The Faerie Queene · Book I · Canto 1 10 (2/2)

The third had of their wardrobe custody,

In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,

The plumes of pride, and winges of vanity,

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,

His owne cote 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 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.

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.

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 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,

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!

The seventh, now after death and buriall done,

Had charge the tender Orphans of the dead

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;

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 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,

Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.

There she awhile him stayes, himselfe 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,

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.

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,

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.

Great grace that old man to him given had;

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.

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 doe finde that godly aged Sire,

With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed;

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;

His mind was full of spiritual repast,

And pyn’d his flesh to keepe his body low and chast.

Who, when these two approching he aspide,

At their first presence grew agrieved sore,

That forst him lay his hevenly 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 hight?

“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 keies are to thy hand behight

By wise Fidelia? Shee doth thee require,

To shew it to this 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 thyselfe, that was both borne and bred

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.

“Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure shalbe 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 done, 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 daies upon; where, writt in stone

With bloody 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 hevenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.

From thence, far off he unto him did shew

A little path that was both steepe and long,

Which to a goodly Citty 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 Citty of the greate 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 heven in gladsome companee,

And with great joy into that Citty wend,

As commonly as frend does with his frend.

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?

“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 sinful 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 Citty 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 Faery Queene doth dwell,

The fairest citty was that might be seene;

And that bright towre, all built of christall clene,

Panthea, seemd the brightest thing that was;

But now by proofe all otherwise I weene,

For this great Citty 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 eie 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 glory does to them for guerdon graunt:

For she is hevenly 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, foredonne;

But when thou famous victory hast wonne,

And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield,

Thenceforth the suitt of earthly conquest shonne,

And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody field:

For blood can nought 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 painefull pilgrimage

To yonder same Hierusalem doe bend,

Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end:

For thou, emongst those Saints whom thou doest see,

Shalt 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 attaynd, were in like cace,

As wretched men, and lived 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 bitter battailes all are fought?

As for loose loves, they’are vaine, 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 heare for aye in peace remaine,

Or streightway on that last long voiage fare,

That nothing may my present hope empare.”

“That may not be,” (said he) “ne maist thou yitt

Forgoe that royal maides bequeathed care,

Who did her cause into thy hand committ,

Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quitt.”

“Then shall I soone,” (quoth he) “so God me grace,

Abett that virgins cause disconsolate,

And shortly back 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 brood.

“For, well I wote, thou springst from ancient race

Of Saxon kinges, that have with mightie hand,

And many bloody battailes fought in face,

High reard their royall throne in Britans land,

And vanquisht them, unable to withstand:

From thence a Faery 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 chaung’d by Faeries theft.

“Thence she thee brought into this Faery 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 thee gave to name;

Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde,

To Faery court thou cam’st to seek for fame,

And prove thy puissant armes, as seemes thee best became.”

“O holy Sire!” (quoth he) “how shall I quight,

The many favours I with thee have fownd,

That hast my name and nation redd aright,

And taught the way that does to heaven bownd!”

This saide, adowne he looked to the grownd

To have returnd; but dazed were his eyne

Through passing brightnes, which did quite confound

His feeble sence, and too exceeding shyne.

So darke are earthly thinges compar’d to things divine.

At last, whenas himselfe he gan to fynd,

To Una back he cast him to retyre,

Who him awaited still with pensive mynd.

Great thankes, and goodly meed, to that good syre

He thens departing gave for his paynes hyre:

So came to Una, who him joyd to see;

And, after litle rest, gan him desyre

Of her adventure myndfull for to bee.

So leave they take of Cælia and her daughters three.