Classic Poem

Thus been they parted, Arthur on his way
To seek his love, and th'other for to fight
With Una's foe, that all her realm did prey.
But she now weighing the decayed plight,
And shrunken sinews of her chosen knight,
Would not awhile her forward course pursue,
Ne bring him forth in face of dreadful fight,
Till he recovered had his former hue:
For him to be yet weak and weary well she knew.
So as they travelled, lo they gan espy
An armed knight towards them gallop fast,
That seemed from some feared foe to fly,
Or other grisly thing, that him aghast.
Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast,
As if his fear still followed him behind;
Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast,
And with his winged heels did tread the wind,
As he had been a foal of Pegasus his kind.
Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head
To be unarmed, and curled uncombed hairs
Upstaring stiff, dismayed with uncouth dread;
Nor drop of blood in all his face appears
Nor life in limb: and to increase his fears,
In foul reproach of knighthood's fair degree,
About his neck an hempen rope he wears,
That with his glist'ring arms does ill agree;
But he of rope or arms has now no memory.
The Red Cross Knight toward him crossed fast,
To weet, what mister wight was so dismayed:
There him he finds all senseless and aghast,
That of himself he seemed to be afraid;
Whom hardly he from flying forward stayed,
Till he these words to him deliver might:
"Sir Knight, aread who hath ye thus arrayed,
And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight:
For never knight I saw in such mis-seeming plight.'
He answered nought at all, but adding new
Fear to his first amazement, staring wide
With stony eyes, and heartless hollow hue,
Astonished stood, as one that had espied
Infernal furies, with their chains untied.
Him yet again, and yet again bespake
The gentle knight; who nought to him replied,
But trembling every joint did inly quake,
And faltering tongue at last these words seemed forth to shake.
"For God's dear love, Sir Knight, do me not stay;
For lo he comes, he comes fast after me.'
Eft looking back would fain have run away;
But he him forced to stay, and tellen free
The secret cause of his perplexity:
Yet nathemore by his bold hearty speech,
Could his blood-frozen heart emboldened be,
But through his boldness rather fear did reach,
Yet forced, at last he made through silence sudden breach.
"And am I now in safety sure,' quoth he,
"From him, that would have forced me to die?
And is the point of death now turned fro me,
That I may tell this hapless history?'
"Fear nought,' quoth he, "no danger now is nigh.'
"Then shall I you recount a rueful case,'
Said he, "the which with this unlucky eye
I late beheld, and had not greater grace
Me reft from it, had been partaker of the place.
"I lately chanced (Would I had never chanced)
With a fair knight to keepen company,
Sir Terwin hight, that well himself advanced
In all affairs, and was both bold and free,
But not so happy as mote happy be:
He loved, as was his lot, a lady gent,
That him again loved in the least degree;
For she was proud, and of too high intent,
And joyed to see her lover languish and lament.
"From whom returning sad and comfortless,
As on the way together we did fare,
We met that villain (God from him me bless)
That cursed wight, from whom I 'scaped whilere,
A man of hell, that calls himself Despair:
Who first us greets, and after fair areads
Of tidings strange, and of adventures rare:
So creeping close, as snake in hidden weeds,
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deeds.
"Which when he knew, and felt our feeble hearts
Embossed with bale, and bitter biting grief,
Which love had launched with his deadly darts,
With wounding words and terms of foul reproof
He plucked from us all hope of due relief,
That erst us held in love of ling'ring life;
Then hopeless heartless, gan the cunning thief
Persuade us die, to stint all further strife:
To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.
"With which sad instrument of hasty death,
That woeful lover, loathing longer light,
A wide way made to let forth living breath.
But I more fearful, or more lucky wight,
Dismayed with that deformed dismal sight,
Fled fast away, half dead with dying fear:
Ne yet assured of life by you, Sir Knight,
Whose like infirmity like chance may bear:
But God you never let his charmed speeches hear.'
"How may a man,' said he, "with idle speech
Be won, to spoil the castle of his health?'
"I wote,' quoth he, "whom trial late did teach,
That like would not for all this worldes wealth:
His subtle tongue, like dropping honey, melt'th
Into the heart, and searcheth every vein,
That ere one be aware, by secret stealth
His power is reft, and weakness doth remain.
O never, Sir, desire to try his guileful train.'
"Certes,' said he, "hence shall I never rest,
Till I that treacherous art have heard and tried;
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 back, to do you grace:
But nor for gold nor glee will I abide
By you, when ye arrive in that same place;
For liefer had I die, than see his deadly face.'
Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight
His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave,
Far underneath a craggy cliff ypight,
Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:
On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly owl,
Shrieking his baleful note, which ever drave
Far from that haunt all other cheerful fowl;
And all about it wand'ring ghosts did wail and howl.
And all about old stocks and stubs of trees,
Whereon nor fruit, nor leaf was ever seen,
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees;
On which had many wretches hanged been,
Whose carcases were scattered on the green,
And thrown about the cliffs. Arrived there,
That bare-head knight for dread and doleful teen
Would fain have fled, ne durst approchen near,
But th'other forced him stay, and comforted in fear.
That darksome cave they enter, where they find
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
Musing full sadly in his sullen mind;
His greasy locks, long growen, and unbound,
Disordered hung about his shoulders round,
And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne
Looked deadly dull, and stared as astound;
His raw-bone cheeks through penury and pine,
Were shrunk into his jaws, as he did never dine.
His garment nought but many ragged clouts,
With thorns together pinned and patched was,
The which his naked sides he wrapped abouts;
And him beside there lay upon the grass
A dreary corse, whose life away did pass,
All wallowed in his own yet lukewarm blood,
That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.
Which piteous spectacle, approving true
The woeful tale that Trevisan had told,
When as the gentle Red Cross Knight did view,
With fiery zeal he burnt in courage bold,
Him to avenge, before his blood were cold,
And to the villain said, "Thou damned wight,
The author of this fact we here behold,
What justice can but judge against thee right,
With thine own blood to price his blood, here shed in sight?'
"What frantic fit,' quoth he, "hath thus distraught
Thee, foolish man, so rash a doom to give?
What justice ever other judgement taught,
But he should die, who merits not to live?
None else to death this man despairing drive,
But his own guilty mind deserving death.
Is then unjust to each his due to give?
Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?
"Who travels by the weary wand'ring way,
To come unto his wished home in haste,
And meets a flood, that doth his passage stay,
Is not great grace to help him overpast,
Or free his feet, that in the mire stick fast?
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbour's good,
And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,
Why wilt not let him pass, that long hath stood
Upon the bank, yet wilt thyself not pass the flood?
"He there does now enjoy eternal rest
And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave,
And further from it daily wanderest:
What if some little pain the passage have,
That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave?
Is not short pain well borne, that brings long ease,
And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave?
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas,
Ease after war, death after life does greatly please.'
The knight much wondered at his sudden wit,
And said, "The term of life is limited,
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it;
The soldier may not move from watchful stead,
Nor leave his stand, until his Captain bid.'
"Who life did limit by almighty doom,'
Quoth he, "knows best the terms established;
And he, that 'points the sentinel his room,
Doth license him depart at sound of morning drum.
"Is not his deed, whatever thing is done,
In heaven and earth? did not he all create
To die again? All ends that was begun.
Their times in his eternal book of fate
Are written sure, and have their certain date.
Who then can strive with strong necessity,
That holds the world in his still changing state,
Or shun the death ordained by destiny?
When hour of death is come, let none ask whence, nor why.
"The longer life, I wote the greater sin,
The greater sin, the greater punishment:
All those great battles, which thou boasts to win,
Through strife, and bloodshed, and avengement,
Now praised, hereafter dear thou shalt repent:
For life must life, and blood must blood repay.
Is not enough thy evil life forespent?
For he, that once hath missed the right way,
The further he doth go, the further he doth stray.
"Then do no further go, no further stray,
But here lie down, and to thy rest betake,
Th'ill to prevent, that life ensuen may.
For what hath life, that may it loved make,
And gives not rather cause it to forsake?
Fear, sickness, age, loss, labour, sorrow, strife,
Pain, hunger, cold, that makes the heart to quake;
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,
All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.
"Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,
If in true balance thou wilt weigh thy state:
For never knight, that dared warlike deed,
More luckless disadventures did amate:
Witness the dungeon deep, wherein of late
Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call;
And though good luck prolonged hath thy date,
Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall,
Into the which hereafter thou mayest happen fall.
"Why then dost thou, O man of sin, desire
To draw thy days forth to their last degree?
Is not the measure of thy sinful hire
High heaped up with huge iniquity,
Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?
Is not enough, that to this lady mild
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjury,
And sold thyself to serve Duessa vild,
With whom in all abuse thou hast thyself defiled?
"Is he not just, that all this doth behold
From highest heaven, and bears an equal eye?
Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,
And guilty be of thy impiety?
Is not his law, Let every sinner die:
Die shall all flesh? What then must needs be done,
Is it not better to do willingly,
Than linger, till the glass be all out run?
Death is the end of woes: die soon, O fairies' son.'
The knight was much enmoved with his speech,
That as a sword's point through his heart did pierce,
And in his conscience made a secret breach,
Well knowing true all that he did rehearse;
And to his fresh remembrance did reverse
The ugly view of his deformed crimes,
That all his manly powers it did disperse,
As he were charmed with enchanted rhymes,
That oftentimes he quaked, and fainted oftentimes.
In which amazement, when the miscreant
Perceived him to waver weak and frail,
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience daunt,
And hellish anguish did his soul assail,
To drive him to despair, and quite to quail,
He showed him painted in a table plain
The damned ghosts, that do in torments wail,
And thousand fiends that do them endless pain
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remain.
The sight whereof so throughly him dismayed,
That nought but death before his eyes he saw,
And ever burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of th'Almighty's law:
Then gan the villain him to overcraw,
And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire,
And all that might him to perdition draw;
And bad him choose, what death he would desire:
For death was due to him, that had provoked God's ire.
But when as none of them he saw him take,
He to him raught a dagger sharp and keen,
And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake,
And tremble like a leaf of aspen green,
And troubled blood through his pale face was seen
To come, and go with tidings from the heart,
As it a running messenger had been.
At last resolved to work his final smart,
He lifted up his hand, that back again did start.
Which when as Una saw, through every vein
The cruddled cold ran to her well of life,
As in a swoon; but soon relived again,
Out of his hand she snatched the cursed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
And to him said, "Fie, fie, faint-hearted knight,
What meanest thou by this reproachful strife?
Is this the battle which thou vauntst to fight
With that fire-mouthed dragon, horrible and bright?
"Come, come away, frail, feeble, fleshly wight,
Ne let vain words bewitch thy manly heart,
Ne devilish thoughts dismay thy constant spright.
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?
Why shouldst thou then despair, that chosen art?
Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace,
The which doth quench the brand of hellish smart,
And that accurst hand-writing doth deface.
Arise, Sir Knight arise, and leave this cursed place.'
So up he rose, and thence amounted straight.
Which when the carl beheld, and saw his guest
Would safe depart, for all his subtle sleight,
He chose an halter from among the rest,
And with it hung himself, unbid unblest.
But death he could not work himself thereby;
For thousand times he so himself had dressed,
Yet natheless it could not do him die,
Till he should die his last, that is eternally.