Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne: So many pathes, so many turnings seene,

That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been.

XI.

At last resolving forward still to fare,
Till that some end they finde, or in or out,
That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare,
And like to lead the labyrinth about;

Which when by tract they hunted had throughout,
At length it brought them to a hollowe cave,
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave,
And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere he gave.

XII.

"Be well aware," quoth then that Ladie milde, "Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke: The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: therefore your stroke, Sir Knight, withhold, till further tryall made." "Ah Ladie," sayd he, "shame were to revoke The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertue gives her selfe light through darknesse for to wade."

XIII.

66 Yea, but," quoth she, "the perill of this place
I better wot then you: though nowe too late
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace,
Yet wisedome warnes, whilst foot is in the gate,

To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Therefore I read beware." "Fly, fly," quoth then The fearful Dwarfe; "This is no place for living

men.

XIV.

But, full of fire and greedy hardiment,

The youthfull Knight could not for ought be staide;
But forth unto the darksom 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 plaine,
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide,

But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine.

[The Red Cross Knight, assisted by Una, does battle with the dragon, Error. As the combat progresses, the hideous serpent-brood of Error, "deformed monsters, foul and black as ink," swarming about the Knight sorely encumber him. The poet thus compares them to a cloud of gnats.]

XXIII.

As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide, When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best; A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, All striving to infixe their feeble stinges, That from their noyance he no where can rest; But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.

XXIV.

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame
Then of the certeine perill he stood in,
Halfe furious unto his foe he came,

Resolved in minde all suddenly to win,

Or soone to lose, before he once would lin;
And stroke at her with more then manly force,

That from her body, full of filthie sin,

He raft her hatefull heade without remorse:

A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her

corse.

XXVII.

His Lady seeing all that chaunst, from farre,
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie;

And saide, "Faire Knight, borne under happie

starre,

Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye;

Well worthie be you of that armory,

Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day, And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie; Your first adventure: Many such I pray, And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may!"

[Having re-mounted his steed, the Red-Cross Knight and Una at length meet in the forest an "aged sire" clad in black, having a gray beard and a sober aspect. The Knight, having saluted him, is conducted to a hermitage on the skirts of the forest, where the old man tells him in pleasing words about Saints and popes: so they pass the evening in discourse.]

XXXVI.

The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast;
And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes,
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast

Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes.

Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to his studie goes; and there amiddes

His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes, He seekes out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy minds.

XXXVII.

Then choosing out few words most horrible, (Let none them read!) thereof did verses frame; With which, and other spelles like terrible, He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame; And cursed heven; and spake reprochful shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. A bold bad man! that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night; At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

XXXVIII.

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd
Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes,
Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd,
Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies:
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;
The one of them he gave a message too,
The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo.

XXXIX.

He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and deepe,
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,

And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,

Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.

XL.

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast;
The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory,
The other all with silver overcast;

And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy,

Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly,

And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe
In drowsie fit he findes; of nothing he takes keepe.

XLI.

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft,

A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,

Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming bees, did caste him in a swowne. No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.