XXIV
Thus ill bestedd,° and fearefull more of shame, Then of the certeine perill he stood in, Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 210 Resolv'd in minde all suddenly to win, Or soone to lose, before he once would lin And strooke at her with more then manly force, That from her body full of filthie sin He raft her hatefull head without remorse; 215 A streame of cole black bloud forth gushed from her corse.
XXV
Her scattred brood,° soone as their Parent deare They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare, Gathred themselves about her body round, 220 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. 225
XXVI
That detestable sight him much amazde, To see th' unkindly Impes, of heaven accurst, Devoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd, Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst, Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst, 230 And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst;° Now needeth him no lenger labour spend, His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should contend.°
XXVII
His Ladie seeing all that chaunst, from farre 235 Approcht in hast to greet his victorie, And said, Faire knight, borne under happy starre,° Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye: Well worthie be you of that Armorie,° Wherin ye have great glory wonne this day, 240 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.°
XXVIII
Then mounted he upon his Steede againe, And with the Lady backward sought to wend; 245 That path he kept which beaten was most plaine, Ne 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 frend)° 250 He passed forth, and new adventure sought; Long way he travelled, before he heard of ought.
XXIX
At length they chaunst to meet upon the way An aged Sire,° in long blacke weedes yclad, His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray 255 And by his belt his booke he hanging had; Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in shew, and voyde of malice bad, And all the way he prayed, as he went, 260 And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.
XXX
He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as that courteous was: And after asked him, if he did know Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas. 265 Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas, Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell, Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell? With holy father sits not with such things to mell. 270
XXXI
But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell, And homebred evil ye desire to heare, Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, That wasteth all this countrey farre and neare. Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere, 275 And shall you well reward to shew the place, In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare: For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.
XXXII
Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse 280 His dwelling is, by which no living wight May ever passe, but thorough great distresse. Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night, And well I wote, that of your later fight Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong, 285 But wanting rest will also want of might? The Sunne that measures heaven all day long, At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waves emong.
XXXIII
Then with the Sunne take Sir, your timely rest, And with new day new worke at once begin: 290 Untroubled night they say gives counsell best. Right well Sir knight ye have advised bin, (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 In° 295 For this same night. The knight was well content: So with that godly father to his home they went.
XXXIV
A little lowly Hermitage it was, Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, Far from resort of people, that did pas 300 In travell to and froe: a little wyde° There was an holy Chappell edifyde, Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say His holy things each morne and eventyde: Thereby a Christall streame did gently play, 305 Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.
XXXV
Arrived there, the little house they fill, Ne looke for entertainement, where none was: Rest is their feast, and all things at their will: The noblest mind the best contentment has. 310 With faire discourse the evening so they pas: For that old man of pleasing wordes had store, And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas, He told of Saintes and Popes, and evermore He strowd an _Ave-Mary_° after and before. 315
XXXVI
The drouping Night thus creepeth on them fast, And the sad humour° loading their eye liddes, As messenger of Morpheus° on them cast Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleepe them biddes. Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: 320 Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to this study goes, and there amiddes His Magick bookes and artes° of sundry kindes, He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy mindes.
XXXVII
Then choosing out few words most horrible, 325 (Let none them read) thereof did verses frame, With which and other spelles like terrible, He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame,° And cursed heaven and spake reprochfull shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light; 330 A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon,° Prince of darknesse and dead night, At which Cocytus° quakes, and Styx is put to flight.
XXXVIII
And forth he cald out of deepe darknesse dred Legions of Sprights,° the which like little flyes 335 Fluttring about his ever damned hed, Awaite whereto their service he applyes, To aide his friends, or fray his enimies: Of those he chose° out two, the falsest twoo, And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; 340 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. 345 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, 350 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 do lye, 355 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. 360
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 cast him in a swowne: 365 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 enemyes.
XLII
The messenger approching to him spake, 370 But his wast wordes returnd to him in vaine: So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. 375 As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine° Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all° his silence breake.