What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might, i

And vaine assurance of mortality,

Which all so soone, as it doth come to fight,

Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by,

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 haue, it is to ill,

But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.

By that, which lately hapned, Vna saw, ii

That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;

And all his sinews woxen weake and raw,

Through long enprisonment[325], and hard constraint,

Which he endured in his late restraint,

That yet he was vnfit for bloudie fight:

Therefore to cherish him with diets daint,

She cast to bring him, where he chearen might,

Till he recouered had his late decayed plight.

There was an auntient house not farre away, iii

Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore,

And pure vnspotted life: so well they say

It gouernd was, and guided euermore,

Through wisedome of a matrone graue and hore;

Whose onely ioy was to relieue the needes

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 godly deedes.

Dame Cœlia men did her call, as thought iv

From heauen to come, or thither to arise,

The mother of three daughters, well vpbrought

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 louely fere

Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere.

Arriued there, the dore they find fast lockt; v

For it was warely watched night and day,

For feare of many foes: but when they knockt,

The Porter opened vnto 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 Humiltá. They passe in stouping low;

For streight and narrow was the way, which he did show.

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin, vi

But entred in a spacious court they see,

Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in,

Where them does meete a francklin faire and free,

And entertaines with comely courteous glee,

His name was Zele, that him right well became,

For in his speeches and behauiour hee

Did labour liuely to expresse the same,

And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.

There fairely them receiues a gentle Squire, vii

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,

Hight Reuerence. He them with speeches meet

Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie,

But simple true[326], and eke vnfained sweet,

As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades, viii

That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place:

Who all this while was busie at her beades:

Which doen, she vp arose with seemely grace,

And toward them full matronely did pace.

Where when that fairest Vna she beheld,

Whom well she knew to spring from heauenly race,

Her hart with ioy vnwonted inly sweld,

As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.

And her embracing said, O happie earth, ix

Whereon thy innocent feet doe euer tread,

Most vertuous virgin borne of heauenly berth,

That to redeeme thy woefull parents head,

From tyrans rage, and euer-dying dread,

Hast wandred through the world now long a day;

Yet ceasest not thy wearie soles to lead,

What grace hath thee now hither brought this way?

Or doen thy feeble feet vnweeting hither stray?

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see x

Here in this place, or any other wight,

That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee,

That chose[327] 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 euill plight,

Then with a few to walke the rightest way;

O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?

Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbs to rest, xi

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,

That vp to heauen is blowne. The auncient Dame[328]

Him goodly greeted in her modest guise,

And entertaynd them both, as best became,

With all the court’sies, that she could deuise,

Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

Thus as they gan of sundry things deuise, xii

Loe two most goodly virgins came in place,

Ylinked arme in arme in louely wise,

With countenance demure, and modest grace,

They numbred euen steps and equall pace:

Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight,

Like sunny beames threw from her Christall face,

That could haue dazd the rash beholders sight,

And round about her head did shine like heauens light.

She was araied all in lilly white, xiii

And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,

With wine and water fild vp 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:

And in her other hand she fast did hold

A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood,

Wherein darke things were writ, hard to be vnderstood.

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, xiv

Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well;

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:

Vpon her arme a siluer anchor lay,

Whereon she leaned euer, as befell:

And euer vp to heauen, as she did pray,

Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarued other way.

They seeing Vna, towards her gan wend, xv

Who them encounters with like courtesie;

Many kind speeches they betwene them spend,

And greatly ioy each other well[329] to see:

Then to the knight with shamefast modestie

They turne themselues, at Vnaes meeke request,

And him salute with well beseeming glee;

Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best,

And goodly gan[330] discourse of many a noble gest.

Then Vna thus; But she your sister deare; xvi

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:

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.

Indeede (quoth she) that should her[331] trouble sore,

But thankt be God, and her encrease so euermore.

Then said the aged Cœlia, Deare dame, xvii

And you good Sir, I wote that of your 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.

Then called she a Groome, that forth him led

Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile

Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed;

His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared.

Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest, xviii

And bodies were refresht with due repast,

Faire Vna gan Fidelia faire request,

To haue her knight into her schoolehouse plaste,

That of her heauenly learning he might taste,

And heare the wisedome of her words diuine.

She graunted, and that knight so much agraste,

That she him taught celestiall discipline,

And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.

And that her sacred Booke, with bloud ywrit, xix

That none could read, except she did them teach,

She vnto him disclosed euery whit,

And heauenly documents thereout did preach,

That weaker wit of man could neuer reach,

Of God, of grace, of iustice, of free will,

That wonder was to heare her goodly speach:

For she was able, with her words to kill,

And raise againe to life the hart, that she did thrill.

And when she list poure out her larger spright, xx

She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay,

Or backward turne his course from heauens hight;

Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay,

Dry-shod to passe, she parts the flouds in tway;[332]

And eke huge mountaines from their natiue seat

She would commaund, themselues to beare away,

And throw in raging sea with roaring threat.

Almightie God her gaue such powre, and puissance great.

The faithfull knight now grew in litle space, xxi

By hearing her, and by her sisters lore,

To such perfection of all heauenly grace,

That wretched world he gan for to abhore,

And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore,

Greeu’d with remembrance of his wicked wayes,

And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore,

That he desirde[333] to end his wretched dayes:

So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.

But wise Speranza gaue him comfort sweet, xxii

And taught him how to take assured hold

Vpon her siluer anchor, as was meet;

Else had his sinnes so great, and manifold

Made him forget all that Fidelia told.

In this distressed doubtfull agonie,

When him his dearest Vna did behold,

Disdeining life, desiring leaue to die,

She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie.

And came to Cœlia to declare her smart, xxiii

Who well acquainted with that commune plight,

Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart,

Her wisely comforted all that she might,

With goodly counsell and aduisement right;

And streightway sent with carefull diligence,

To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight

In that disease of grieued conscience,

And well could cure the same; His name was Patience.

Who comming to that soule-diseased knight, xxiv

Could hardly him intreat, to tell his griefe:

Which knowne, and all that noyd his heauie spright[334]

Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply reliefe[335]

Of salues and med’cines, which had passing priefe,

And thereto added words of wondrous might:

By which to ease he him recured briefe,

And much asswag’d the passion of his plight,

That he his paine endur’d, as seeming now more light.

But yet the cause and root of all his ill, xxv

Inward corruption, and infected sin,

Not purg’d nor heald, behind remained still,

And festring sore did rankle yet within,

Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin.

Which to extirpe, he laid him priuily

Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in,

Whereas he meant his corrosiues to apply,

And with streight[336] diet tame his stubborne malady.

In ashes and sackcloth he did array xxvi

His daintie corse, proud humors to abate,

And dieted with fasting euery day,

The swelling of his wounds to mitigate,

And made him pray both earely and eke late:

And euer as superfluous flesh did rot

Amendment readie still at hand did wayt,

To pluck it out with pincers firie whot,

That soone in him was left no one corrupted iot.

And bitter Penance with an yron whip, xxvii

Was wont him once to disple euery day:

And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip,

That drops of bloud thence like a well did play;

And sad Repentance vsed to embay[337]

His bodie in salt water smarting sore,[338]

The filthy blots of sinne to wash away.

So in short space they did to health restore

The man that would not liue, but earst lay at deathes dore.

In which his torment often was so great, xxviii

That like a Lyon he would cry and rore,

And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat.

His owne deare Vna hearing euermore

His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore

Her guiltlesse garments, and her golden heare,

For pitty of his paine and anguish sore;

Yet all with patience wisely she did beare;

For well she wist, his crime could else be neuer cleare.

Whom thus recouer’d by wise Patience, xxix

And trew Repentance they to Vna brought:

Who ioyous of his cured conscience,

Him dearely kist, and fairely eke besought

Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought

To put away out of his carefull brest.

By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought,

Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest;

To her faire Vna brought this vnacquainted guest.

She was a woman in her freshest age, xxx

Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare,

With goodly grace and comely personage,

That was on earth not easie to compare;

Full of great loue, but Cupids wanton snare

As hell she hated, chast in worke and will;

Her necke and breasts were euer open bare,

That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill;

The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still.

A multitude of babes about her hong, xxxi

Playing their sports, that ioyd 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,[339]

Whose passing price vneath was to be told;

And by her side there sate a gentle paire

Of turtle doues, she sitting in an yuorie chaire.

The knight and Vna entring, faire her greet, xxxii

And bid her ioy of that her happie brood;

Who them requites with court’sies seeming meet,

And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood.

Then Vna 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.

She was right ioyous of her iust request, xxxiii

And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne,

Gan him instruct in euery good behest,

Of loue, and righteousnesse, and well to donne,

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 heauen she teacheth him the ready path.

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide, xxxiv

An auncient matrone she to her does call,

Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride:

Her name was Mercie, well knowne ouer all,

To be both gratious, and eke liberall:

To whom the carefull charge of him she gaue,

To lead aright, that he should neuer fall

In all his wayes through this wide worldes[340] waue,

That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might saue.

The godly Matrone by the hand him beares xxxv

Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,

Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares,

Which still before him she remou’d away,

That nothing might his ready passage stay:

And euer when his feet encombred were,

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

She held him fast, and firmely did vpbeare,

As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare.

Eftsoones vnto an holy Hospitall, xxxvi

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

In which seuen Bead-men that had vowed all

Their life to seruice of high heauens king

Did spend their dayes in doing godly thing:

Their[341] gates to all were open euermore,

That by the wearie way were traueiling,

And one sate wayting euer them before,

To call in commers-by[342], that needy were and pore.

The first of them that eldest was, and best, xxxvii

Of all the house had charge and gouernement,

As Guardian and Steward of the rest:

His office was to giue entertainement

And lodging, vnto all that came, and went:

Not vnto 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.

The second was as[343] Almner of the place, xxxviii

His office was, the hungry for to feed,

And thristy giue 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 vp still in store,

Which as a stocke he left vnto his seede;

He had enough, what need him care for more?

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

The third had of their wardrobe custodie, xxxix

In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,

The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie,

But clothes[344] 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[345] to giue he had,

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

The fourth appointed by his office was, xl

Poore prisoners to relieue with gratious ayd,

And captiues to redeeme with price of bras,

From Turkes and Sarazins, which them had stayd;

And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd,

That God to vs forgiueth euery howre

Much more then that, why they in bands were layd,

And he that harrowd hell with heauie stowre,

The faultie soules from thence brought to his heauenly bowre.

The fift had charge sicke persons to attend, xli

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 liuing we bestow,

If not well ended at our dying day.

O man haue mind of that last bitter throw;

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

The sixt had charge of them now being dead, xlii

In seemely sort their corses to engraue,

And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed,

That to their heauenly spouse both sweet and braue

They might appeare, when he their soules shall saue.

The wondrous workemanship of Gods owne mould,

Whose face he made, all beasts to feare, and gaue

All in his hand, euen dead we honour should.

Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould.

The seuenth now after death and buriall done, xliii

Had charge the tender Orphans of the dead

And widowes ayd, least they should be vndone:

In face of iudgement he their right would plead,

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 gaue them euer free.

There when the Elfin knight arriued was, xliv

The first and chiefest of the seuen, whose care

Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas:

Where seeing Mercie, that his steps vp bare,

And alwayes led, to her with reuerence 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.

There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest, xlv

That to the rest more able he might bee:

During which time, in euery 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 vnto the last degree,

His mortall life he learned had to frame

In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame.

Thence forward by that painfull way they pas, xlvi

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

On top whereof a sacred chappell was,

And eke a litle Hermitage thereby,

Wherein an aged holy man did lye,

That day and night said his deuotion,

Ne other worldly busines did apply;

His name was heauenly Contemplation;

Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

Great grace that old man to him giuen had; xlvii

For God he often saw from heauens 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,

That his frayle thighes nigh wearie and fordonne

Gan faile, but by her helpe the top at last he wonne.

There they do finde that godly aged Sire, xlviii

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 euery sinew seene through his long fast:

For nought he car’d his carcas long vnfed;

His mind was full of spirituall repast,

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

Who when these two approching he aspide xlix

At their first presence grew agrieued sore,

That forst him lay his heauenly thoughts aside;

And had he not that Dame respected more,

Whom highly he did reuerence and adore,

He would not once haue moued 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.

What end (quoth she[346]) should cause vs take such paine, l

But that same end, which euery liuing wight

Should make his marke, high heauen to attaine?

Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right

To that most glorious house, that glistreth bright

With burning starres, and euerliuing fire,

Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight

By wise Fidelia? she doth thee require,

To shew it to this knight, according his desire.

Thrise happy man, said then the father graue, li

Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,

And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to saue.

Who better can the way to heauen aread,

Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred

In heauenly throne, where thousand Angels shine?

Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead

Present before the maiestie diuine,

And his auenging wrath to clemencie incline.

Yet since[347] thou bidst, thy pleasure shalbe donne. lii

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

That neuer yet was seene of Faeries sonne,

That neuer leads the traueiler astray,

But after labours long, and sad delay,

Brings[348] them to ioyous rest and endlesse blis.

But first thou must a season fast and pray,

Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,

And haue her strength recur’d from fraile infirmitis.

That done, he leads him to the highest Mount; liii

Such one, as that same mighty man of God,

That bloud-red billowes like a walled front

On either side disparted with his rod,

Till that his army dry-foot through them yod,

Dwelt fortie dayes vpon; where writ in stone

With bloudy letters by the hand of God,

The bitter doome of death and balefull mone

He did receiue, whiles flashing fire about him shone.

Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie, liv

Adornd with fruitfull Oliues all arownd,

Is, as it were for endlesse memory

Of that deare Lord, who oft thereon was fownd,

For euer with a flowring girlond crownd:

Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay

Through famous Poets verse each where renownd,

On which the thrise three learned Ladies play

Their heauenly notes, and make full many a louely lay.

From thence, far off he vnto him did shew lv

A litle path, that was both steepe and long,

Which to a goodly Citie led his vew;

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.