Els had his sinnes so great and manifold
Made him forget all that Fidelia told.
In this distressed doubtfull agony, 195
When him his dearest Una did behold,
Disdeining life, desiring leave to dye,
She found her selfe assayld with great perplexity:
XXIII
And came to Cœlia to declare her smart;
Who, well acquainted with that commune plight, 200
Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart,
Her wisely comforted all that she might,
With goodly counsell and advisement right;
And streightway sent with carefull diligence,
To fetch a leach, the which had great insight 205
In that disease of grieved conscience,
And well could cure the same: his name was Patience.
XXIV
Who, comming to that sowle-diseased knight,
Could hardly him intreat to tell his grief:
Which knowne, and all that noyd his heavie spright 210
Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply relief
Of salves and med’cines, which had passing prief,
And there to added wordes of wondrous might:
By which to ease he him recured brief,
And much aswag’d the passion of his plight, 215
That he his paine endur’d, as seeming now more light.
XXV
But yet the cause and root of all his ill,
Inward corruption and infected sin,
Not purg’d nor heald, behind remained still,
And festring sore did ranckle yett within, 220
Close creeping twixt the marow and the skin.
Which to extirpe, he laid him privily
Downe in a darksome lowly place far in,
Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply,
And with streight diet tame his stubborne malady. 225
XXVI
In ashes and sackcloth he did array
His daintie corse, proud humors to abate,
And dieted with fasting every day,
The swelling of his woundes to mitigate,
And made him pray both earely and eke late: 230
And ever as superfluous flesh did rott,
Amendment readie still at hand did wayt,
To pluck it out with pincers fyrie whott,
That soone in him was lefte no one corrupted jott.
XXVII
And bitter Penaunce, with an yron whip, 235
Was wont him once to disple every day:
And sharpe Remorse his hart did prick and nip,
That drops of blood thence like a well did play:
And sad Repentance used to embay
His body in salt water smarting sore, 240
The filthy blottes of sin to wash away.
So in short space they did to health restore
The man that would not live, but erst lay at deathes dore.
XXVIII
In which his torment often was so great,
That like a lyon he would cry and rore, 245
And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat.
His owne deare Una, hearing evermore
His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore
Her guiltlesse garments and her golden heare,
For pitty of his payne and anguish sore; 250
Yet all with patience wisely she did beare;
For well she wist, his cryme could els be never cleare.
XXIX
Whom, thus recover’d by wise Patience
And trew Repentaunce, they to Una brought;
Who, joyous of his cured conscience, 255
Him dearely kist, and fayrely eke besought
Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought
To put away out of his carefull brest.
By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought,
Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest; 260
To her fayre Una brought this unacquainted guest.
XXX
She was a woman in her freshest age,
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare,
With goodly grace and comely personage,
That was on earth not easie to compare; 265
Full of great love, but Cupids wanton snare
As hell she hated, chaste in worke and will;
Her necke and brests were ever open bare,
That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill:
The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still. 270
XXXI
A multitude of babes about her hong,
Playing their sportes, that joyd her to behold;
Whom still she fed, whiles they were weak and young,
But thrust them forth still, as they wexed old:
And on her head she wore a tyre of gold, 275
Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous fayre,
Whose passing price uneath was to be told;
And by her syde there sate a gentle payre
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvory chayre.
XXXII
The knight and Una, entring, fayre her greet, 280
And bid her joy of that her happy brood;
Who them requites with court’sies seeming meet,
And entertaynes with friendly chearefull mood.
Then Una her besought, to be so good
As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight, 285
Now after all his torment well withstood,
In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright
Had past the paines of hell and long enduring night.
XXXIII
She was right joyious of her just request,
And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne, 290
Gan him instruct in everie good behest,
Of love, and righteousnes, and well to donne,
And wrath and hatred warely to shonne,
That drew on men Gods hatred and his wrath,
And many soules in dolours had fordonne: 295
In which when him she well instructed hath,
From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.
XXXIV
Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guyde,
An auncient matrone she to her does call,
Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descryde: 300
Her name was Mercy, well knowne over all
To be both gratious and eke liberall:
To whom the carefull charge of him she gave,
To leade aright, that he should never fall
In all his waies through this wide worldes wave, 305
That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might save.
XXXV
The godly matrone by the hand him beares
Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,
Scattred with bushy thornes and ragged breares,
Which still before him she remov’d away, 310
That nothing might his ready passage stay:
And ever when his feet encombred were,
Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray,
She held him fast, and firmely did upbeare,
As carefull nourse her child from falling oft does reare. 315
XXXVI
Eftsoones unto an holy hospitall,
That was foreby the way, she did him bring,
In which seven bead-men, that had vowed all
Their life to service of high heavens King,
Did spend their daies in doing godly thing: 320
Their gates to all were open evermore,
That by the wearie way were traveiling,
And one sate wayting ever them before,
To call in commers by, that needy were and pore.
XXXVII
The first of them, that eldest was and best, 325
Of all the house had charge and governement,
As guardian and steward of the rest:
His office was to give entert
ainement
And lodging unto all that came and went:
Not unto such, as could him feast againe, 330
And double quite for that he on them spent,
But such as want of harbour did constraine:
Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine.
XXXVIII
The second was as almner of the place:
His office was, the hungry for to feed, 335
And thristy give to drinke, a worke of grace:
He feard not once him selfe to be in need,
Ne car’d to hoord for those whom he did breede:
The grace of God he layd up still in store,
Which as a stocke he left unto his seede; 340
He had enough; what need him care for more?
And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the pore.
XXXIX
The third had of their wardrobe custody,
In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,
The plumes of pride, and winges of vanity, 345
But clothes meet to keepe keene cold away,
And naked nature seemely to aray;
With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad,
The images of God in earthly clay;
And if that no spare clothes to give he had, 350
His owne cote he would cut, and it distribute glad.
XL
The fourth appointed by his office was,
Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious ayd,
And captives to redeeme with price of bras,
From Turkes and Sarazins, which them had stayd; 355
And though they faulty were, yet well he wayd,
That God to us forgiveth every howre
Much more then that, why they in bands were layd,
And He, that harrowd hell with heavie stowre,
The faulty soules from thence brought to his heavenly bowre. 360
XLI
The fift had charge sick persons to attend,
And comfort those, in point of death which lay;
For them most needeth comfort in the end,
When sin, and hell, and death doe most dismay
The feeble soule departing hence away. 365
All is but lost, that living we bestow,
If not well ended at our dying day.
O man, have mind of that last bitter throw;
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.
XLII
The sixt had charge of them now being dead, 370
In seemely sort their corses to engrave,
And deck with dainty flowres their brydall bed,
That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave
They might appeare, when he their soules shall save.
The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould, 375
Whose face He made, all beastes to feare, and gave
All in his hand, even dead we honour should.
Ah! dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould.
XLIII
The seventh, now after death and buriall done,
Had charge the tender orphans of the dead 380
And wydowes ayd, least they should be undone:
In face of judgement he their right would plead,
Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread
In their defence, nor would for gold or fee
Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread: 385
And when they stood in most necessitee,
He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.
XLIV
There when the Elfin knight arrived was,
The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care
Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas: 390
Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare
And alwaies led, to her with reverence rare
He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse,
And seemely welcome for her did prepare:
For of their order she was patronesse, 395
Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.
XLV
There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest,
That to the rest more hable he might bee:
During which time, in every good behest
And godly worke of almes and charitee 400
Shee him instructed with great industree:
Shortly therein so perfect he became,
That, from the first unto the last degree,
His mortall life he learned had to frame
In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame. 405
XLVI
Thence forward by that painfull way they pas,
Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;
On top whereof a sacred chappell was,
And eke a litle hermitage thereby,
Wherein an aged holy man did lie, 410
That day and night said his devotion,
Ne other worldly busines did apply:
His name was Hevenly Contemplation;
Of God and goodnes was his meditation.
XLVII
Great grace that old man to him given had; 415
For God he often saw from heavens hight,
All were his earthly eien both blunt and bad,
And through great age had lost their kindly sight,
Yet wondrous quick and persaunt was his spright,
As eagles eie, that can behold the sunne. 420
That hill they scale with all their powre and might,
That his fraile thighes, nigh weary and fordonne,
Gan faile; but by her helpe the top at last he wonne.
XLVIII
There they doe finde that godly aged sire,
With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed, 425
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire
The mossy braunches of an oke halfe ded.
Each bone might through his body well be red,
And every sinew seene, through his long fast:
For nought he car’d his carcas long unfed; 430
His mind was full of spirituall repast,
And pyn’d his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.
XLIX
Who, when these two approaching he aspide,
At their first presence grew agrieved sore,
That forst him lay his hevenly thoughts aside; 435
And had he not that dame respected more,
Whom highly he did reverence and adore,
He would not once have moved for the knight.
They him saluted, standing far afore;
Who, well them greeting, humbly did requight, 440
And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious hight.
L
‘What end,’ quoth she, ‘should cause us take such paine,
But that same end, which every living wight
Should make his marke, high heaven to attaine?
Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right 445
To that most glorious house, that glistreth bright
With burning starres and everliving fire,
Whereof the keies are to thy hand behight
By wise Fidelia? Shee doth thee require,
To shew it to this knight, according his desire.’ 450
LI
‘Thrise happy man,’ said then the father grave,
‘Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,
And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to save!
Who better can the way to heaven aread
Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred 455
In hevenly throne, where thousand angels shine?
Thou doest the praiers of the righteous sead
Present before the Majesty Divine,
And His avenging wrath to clemency incline.
LII
‘Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure shalbe donne. 460
Then come, thou man of earth, and see the way,
That never yet was seene of Faries son
ne,
That never leads the traveiler astray,
But, after labors long and sad delay,
Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis. 465
But first thou must a season fast and pray,
Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,
And have her strength recur’d from fraile infirmitis.’
LIII
That done, he leads him to the highest mount;
Such one, as that same mighty man of God, 470
That blood-red billowes like a walled front
On either side disparted with his rod,
Till that his army dry-foot through them yod,
Dwelt forty daies upon; where writt in stone
With bloody letters by the hand of God, 475
The bitter doome of death and balefull mone
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.
LIV
Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie,
Adornd with fruitfull olives all arownd,
Is, as it were for endlesse memory 480
Of that deare Lord, who oft thereon was fownd,
For ever with a flowring girlond crownd:
Or like that pleasaunt mount, that is for ay
Through famous poets verse each where renownd,
On which the thrise three learned ladies play 485
Their hevenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.
LV
From thence, far off he unto him did shew
A litle path, that was both steepe and long,
Which to a goodly citty led his vew;
Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong 490
Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong
Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell;
Too high a ditty for my simple song:
The Citty of the Greate King hight it well,
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell. 495
LVI
As he thereon stood gazing, he might see
The blessed angels to and fro descend
From highest heven, in gladsome companee,
And with great joy into that citty wend,
As commonly as frend does with his frend. 500
Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,
What stately building durst so high extend
Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere,
And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.
LVII
‘Faire knight,’ quoth he, ‘Hierusalem that is, 505
The New Hierusalem, that God has built
For those to dwell in, that are chosen his,
His chosen people purg’d from sinful guilt,
With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt
On cursed tree, of that unspotted Lam, 510
That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt:
Now are they saints all in that citty sam,
More dear unto their God, then younglings to their dam.’
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 29
