XXVII
I lately chaunst (would I had never chaunst) 235 With a faire knight to keepen companee, Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst In all affaires, and was both bold and free, But not so happy as mote happy bee: He lov'd, as was his lot, a Ladie gent, 240 That him againe lov'd in the least degree: For she was proud, and of too high intent, And joyd to see her lover languish and lament.
XXVIII
From whom returning sad and comfortlesse, As on the way together we did fare, 245 We met that villen (God from him me blesse) That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare, A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire: Who first us greets, and after faire areedes° Of tydings strange, and of adventures rare: 250 So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes, Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.
XXIX
Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe, Which love had launched with his deadly darts, 255 With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe, He pluckt from us all hope of due reliefe, That earst us held in love of lingring life; Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe Perswade us die, to stint all further strife: 260 To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.
XXX
With which sad instrument of hasty death, That wofull lover, loathing lenger light, A wide way made to let forth living breath. But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight, 265 Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight, Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare:° Ne yet assur'd of life by you, Sir knight, Whose like infirmitie° like chaunce may beare: But God° you never let his charmed speeches heare. 270
XXXI
How may a man (said he) with idle speach Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?° I wote° (quoth he) whom triall late did teach, That like would not for all this worldes wealth: His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt'h° 275 Into the hart, and searcheth every vaine; That ere one be aware, by secret stealth His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine. O never Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.
XXXII
Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest, 280 Till I that treacherours art have heard and tride; And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request, Of grace do me unto his cabin guide. I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride, Against my liking backe, to do you grace: 285 But not for gold nor glee° will I abide By you, when ye arrive in that same place For lever had I die, then see his deadly face.
XXXIII
Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, 290 Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight, Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave, That still for carrion carcases doth crave: On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle,° Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave 295 Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle; And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.
XXXIV
And all about old stockes and stubs of trees, Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene, Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees; 300 On which had many wretches hanged beene, Whose carcases were scattered on the greene, And throwne about the clifts. Arrived there, That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene, Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare, 305 But th' other forst him stay, and comforted in feare.
XXXV
That darkesome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind; His griesie lockes, long growen, and unbound, 310 Disordred hong about his shoulders round, And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound; His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine, Were shronke into his jawes, as° he did never dine. 315
XXXVI
His garment nought but many ragged clouts, With thornes together pind and patched was, The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts; And him beside there lay upon the gras A drearie corse,° whose life away did pas, 320 All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood, That from his wound yet welled fresh alas; In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood, And made an open passage for the gushing flood.
XXXVII
Which piteous spectacle, approving trew 325 The wofull tale that Trevisan had told, When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew, With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold, Him to avenge, before his bloud were cold, And to the villein said, Thou damned wight, 330 The author of this fact we here behold, What justice can but judge against thee right,° With thine owne bloud to price° his bloud, here shed in sight.
XXXVIII
What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give? 335 What justice° ever other judgement taught, But he should die, who merites not to live? None else to death this man despayring drive, But his owne guiltie mind deserving death. Is then unjust° to each his due to give? 340 Or let him die, that loatheth living breath? Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?
XXXIX
Who travels by the wearie wandring way,° To come unto his wished home in haste, And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay, 345 Is not great grace to helpe him over past, Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast? Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good, And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast, Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood 350 Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?
XL
He there does now enjoy eternall rest And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest: What if some little paine the passage have, 355 That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave? Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please. 360
XLI
The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit,° And said, The terme of life is limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The souldier may not move from watchfull sted, Nor leave his stand, untill his Captaine bed. 365 Who life did limit by almightie doome (Quoth he)° knowes best the termes established; And he, that points the Centonell his roome, Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome.
XLII
Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne 370 In heaven and earth? did not he all create To die againe? all ends that was begonne. Their times in his eternall booke of fate Are written sure, and have their certaine date. Who then can strive with strong necessitie, 375 That holds the world in his still chaunging state, Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie? When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why.
XLIII
The lenger life, I wote the greater sin, The greater sin, the greater punishment: 380 All those great battels, which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengement, Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent: For life must life, and blood must blood repay. Is not enough thy evill life forespent? 385 For he that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.
XLIV
Then do no further goe, no further stray, But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake, Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may. 390 For what hath life, that may it loved make, And gives not rather cause it to forsake? Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife, Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake; And ever fickle fortune rageth rife, 395 All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.
XLV
Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need, If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state: For never knight, that dared warlike deede, More lucklesse disaventures did amate: 400 Witnesse the dungeon deepe, wherein of late Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call; And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,° Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall, Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall. 405