60 And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race, But when thou famous victorie 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 bloud can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield. 61 Then seeke this path, that I to thee presage, Shalt be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend Saint George of mery England, the signe of And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee, victoree. 62 Vnworthy wretch (quoth he) of so great grace, How dare I thinke such glory to attaine? These that haue it attaind, were in like cace (Quoth he) as wretched, and liu'd in like paine. But deeds of armes must I at last be faine, And Ladies loue to leaue so dearely bought? What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine, (Said he) and battailes none are to be fought? As for loose loues are vaine, and vanish into nought. 63 O let me not (quoth he) then turne againe Backe to the world, whose ioyes 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 Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care, Who did her cause into thy hand commit, Till from her cursed foe thou haue her freely quit. 64 Then shall I soone, (quoth he) so God me grace, Abet that virgins cause disconsolate, And shortly backe returne vnto 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) auouchen good, Sith to thee is vnknowne the cradle of thy brood. Not that great Champion of the antique world, Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt, And hath for twelue huge labours high extold, So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt, When him thepoysoned garment did enchaunt With Centaures bloud, and bloudie verses charm'd, As did this knight twelue thousand dolours daunt, [arm'd, Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him That erst him goodly arm'd, now most of all him harm'd. 28 Faint, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieued, brent With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire That neuer man such mischiefes did torment; Death better were, death did he oft desire, But death will neuer come,when needes require. Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld, He cast to suffer him no more respire, But gan his sturdie sterne about to weld, And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld. 29 It fortuned (as faire it then befell) Behind his backe vnweeting, where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a siluer flood, Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good. Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got That happie land, and all with innocent blood Defyld those sacred waues, it rightly hot The well of life, ne yet his vertues had forgot. |