"Is not he just, that all this doth behold
From highest heaven, and bears an equal eye?
Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,
And guilty be of thine impiety?
Is not his law, Let every sinner die,
Die shall all flesh? What then must needs be done, Is it not better to do willingly,
Than linger till the glass be all outrun ?
Death is the end of woes: Die soon, O Faëry's son."
The knight was much enmovéd with his speech
That as a sword's point through his heart did pierce,
And in his conscience made a secret breach,
Well knowing true all that he did rehearse,
And to his fresh remembrance did reverse
The ugly view of his deformed crimes;
That all his manly powers it did disperse,
As he were charmed with inchanted rhymes;
That oftentimes he quak'd, and fainted oftentimes.
In which amazement when the miscreant
Perceived him to waver weak and frail,
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience daunt,
And hellish anguish did his soul assail ;
To drive him to despair, and quite to quail,
He show'd him painted in a table plain
The damned ghosts, that do in torments wail,
And thousand fiends, that do them endless pain
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remain.
The sight whereof so throughly him dismay'd,
That nought but death before his eyes he saw,
And ever burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of th' Almighty's law.
Then gan the villain 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 due to him, that had provok'd Gods ire.
But, whenas none of them he saw him take,
He to him brought a dagger sharp and keen,
And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake
And tremble like a leaf of aspen green,
And troubled blood through his pale face was seen
To come and go, with tidings from the heart,
As it a running messenger had been.
At last resolv'd to work his final smart,
He lifted up his hand, that back again did start.
Which whenas Una saw, through every vein
The curdled cold ran to her well of life,
As in a swoon: but soon reliev'd again,
Out of his hand she snatch'd the cursed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
And to him said; "Fie, fie, faint-hearted knight,
What meanest thou by this reproachful strife,
Is this the battle, which thou vauntst to fight
With that fire-mouthed dragon, horrible and bright?
"Come; come away, frail, feeble, fleshly wight,
Nor let vain words bewitch thy manly heart,
Nor devilish thoughts dismay thy constant spright:
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?
Why shouldst thou then despair, that chosen art?
Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace,
The which doth quench the brand of hellish smart,
And that accurst hand-writing doth deface:
Arise, sir knight; arise, and leave this cursed place."
up he rose, and thence amounted straight.
Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest
Would safe depart, for all his subtile sleight;
He chose an halter from among the rest,
And with it hung himself, unbid, unblest.
But death he could not work himself thereby,
For thousand times he so himself had drest,
Yet natheless it could not do him die,
Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.
Her faithful knight fair Una brings
To house of Holiness:
Where he is taught repentance, and
The way to heavenly bliss.
WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly might
And vain assurance of mortality,
Which, all so soon as it doth come to fight
Against spirítual foes, yields by and by,
Or from the field most cowardly doth fly!
Nor let the man ascribe it to his skill,
That thorough grace hath gained victory:
If any strength we have, it is to ill;
But all the good is God's, both power and eke will.
By that which lately happen'd, Una saw
That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;
And all his sinews waxen weak and raw,
Through long imprisonment, and hard constraint,
Which he endured in his late restraint,
That yet he was unfit for bloody fight.
Therefore to cherish him with diets daint,
She cast to bring him, where he chearen might,
Till he recovered had his late decayed plight.
There was an ancient house not far away,
Renown'd throughout the world for sacred lore
And pure unspotted life: so well, they say,
It govern'd was, and guided evermore,
Through wisdom of a matron grave and hoar;
Whose only joy was to relieve the needs
Of wretched souls, and help the helpless poor:
All night she spent in telling of her beads,
And all the day in doing good and godly deeds.
Dame Cælia men did her call, as thought
From heaven to come, or thither to arise;
The mother of three daughters well upbrought
In goodly thewes, and godly exercise:
The eldest two, most sober, chaste, and wise,
Fidelia and Speranza, virgins were ;
Though spous'd, yet wanting wedlock's solemnize;
But fair Charissa to a lovely fere*
Was linked, and by him had many pledges dear.
Arrived there, the door they find fast lock'd;
For it was warely watched night and day,
For fear of many foes; but, when they knock'd,
The porter open'd unto them straight way.
He was an aged sire, all hoary gray,
With looks full lowly cast, and gait full slow,
Wont on a staff his feeble steps to stay,
Hightt Humiltà. They pass in, stooping low;
For straight and narrow was the way which he did show.
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