But, full of fire and greedy hardiment,
The youthful knight could not for ought be staid;
But forth unto the darksome hole he went,
And looked in his glistring armor made
A litle glooming light, much like a shade;
By which he saw the ugly monster plain,
Half like a serpent horribly display'd,
But th' other half did womans shape retain,
Most loathsome, filthy, foul, and full of vile disdain.
Here follows a stanza descriptive of Error, but omitted on
account of the coarseness of the terms.
several stanzas omitted in this canto.
The same may be said of
The subject is of itself an
unpleasing one, and as such unsuited to our purpose.
Their dam upstart out of her den afraid,
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous tail
About her cursed head; whose folds display'd
Were stretcht now forth at length without entrail.*
She look'd about, and seeing one in mail,
Armed to point, sought back to turn again;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,
Ay wont in desert darkness to remain,
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plain.
Which when the valiant Elff perceiv'd, he leapt
As lion fierce upon the flying prey,
And with his trenchant blade her boldly kept
From turning back, and forced her to stay:
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray,
And turning fierce her speckled tail advanc'd
Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay;
Who, nought aghast, his mighty hand enhanc'd;
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glanc'd.
Much daunted with that dint her sense was daz'd;
Yet kindling rage her self she gathered round,
And all at once her beastly body rais'd
With doubled forces high above the ground:
Then, wrapping up her wreathed stern around,
Leapt fierce upon his shield, and her huge train
All suddenly about his body wound,
That hand or foot to stir he strove in vain.
God help the man so wrapt in Error's endless train!
His lady, sad to see his sore constraint,
Cried out, "Now, now, Sir Knight, shew what ye be;
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint;
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee."
That when he heard, in great perplexity
His gall did grate for grief and high disdain;
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free,
Wherewith he gript her gorge with so great pain,
That soon to loose her wicked bands did her constrain.
Thus ill bestead, and fearful more of shame
Than of the certain peril he stood in,
Half furious unto his foe he came,
Resolved in mind all suddenly to win,
Or soon to lose, before he once would lin ;*
And struck at her with more than manly force,
That from her body, full of filthy sin,
He raft her hateful head without remorse :
A stream of coal-black blood forth gushed from her corse.
Her scattered brood, soon as their parent dear
They saw so rudely falling to the ground,
Groaning full deadly all with troublous fear,
Gather'd themselves about her body round,
Weening their wonted entrance to have found
At her wide mouth; but, being there withstood,
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
And sucked up their dying mothers blood;
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.
His lady seeing all that chanc'd, from far,
Approach'd in haste to greet his victory;
And said, “Fair knight, born under happy star,
Who see your vanquish'd foes before you lie;
Well worthy be you of that armory,
Wherein ye have great glory won this day,
And prov'd your strength on a strong enemy;
Your first adventure: many such I pray,
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may !"
Then mounted he upon his steed again,
And with the lady backward sought to wend:
That path he kept, which beaten was most plain,
Nor ever would to any by-way bend;
But still did follow one unto the end,
The which at last out of the wood them brought.
So forward on his way (with God to friend)
He passed forth, and new adventure sought:
Long way he travelled, before he heard of aught.
At length they chanc'd to meet upon the way
An aged sire, in long black weeds yclad,
His feet all bare, his beard all hoary gray,
And by his belt his book he hanging had;
Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad;
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
Simple in shew, and void of malice bad;
And all the way he prayed, as he went,
And often knock'd his breast, as one that did repent.
He fair the knight saluted, louting* low,
Who fair him quited, as that courteous was;
And after asked him, if he did know
Of strange adventures, which abroad did pass.
"Ah! my dear son," quoth he, "how should, alas!
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
Bidding his beads all day for his trespass,
Tidings of war and worldly trouble tell?
With holy father sits not with such things to mell.†
"But if of danger, which hereby doth dwell,
And homebred evil ye desire to hear,
Of a strange man I can you tidings tell,
That wasteth all this country far and near."
"Of such," said he, "I chiefly do inquere ;
And shall thee well reward to shew the place,
In which the wicked wight his days doth wear:
For to all knighthood it is foul disgrace,
That such a cursed creature live so long a space."
"Far hence," quoth he, "in wastful wilderness
His dwelling is, by which no living wight
May ever pass, but thorough great distress."
"Now," said the lady, "draweth toward night;
And well I wot, that of your later fight
Ye all forwearied be; for what so strong,
But, wanting rest, will also want of might?
The sun that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth bait his steeds the ocean waves among.
"Then with the sun take, sir, your timely rest,
And with new day new work at once begin:
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsel best."
"Right well, Sir Knight, ye have advised been,”
Quoth then that aged man; "the way to win
Is wisely to advise. Now day is spent:
Therefore with me ye may take up your inn
For this same night." The knight was well content:
So with that godly father to his home they went.
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