"Till now," said then the Knight, "I weenéd That great Cleopolis where I have been, [well, In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell, The fairest city was that might be seen; And that bright tow'r, all built of crystal clean, Panthea, seem'd the brightest thing that was: But now by proof all otherwise I ween; For this great city that does far surpass, And this bright angels' tow'r quite dims that tow'r of glass."

"Most true," then said the holy aged man; "Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame, The fairest piece that eye beholden can; And well beseems all knights of noble name, That covet in th' immortal book of fame To be eternizéd, that same to haunt,

And doen their service to that sov'reign dame, That glory does to them for guerdon grant: For she is heav'nly born, and heav'n may justly

vaunt.

"And thou, fair imp, sprung out from English How ever now accompted Elfin's son, [race, Well worthy doest thy service for her grace, To aid a virgin desolate fordone.

But when thou famous victory hast won, And high amongst all knights hast hung thy shield,

Thenceforth the 'suit of earthly conquest shun, And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody field: For blood can naught but sin, and wars but sorrows, yield.

"Then seek this path that I to thee presage, Which after all to heaven shall thee send; Then peaceably thy painful pilgrimage To yonder same Hierusalem do bend, Where is for thee ordain'd a blessed end: [see, For thou amongst those saints, whom thou dost Shalt be a saint, and thine own nation's friend And patron: Thou Saint George shalt called be, Saint George of merry' England, the sign of victory."

"Unworthy wretch," quoth he, "of so great grace,

How dare I think such glory to attain!" "These, that have it attain'd, were in like case," Quoth he, "as wretched, and liv'd in like pain." "But deeds of arms must I at last be fain And ladies' love to leave, so dearly bought?" "What need of arms, where peace doth aye remain,"

Said he, "and battles none are to be fought? As for loose loves, they're vain, and vanish into naught."

"O let me not," quoth he, "then turn again Back to the world, whose joys so fruitless are; But let me here for aye in peace remain, Or straightway on that last long voyage fare, That nothing may my present hope empare.' "That may not be," said he, "ne mayst thou yit Forego that royal maid's bequeathed care, Who did her cause into thy hand commit, Till from her curséd foe thou have her freely quit."

1 Structure.

"Then shall I soon," quoth he, "so God me Abet that virgin's cause disconsolate, [grace, And shortly back return unto this place, To walk this way in pilgrim's poor estate. But now aread, old father, why of late Didst thou behight me born of English blood, Whom all a Faerie's son do nominate?" "That word shall I," said he, "avouchen good," Sith to thee is unknown the cradle of thy brood.

"For well I wote thou springst from ancient race Of Saxon kings, that have with mighty hand, And many bloody battles fought in place, High rear'd their royal throne in Britane land, And vanquisht them, unable to withstand: From whence a Faery thee unweeting reft, There as thou slepst in tender swaddling band, And her base Elfin brood there for thee left: Such, men do changelings call, so chang'd by Faerie's theft.

With hearty words her Knight she gan to cheer,

And in her modest manner thus bespake; "Dear knight, as dear as ever knight was dear, That all these sorrows suffer for my sake, High heav'n behold the tedious toil, ye for me take!

"Now are we come unto my native soil, And to the place where all our perils dwell; Here haunts that fiend, and does his daily spoil; Therefore henceforth be at your keeping well, And ever ready for your foeman fell: The spark of noble courage now awake, And strive your excellent self t' excel: That shall ye evermore renownéd make [take." Above all knights on earth, that battle under

And pointing forth, "Lo! yonder is," said she, "The brazen tower, in which my parents dear For dread of that huge fiend emprison'd be; Whom I from far see on the walls appear, Whose sight my feeble soul doth greatly chear: And on the top of all I do espy

The watchman waiting tidings glad to hear; That, O my parents, might I happily Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery!"

With that they heard a roaring hideous sound, That all the air with terror filled wide, [ground. And seem'd uneath to shake the stedfast Eftsoones that dreadful dragon they espied, Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side Of a great hill, himself like a great hill: But, all so soon as he from far descried Those glist'ring arms that heav'n with light did fill, [untill. He rous'd himself full blithe, and hast'ned them

That with their horror heav'n and earth did ring;

A work of labor long, and endless praise: But now awhile let down that haughty string, And to my tunes thy second tenor raise, That I this man of God his godly arms may blaze.

By this, the dreadful beast drew nigh to hand,
Half flying and half footing in his haste,
That with his largeness measured much land,
And made wide shadow under his huge waist;
As mountain doth the valley overcast.
Approaching nigh, he rearéd high afore
His body monstrous, horrible, and vast;
Which, to increase his wondrous greatness

more,

Was swoln with wrath and poison, and with bloody gore;

And over all with brazen scales was arm'd, Like plated coat of steel, so couchéd near 4 That naught mote pierce; ne might his corse be harm'd

With dint of sword, nor push of pointed spear: Which, as an eagle, seeing prey appear, His airy plumes doth rouse full rudely dight; So shaked he, that horror was to hear: For, as the clashing of an armor bright, Such noise his rouséd scales did send unto the Knight.

His flaggy wings, when forth he did display, Were like two sails, in which the hollow wind Is gather'd full, and worketh speedy way: And eke the pennes, that did his pinions bind, Were like main-yards with flying canvas lin'd; With which whenas him list the air to beat, And there by force unwonted passage find, The clouds before him fled for terror great, And all the heav'ns stood still, amazed with his threat.

His huge long tail, wound up in hundred folds, Does overspread his long brass-scaly back, Whose wreathéd boughtes when ever he un

folds,

And thick-entangled knots adown does slack, Bespotted as with shields of red and black, It sweepeth all the land behind him far, And of three furlongs does but little lack; And at the point two stings infixed are, Both deadly sharp, that sharpest steel exceeden far.

But stings and sharpest steel did far exceed The sharpness of his cruel rending claws: Dead was it sure, as sure as death indeed, What ever thing does touch his rav'nous paws, Or what within his reach he ever draws. But his most hideous head my tongue to tell Does tremble; for his deep devouring jaws Wide gapéd, like the grisly mouth of hell, Through which into his dark abyss all ravin fell.

And, that more wondrous was, in either jaw
Three ranks of iron teeth enrangéd were,
In which yet trickling blood, and gobbets raw,
Of late devouréd bodies did appear;

4 Laid so close together.

Then, full of grief and anguish vehement, He loudly bray'd, that like was never heard; And from his wide devouring oven sent A flake of fire, that, flashing in his beard, Him all amaz'd, and almost made afeard: The scorching flame sore singéd all his face, And through his armor all his body sear'd, That he could not endure so cruel case, [lace. But thought his arms to leave, and helmet to un

Not that great champion of the antique world,
Whom famous poets' verse so much doth vaunt,
And hath for twelve huge labors high extoll'd,
So many furies and sharp fits did haunt,
When him the poison'd garment did enchaunt,
With Centaur's blood and bloody verses
charm'd;
[daunt,

As did this Knight twelve thousand dolours Whom fiery steel now burnt, that erst him arm'd ; [harm'd. That erst him goodly arm'd, now most of all him

Faint, weary, sore, emboyléd, grievéd, brent, With heat, toil, wounds, arms, smart, and inward fire,

That never man such mischiefs did torment; Death better were; death did he oft desire; But death will never come, when needs require. Whom so dismay'd when that his foe beheld, He cast to suffer him no more respire, But gan his sturdy stern about to weld, [fell'd. And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him

It fortunéd, (as fair it then befell,)

Behind his back, unweeting where he stood, Of ancient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a silver flood, Full of great virtues, and for med'cine good: Whilome, before that curséd dragon got That happy land, and all with innocent blood Defil'd those sacred waves, it rightly hot The Well of Life; ne yet his virtues had forgot:

For unto life the dead it could restore, And guilt of sinful crimes clean wash away; Those, that with sickness were infected sore, It could recure; and agéd long decay Renew, as one were born that very day. Both Silo this, and Jordan did excel, And th' English Bath, and eke the German Spa; Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus,1 match this Well: Into the same the Knight back overthrowen fell.

Now gan the golden Phoebus for to steep
His fiery face in billows of the west,
And his faint steeds water'd in ocean deep,
Whiles from their journal labors they did rest;
When that infernal monster, having kest
His weary foe into that living well,

Gan high advance his broad discolor'd breast Above his wonted pitch, with count'nance fell, And clapt his iron wings, as victor he did dwell.

Which when his pensive Lady saw from far, Great woe and sorrow did her soul assay,2 As weening that the sad end of the war; And gan to Hightest God entirely pray

16 Cephise and Hebrus;" famous rivers, the one in Bootla, the other in Thrace. 2 Assail.

That feared chance from her to turn away:
With folded hands, and knees full lowly bent,
All night she watcht; ne once adown would lay
Her dainty limbs in her sad dreriment,
But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.

The morrow next gan early to appear,
That Titan rose to run his daily race;
But early, ere the morrow next gan rear
Out of the sea fair Titan's dewy face,
Up rose the gentle virgin from her place,
And looked all about, if she might spy
Her loved Knight to move his manly pace:
For she had great doubt of his safety,
Since late she saw him fall before his enemy.

At last she saw, where he upstarted brave
Out of the well wherein he drenchéd lay:
As eagle, fresh out of the ocean wave,
Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray,
And deckt himself with feathers youthly gay,
Like eyas hawk up mounts unto the skies,
His newly-budded pinions to assay,

And marvels at himself, still as he flies: So new this new-born Knight to battle new did rise.

Whom when the damnéd fiend so fresh did spy, No wonder if he wonder'd at the sight, And doubted whether his late enemy It were, or other new suppliéd knight. He now, to prove his late-renewed might, High brandishing his bright dew-burning blade, Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite, That to the scull a yawning wound it made: The deadly dint his dulléd senses all dismay'd.

I wot not, whether the revenging steel Were harden'd with that holy water dew Wherein he fell; or sharper edge did feel; Or his baptizéd hands now greater grew; Or other secret virtue did ensue; Else never could the force of fleshly arm, Ne molten metal, in his blood imbrue : For, till that stound, could never wight him harm [charm. By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty

The cruel wound enragéd him so sore, That loud he yelled for exceeding pain; As hundred ramping lions seem'd to roar, Whom rav'nous hunger did thereto constrain. Then gan he toss aloft his stretchéd train, And therewith scourge the buxom air so sore, That to his force to yielden it was fain; Ne aught his sturdy strokes might stand afore, That high trees overthrew, and rocks in pieces

tore:

The same advancing high above his head,
With sharp intended sting so rude him smote,
That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead;
Ne living wight would have him life behott:
The mortal sting his angry needle shot
Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder
seas'd.

Where fast it stuck, ne would thereout be got: The grief thereof him wondrous sore diseas'd, Ne might his rankling pain with patience be ap peas'd.

But yet, more mindful of his honor dear Than of the grievous smart which him did wring,

From loathed soil he can him lightly rear, And strove to loose the far infixéd sting: Which, when in vain he tried with struggëling, Inflamed with wrath, his raging blade he heft, And strook so strongly, that the knotty string Of his huge tail he quite asunder cleft; Five joints thereof he hew'd, and but the stump him left.

Heart cannot think, what outrage and what cries,

With foul enfouldred smoke and flashing fire, The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skies, That all was coveréd with darkness dire: Then fraught with rancor, and engorgéd ire, He cast at once him to avenge for all; And, gath'ring up himself out of the mire With his uneven wings, did fiercely fall Upon his sun-bright shield, and gript it fast withal.

Much was the man encumber'd with his hold, In fear to lose his weapon in his paw, Ne wist yet, how his talons to unfold; Nor harder was from Cerberus' greedy jaw To pluck a bone, than from his cruel claw To reave by strength the gripéd gage away: Thrice he assay'd it from his foot to draw, And thrice in vain to draw it did assay; It booted naught to think to rob him of his

prey.

Then, when he saw no power might prevail,
His trusty sword he call'd to his last aid,
Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assail,
And double blows about him stoutly laid,
That glancing fire out of the iron play'd;
As sparkles from the anvil use to fly,
When heavy hammers on the wedge are
sway'd;

Therewith at last he forc'd him to untie
One of his grasping feet, him to defend thereby.

The other foot, fast fixéd on his shield, Whenas no strength nor strokes mote him constrain

To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield;
He smote thereat with all his might and main,
That naught so wondrous puissance might sus-
tain:

Upon the joint the lucky steel did light,
And made such way, that hew'd it quite in

twain;

The paw yet misséd not his minisht might, But hung still on the shield, as it at first was pight.

For grief thereof and devilish despite,
From his infernal furnace forth he threw
Huge flames, that dimméd all the heav'n's light,
Enroll'd in duskish smoke and brimstone blue:
As burning Etna from his boiling stew
Doth belch out flames, and rocks in pieces
broke,

And ragged ribs of mountains molten new, Enwrapt in coal-black clouds and filthy smoke, That all the land with stench, and heav'n with horror, choke.

The heat whereof, and harmful pestilence,
So sore him noyd, that forc'd him to retire
A little backward for his best defence,
To save his body from the scorching fire,
Which he from hellish entrails did expire.
It chanc'd, (Eternal God that chance did guide,)
As he recoiled backward, in the mire

His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide, And down he fell, with dread of shame sore terrified.

There grew a goodly tree him fair beside, Loaden with fruit and apples rosy red, As they in pure vermilion had been dy'd, Whereof great virtues over all were redd: For happy life to all which thereon fed, And life eke everlasting did befall: Great God it planted in that blessed stedd With his Almighty hand, and did it call The Tree of Life, the crime of our first father's fall.

In all the world like was not to be found, Save in that soil, where all good things did grow,

And freely sprung out of the fruitful ground, As incorrupted Nature did them sow, Till that dread dragon all did overthrow. Another like fair tree eke grew thereby, Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoons did know Both good and ill: O mournful memory! That tree through one man's fault hath done us all to die!

From that first tree forth flow'd, as from a well, A trickling stream of balm, most soveraine And dainty dear, which on the ground still fell, And overflowéd all the fertile plain,

As it had dewéd been with timely rain: [gave; Life and long health that gracious ointment And deadly wounds could heal; and rear again The senseless corse appointed for the grave: Into that same he fell, which did from death him

save.

For nigh thereto the ever-damnéd beast Durst not approach, for he was deadly made, And all that life preservéd did detest; Yet he it oft adventur'd to invade. By this the drooping Day-light gan to fade, And yield his room to sad succeeding Night, Who with her sable mantle gan to shade The face of earth and ways of living wight, And high her burning torch set up in heav'n bright.

When gentle Una saw the second fall
Of her dear Knight, who, weary of long fight
And faint through loss of blood, mov'd not at all,
But lay, as in a dream of deep delight,
Besmear'd with precious balm, whose virtuous
might

Did heal his wounds, and scorching heat allay;
Again she stricken was with sore affright,
And for his safety gan devoutly pray, [day.
And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous

The joyous day gan early to appear;
And fair Aurora from the dewy bed
Of aged Tithone gan herself to rear

With rosy cheeks, for shame as blushing red: