The Faerie Queene (unsourced)/Book I/Canto X

Her faithfull knight faire Una brings to house of Holinesse, Where he is taught repentance, and the way to heavenly blesse.

WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly might And vaine assurance of mortality, Which all so soone as it doth come to fight Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by, Or from the field most cowardly doth fly? Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill, That thorough grace hath gained victory. If any strength we have, it is to ill, But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.

But that, which lately hapned, Una saw, That this her knight was feeble, and too faint; And all his sinews woxen weake and raw, Through long enprisonment, and hard constraint, Which he endured in his late restraint, That yet he was unfit for bloudy fight: Therefore to cherish him with diets daint, She cast to bring him, where he chearen might. Till he recovered had his late decayed plight.

There was an auntient house^ not farre away, Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore, And pure unspotted life: so well they say It governd was, and guided evermore, Through wisedome of a matrone grave and hore Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore: All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, And all the day in doing good and godly deedes.

Dame Cœlia^ men did her call, as thought From heaven to come, or thither to arise, The mother of three daughters, well upbrought In goodly thewes, and godly exercise: The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise, Fidelia^ and Speranza virgins were, Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize: But faire Charissa^ to a lovely fere Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere.

Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt; For it was warely watched night and day, For feare of many foes: but when they knockt, The Porter opened unto them streight way: He was an aged syre, all hory gray, With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow, Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay, Hight Humiltà.^ They passe in stouping low; For streight and narrow was the way which he did show.

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin, But entred in a spacious court they see, Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in, Where them does meete a francklin faire and free, And entertaines with comely courteous glee, His name was Zele, that him right well became, For in his speeches and behaviour hee Did labour lively to expresse the same, And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.

There fairely them receives a gentle Squire, Of milde demeanure, and rare courtesie, Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire; In word and deede that shew'd great modestie, And knew his good^ to all of each degree, Hight Reverence. He them with speeches meet Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie, But simple true, and eke unfained sweet, As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades, That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place: Who all this while was busy at her beades: Which doen, she up arose with seemely grace, And toward them full matronely did pace. Where when that fairest Una she beheld, Whom well she knew to spring from heavenly race, Her hart with joy unwonted inly sweld, As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.

And her embracing said, O happie earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread, Most vertuous virgin borne of heavenly berth, That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head, From tyrans rage, and ever dying dread,^ Hast wandred through the world now long a day;^ Yet ceasest not thy weary soles to lead,^ What grace hath thee now hither brought this way? Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither stray?

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see Here in this place, or any other wight, That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right: All keepe the broad high way, and take delight With many rather for to go astray, And be partakers of their evill plight, Then with a few to walke the rightest way; O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?

Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to rest, O matrone sage (quoth she) I hither came; And this good knight his way with me addrest, Led with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame, That up to heaven is blowne. The auncient Dame Him goodly greeted in her modest guise, And entertaynd them both, as best became, With all the court'sies that she could devise, Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

Thus as they gan of sundry things devise, Loe two most goodly virgins came in place, Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise, With countenance demure, and modest grace, They numbred even steps and equall pace: Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, Like sunny beames threw from her christall face, That could have dazd the rash beholders sight, And round about her head did shine like heavens light.

She was araied all in lilly white,^ And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, With wine and water fild up to the hight, In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold, That horrour made to all that did behold; But she no whit did chaunge her constant mood: And in her other hand she fast did hold A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood: Wherin darke things were writ, hard to be understood.

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well; Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight, As was her sister; whether dread did dwell, Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell: Upon her arme a silver anchor lay, Whereon she leaned ever, as befell: And ever up to heaven, as she did pray, Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.

They seeing Una, towards her gan wend, Who them encounters with like courtesie; Many kind speeches they betwene them spend, And greatly joy each other well to see: Then to the knight with shamefast modestie They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke request, And him salute with well beseeming glee; Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best, And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest.

Then Una thus; But she your sister deare, The deare Charissa where is she become? Or wants she health, or busie is elsewhere? Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come: For she of late is lightned of her wombe, And hath encreast the world with one sonne more, That her to see should be but troublesome. Indeed (quoth she) that should be trouble sore; But thankt be God, and her encrease^ so evermore.

Then said the aged Cœlia, Deare dame, And you good Sir, I wote that of youre toyle, And labours long, through which ye hither came, Ye both forwearied be: therefore a whyle I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle. Then called she a Groome, that forth him led Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed; His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared.

Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest, And bodies were refresht with due repast, Faire Una gan Fidelia faire request, To have her knight into her schoolehouse plaste, That of her heavenly learning he might taste, And heare the wisedom of her words divine. She graunted, and that knight so much agraste, That she him taught celestiall discipline, And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.

And that her sacred Booke, with blood ywrit, That none could read, except she did them teach, She unto him disclosed every whit, And heavenly documents thereout did preach, That weaker wit of man could never reach, Of God, of grace, of justice, of free will, That wonder was to heare her goodly speach: For she was able with her words to kill, And raise againe to life the hart that she did thrill.

And when she list^ poure out her larger spright, She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay, Or backward turne his course from heavens hight; Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay; [Dry-shod to passe she parts the flouds in tway;^] And eke huge mountaines from their native seat She would commaund, themselves to beare away, And throw in raging sea with roaring threat. Almightie God her gave such powre, and puissaunce great.

The faithfull knight now grew in litle space, By hearing her, and by her sisters lore, To such perfection of all heavenly grace, That wretched world he gan for to abhore, And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore, Greevd with remembrance of his wicked wayes, And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore, That he desirde to end his wretched dayes: So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.

But wise Speranza gave him comfort sweet, And taught him how to take assured hold Upon her silver anchor, as was meet; Else had his sinnes so great and manifold Made him forget all that Fidelia told. In this distressed doubtfull agonie, When him his dearest Una did behold, Disdeining life, desiring leave to die, She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie.

And came to Cœlia to declare her smart, Who well acquainted with that commune plight, 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 In that disease of grieved conscience, And well could cure the same; his name was Patience.

Who comming to that soule-diseased knight, Could hardly him intreat^ to tell his griefe: Which knowne, and all that noyd his heavie spright Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply relief Of salves and med'cines, which had passing priefe, And thereto added words of wondrous might;^ By which to ease he him recured briefe, And much aswag'd the passion of his plight,^ That he his paine endur'd, as seeming now more light.

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 rankle yet within, Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin. Which to extirpe, he laid him privily Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in, Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply, And with streight diet tame his stubborne malady.

In ashes and sackcloth he did array His daintie corse, proud humors to abate, And dieted with fasting every day, The swelling of his wounds to mitigate, And made him pray both earely and eke late: And ever as superfluous flesh did rot Amendment readie still at hand did wayt, To pluck it out with pincers firie whot, That soone in him was left no one corrupted jot.

And bitter Penance with an yron whip, Was wont him once to disple every day: And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip, That drops of blood thence like a well did play: And sad Repentance used to embay His bodie in salt water smarting sore, The filthy blots of sinne to wash away. So in short space they did to health restore The man that would not live, but earst lay at deathes dore.

In which his torment often was so great, That like a Lyon he would cry and rore, 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 paine and anguish sore; Yet all with patience wisely she did beare; For well she wist his crime could else be never cleare.

Whom thus recover'd by wise Patience And trew Repentaunce they to Una brought: Who joyous of his cured conscience, Him dearely kist, and fairely 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; To her faire Una brought this unacquainted guest.

She was a woman in her freshest age,^ Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare, With goodly grace and comely personage, That was on earth not easie to compare; Full of great love, but Cupid's wanton snare As hell she hated, chast in worke and will; Her necke and breasts were ever open bare, That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill; The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still.

A multitude of babes about her hong, Playing their sports, that joyd her to behold, Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake and young, But thrust them forth still as they wexed old: And on her head she wore a tyre of gold, Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire, Whose passing price^ uneath was to be told: And by her side there sate a gentle paire Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvorie chaire.

The knight and Una entring faire her greet, And bid her joy of that her happie brood; Who them requites with court'sies seeming meet, And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood. Then Una her besought, to be so good As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight, 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.

She was right joyous of her just request, And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne, Gan him instruct in every good behest, Of love, and righteousnesse, 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: In which when him she well instructed hath, From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide, An auncient matrone she to her does call, Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride: Her name was Mercie, well knowne over all, To be both gratious, and eke liberall: To whom the carefull charge of him she gave, To lead aright, that he should never fall In all his wayes through this wide worldes wave, That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might save.

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, 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.

Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall, That was fore by 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 dayes in doing godly thing: 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.

The first of them that eldest was, and best, Of all the house had charge and governement, As Guardian and Steward of the rest: His office was to give entertainement And lodging, unto all that came, and went: Not unto such, as could him feast againe, 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.

The second was as Almner of the place, His office was, the hungry for to feed, 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; He had enough, what need him care for more? And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the pore.

The third had of their wardrobe custodie, In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay, The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie, But clothes meet to keepe keene could 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 cloths to give he had, His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad.

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, And though they faultie 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 faultie soules from thence brought to his heavenly bowre.

The fift had charge sicke 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 do most dismay The feeble soule departing hence away. 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.

The sixt had charge of them now being dead, In seemely sort their corses to engrave, And deck with dainty flowres their bridall 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, Whose face he made all beasts to feare, and gave All in his hand, even dead we honour should. Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould.^

The seventh, now after death and buriall done, Had charge the tender orphans of the dead And widowes 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: And, when they stood in most necessitee, He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.

There when the Elfin knight arrived was, The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas: Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare, And alwayes 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, Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.

There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest, That to the rest more able he might bee: During which time, in every good behest And godly worke of almes and charitee, She 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.

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 little Hermitage thereby, Wherein an aged holy man did lye, That day and night said his devotion, Ne other worldly busines did apply; His name was heavenly Contemplation; Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

Great grace that old man to him given had; For God he often saw from heavens hight, All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad, And through great age had lost their kindly sight, Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright, As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne: 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.

There they do finde that godly aged Sire, With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed, As hoarie 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; His mind was full of spirituall repast, And pyn'd his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.

Who when these two approaching he aspide, At their first presence grew agrieved sore, That forst him lay his heavenly thoughts aside; 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, And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.

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 To that most glorious house that glistreth bright With burning starres and everliving fire, Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require, To show it to his knight, according his desire.

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 In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine? Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead Present before the majestie divine, And his avenging wrath to clemencie incline.

Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne. Then come thou man of earth, and see the way, That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne, That never leads the traveiler astray, But after labors long, and sad delay, Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis. 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.

That donne, he leads him to the highest Mount; Such one as that same mighty man^ of God, 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 dayes upon; where writ in stone With bloudy letters by the hand of God, The bitter doome of death and balefull mone He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.

Or like that sacred hill,^ whose head full hie, Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd, Is, as it were for endlesse memory 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 Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.

From thence, far off he unto him did shew A litle path, that was both steepe and long, Which to a goodly Citie^ led his vew; Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong 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 Citie of the great king hight it well, Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see The blessed Angels to and fro descend From highest heaven in gladsome companee, And with great joy into that Citie wend, As commonly as friend does with his frend. Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere, What stately building durst so high extend Her loftie towres unto the starry sphere, And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.

Faire knight (quoth he) Hierusalem that is, The new Hierusalem, that God has built For those to dwell in, that are chosen his, His chosen people purg'd from sinfull guilt With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam, That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt: Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam, More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam.

Till now, said then the knight, I weened well, That great Cleopolis,^ where I have beene, In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell, The fairest citie was that might be seene; And that bright towre all built of christall cleene, Panthea,^ seemd the brightest thing that was: But now by proofe all otherwise I weene; For this great Citie that does far surpas, And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas.

Most trew, then said the holy aged man; Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame,^ The fairest peece that eye beholden can; And well beseemes all knights of noble name, That covett in th' immortall booke of fame To be eternized, that same to haunt, And doen their service to that soveraigne dame, That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt: For she is heavenly borne, and heaven may justly vaunt.

And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race, How ever now accompted Elfins sonne, Well worthy doest thy service for her grace, To aide a virgin desolate fordonne. But when thou famous victory hast wonne, And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield, Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne, And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field: For blood can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield.

Then seek this path, that I to thee presage, Which after all to heaven shall thee send; Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage To yonder same Hierusalem do bend, Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end: For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see, Shall be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee, Saint George^ of mery England, the signe of victoree.

Unworthy wretch (quoth he) of so great grace,^ How dare I thinke such glory to attaine? These that have it attaind, were in like cace, (Quoth he) as wretched, and liv'd in like paine. But deeds of armes must I at last be faine And Ladies love to leave so dearely bought? What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine, (Said he,) and battailes none are to be fought? As for loose loves, they're vain, and vanish into nought.

O let me not (quoth he) then turne againe Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruitlesse are; But let me here for aye in peace remaine, Or streight way on that last long voyage fare, That nothing may my present hope empare. That may not be, (said he) ne maist thou yit Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care,^ Who did her cause into thy hand commit, Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quit.

Then shall I soone (quoth he) so God me grace, Abet that virgins cause disconsolate, And shortly backe returne unto this place, To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate. But now aread, old father, why of late Didst thou behight me borne of English blood, Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate? That word shall I (said he) avouchen good, Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy blood.

For well I wote thou springst from ancient race Of Saxon kings, that have with mightie hand And many bloody battailes^ fought in place High reard their royall throne in Britane land, And vanquisht them, unable to withstand: From thence a Faerie thee unweeting reft, There as thou slepst in tender swadling band, And her base Elfin brood there for thee left. Such men do Chaungelings^ call, so chang'd by Faeries theft.

Thence she thee brought into this Faerie lond, And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde, Where thee a Ploughman all unweeting fond, As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde, And brought thee up in ploughmans state to byde Whereof Georgos^ he gave thee to name; Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde, To Faerie court thou cam'st to seeke for fame, And prove thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became.

O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quight The many favours I with thee have found, That hast my name and nation red aright, And taught the way that does to heaven bound? This said, adowne he looked to the ground, To have returnd, but dazed were his eyne Through passing brightnesse, which did quite confound His feeble sence and too exceeding shyne. So darke are earthly things compard to things divine.

At last whenas himselfe he gan to find, To Una back he cast him to retire; Who him awaited still with pensive mind. Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre He thence departing gave for his paines hyre. So came to Una, who him joyd to see, And after little rest, gan him desire Of her adventure mindfull for to bee. So leave they take of Cœlia, and her daughters three.