedy,

Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,

And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:

Their God himselfe, griev'd at my libertie,

Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent,

But I them warded all with wary government.

XI

But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong,

Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound,

But will at last be wonne with battrie long,

Or unawares at disadvantage found:

Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground:

And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might,

And boasts in beauties chaine not to be bound,

Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight,

And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours most despight.

XII

And of my selfe now mated, as ye see;

Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy

Did soone pluck downe and curbd my libertie.

For on a day, prickt forth with jollitie

Of looser life, and heat of hardiment,

Raunging the forest wide on courser free,

The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent

Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine intent.

XIII

For-wearied with my sports, I did alight

From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd;

The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight,

And pillow was my helmet faire displayd:

And slombring soft my hart did steale away,

Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd

Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay:

So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day.

XIV

Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment

She to me made, and bad me love her deare;

For dearely sure her love was to me bent,

As when just time expired should appeare.

But whether dreames delude, or true it were,

Was never hart so ravisht with delight,

Ne living man like words did ever heare,

As she to me delivered all that night;

And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight.

XV

When I awoke, and found her place devoyd,

And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen,

I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd,

And washed all her place with watry eyen.

From that day forth I lov'd that face divine;

From that day forth I cast in carefull mind

To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne,

And never vowd to rest till her I find,

Nine monethes I seeke in vain, yet ni'll that vow unbind.

XVI

Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale,

And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray;

Yet still he strove to cloke his inward bale,

And hide the smoke that did his fire display,

Till gentle Una thus to him gan say;

O happy Queene of Faeries, that has found

Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may

Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound:

True Loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground.

XVII

Thine, O then, said the gentle Recrosse knight,

O fairest virgin, full of heavenly light,

Whose wondrous faith exceeding earthly race,

And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life,

Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace:

For onely worthy you through prowes priefe,

Yf living man mote worthie be, to be her liefe.

XVIII

So diversly discoursing of their loves,

The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew,

And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoves

With fresh desire his voyage to pursew;

Als Una earnd her traveill to renew.

Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bynd,

And love establish each to other trew,

Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd,

And eke the pledges firme, right hands together joynd.

XIX

Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond sure,

Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,

Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure,

Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent,

That any wound could heale incontinent:

Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave

Was writ with golden letters rich and brave;

A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to save.

XX

Thus beene they parted, Arthur on his way

To seeke his love, and th' other for to fight

With Unaes foe, that all her realme did pray.

But she now weighing the decayed plight,

And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight,

Would not a while her forward course pursew,

Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight,

Till he recovered had his former hew:

For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew.

XXI

So as they traveild, lo they gan espy

That seemed from some feared foe to fly,

Or other griesly thing, that him aghast.

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,

XXII

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

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.

XXIII

The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast,

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;

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.

XXIV

He answerd nought at all, but adding new

Feare to his first amazment, staring wide

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,

But trembling every joint did inly quake,

And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake.

XXV

For Gods 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;

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,

Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach.

XXVI

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?

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

Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.

XXVII

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:

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.

XXVIII

From whom returning sad and comfortlesse,

As on the way together we did fare,

We met that villen (God from him me blesse)

That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare,

A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire:

Of tydings strange, and of adventures rare:

So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes,

Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.

XXIX

Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts

Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,

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

Perswade us die, to stint all further strife:

To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.