The Faerie Queene · Book II · Canto 2 7 (2/2)

“Behold, thou Faeries sonne, with mortall eye,

That living eye before did never see.

The thing, that thou didst crave so earnestly,

To weet whence all the wealth late shewd by mee

Proceeded, lo! now is reveald to thee.

Here is the fountaine of the worldes good:

Now, therefore, if thou wilt enriched bee,

Avise thee well, and chaunge thy wilfull mood,

Least thou perhaps hereafter wish, and be withstood.”

“Suffise it then, thou Money God,” (quoth hee)

“That all thine ydle offers I refuse.

All that I need I have: what needeth mee

To covet more then I have cause to use?

With such vaine shewes thy worldlinges vyle abuse;

But give me leave to follow mine emprise.”

Mammon was much displeasd, yet no’te he chuse

But beare the rigour of his bold mesprise;

And thence him forward ledd him further to entise.

He brought him, through a darksom narrow strayt,

To a broad gate all built of beaten gold:

The gate was open; but therein did wayt

A sturdie villein, stryding stiffe and bold,

As if the highest God defy he would:

In his right hand an yron club he held,

But he himselfe was all of golden mould,

Yet had both life and sence, and well could weld

That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he queld.

Disdayne he called was, and did disdayne

To be so cald, and who so did him call:

Sterne was his looke, and full of stomacke vayne;

His portaunce terrible, and stature tall,

Far passing th’hight of men terrestriall,

Like an huge Gyant of the Titans race;

That made him scorne all creatures great and small,

And with his pride all others powre deface:

More fitt emongst black fiendes then men to have his place.

Soone as those glitterand armes he did espye,

That with their brightnesse made that darknes light,

His harmefull club he gan to hurtle hye,

And threaten batteill to the Faery knight;

Who likewise gan himselfe to batteill dight,

Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold,

And counseld him abstaine from perilous fight;

For nothing might abash the villein bold,

Ne mortall steele emperce his miscreated mould.

So having him with reason pacifyde,

And that fiers Carle commaunding to forbeare,

He brought him in. The rowme was large and wyde,

As it some Gyeld or solemne Temple weare.

Many great golden pillours did upbeare

The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne;

And every pillour decked was full deare

With crownes, and Diademes, and titles vaine,

Which mortall Princes wore whiles they on earth did rayne.

A route of people there assembled were,

Of every sort and nation under skye,

Which with great uprore preaced to draw nere

To th’upper part, where was advaunced hye

A stately siege of soveraine majestye;

And thereon satt a woman, gorgeous gay,

And richly cladd in robes of royaltye,

That never earthly Prince in such aray

His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pryde display.

Her face right wondrous faire did seeme to bee,

That her broad beauties beam great brightnes threw

Through the dim shade, that all men might it see:

Yet was not that same her owne native hew,

But wrought by art and counterfetted shew,

Thereby more lovers unto her to call:

Nath’lesse most hevenly faire in deed and vew

She by creation was, till she did fall;

Thenceforth she sought for helps to cloke her crime withall.

There, as in glistring glory she did sitt,

She held a great gold chaine ylincked well,

Whose upper end to highest heven was knitt,

And lower part did reach to lowest Hell;

And all that preace did rownd about her swell

To catchen hold of that long chaine, thereby

To climbe aloft, and others to excell:

That was Ambition, rash desire to sty,

And every linck thereof a step of dignity.

Some thought to raise themselves to high degree

By riches and unrighteous reward;

Some by close shouldring; some by flatteree;

Others through friendes; others for base regard,

And all by wrong waies for themselves prepard:

Those that were up themselves kept others low;

Those that were low themselves held others hard,

Ne suffred them to ryse or greater grow;

But every one did strive his fellow downe to throw.

Which whenas Guyon saw, he gan inquire,

What meant that preace about that Ladies throne,

And what she was that did so high aspyre?

Him Mammon answered; “That goodly one,

Whom all that folke with such contention

Doe flock about, my deare, my daughter is:

Honour and dignitie from her alone

Derived are, and all this worldes blis,

For which ye men doe strive; few gett, but many mis:

“And fayre Philotime she rightly hight,

The fairest wight that wonneth under skie,

But that this darksom neather world her light

Doth dim with horror and deformity;

Worthie of heven and hye felicitie,

From whence the gods have her for envy thrust:

But, sith thou hast found favour in mine eye,

Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou lust,

That she may thee advance for works and merits just.”

“Gramercy, Mammon,” (said the gentle knight)

“For so great grace and offred high estate;

But I, that am fraile flesh and earthly wight,

Unworthy match for such immortall mate

My selfe well wote, and mine unequall fate:

And were I not, yet is my trouth yplight,

And love avowd to other Lady late,

That to remove the same I have no might:

To chaunge love causelesse is reproch to warlike knight.”

Mammon emmoved was with inward wrath;

Yet, forcing it to fayne, him forth thence ledd,

Through griesly shadowes by a beaten path,

Into a gardin goodly garnished

With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote not be redd:

Not such as earth out of her fruitfull woomb

Throwes forth to men, sweet and well savored,

But direfull deadly black, both leafe and bloom,

Fitt to adorne the dead, and deck the drery toombe.

There mournfull Cypresse grew in greatest store,

And trees of bitter Gall, and Heben sad;

Dead sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore;

Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad;

Mortall Samnitis, and Cicuta bad,

With which th’unjust Atheniens made to dy

Wise Socrates; who, thereof quaffing glad,

Pourd out his life and last Philosophy

To the fayre Critias, his dearest Belamy!

The Gardin of Proserpina this hight;

And in the midst thereof a silver seat,

With a thick Arber goodly overdight,

In which she often usd from open heat

Her selfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat:

Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,

With braunches broad dispredd and body great,

Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see,

And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee.

Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright,

That goodly was their glory to behold;

On earth like never grew, ne living wight

Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold;

For those which Hercules, with conquest bold

Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began,

And planted there did bring forth fruit of gold;

And those with which th’Eubœan young man wan

Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out ran.

Here also sprong that goodly golden fruit,

With which Acontius got his lover trew,

Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse suit:

Here eke that famous golden Apple grew,

The which emongst the gods false Ate threw;

For which th’Idæan Ladies disagreed,

Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,

And had of her fayre Helen for his meed,

That many noble Greekes and Trojans made to bleed.

The warlike Elfe much wondred at this tree,

So fayre and great that shadowed all the ground,

And his broad braunches, laden with rich fee,

Did stretch themselves without the utmost bound

Of this great gardin, compast with a mound;

Which over-hanging, they themselves did steepe

In a blacke flood, which flow’d about it round.

That is the river of Cocytus deepe,

In which full many soules do endlesse wayle and weepe.

Which to behold he clomb up to the bancke,

And looking downe saw many damned wightes

In those sad waves, which direfull deadly stancke,

Plonged continually of cruell Sprightes,

That with their piteous cryes, and yelling shrightes,

They made the further shore resounden wide.

Emongst the rest of those same ruefull sightes,

One cursed creature he by chaunce espide,

That drenched lay full deepe under the Garden side.

Deepe was he drenched to the upmost chin,

Yet gaped still as coveting to drinke

Of the cold liquor which he waded in;

And stretching forth his hand did often thinke

To reach the fruit which grew upon the brincke;

But both the fruit from hand, and flood from mouth,

Did fly abacke, and made him vainely swincke;

The whiles he sterv’d with hunger, and with drouth,

He daily dyde, yet never throughly dyen couth.

The knight, him seeing labour so in vaine,

Ask’t who he was, and what he ment thereby?

Who, groning deepe, thus answerd him againe;

“Most cursed of all creatures under skye,

Lo! Tantalus, I here tormented lye:

Of whom high Jove wont whylome feasted bee;

Lo! here I now for want of food doe dye:

But, if that thou be such as I thee see,

Of grace I pray thee, give to eat and drinke to mee!”

“Nay, nay, thou greedy Tantalus,” (quoth he)

“Abide the fortune of thy present fate;

And unto all that live in high degree,

Ensample be of mind intemperate,

To teach them how to use their present state.”

Then gan the cursed wretch alowd to cry,

Accusing highest Jove and gods ingrate;

And eke blaspheming heaven bitterly,

As author of unjustice, there to let him dye.

He lookt a litle further, and espyde

Another wretch, whose carcas deepe was drent

Within the river, which the same did hyde;

But both his handes, most filthy feculent,

Above the water were on high extent,

And faynd to wash themselves incessantly,

Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent,

But rather fowler seemed to the eye;

So lost his labour vaine and ydle industry.

The knight him calling asked who he was?

Who, lifting up his head, him answerd thus;

“I Pilate am, the falsest Judge, alas!

And most unjust; that, by unrighteous

And wicked doome, to Jewes despiteous

Delivered up the Lord of life to dye,

And did acquite a murdrer felonous;

The whiles my handes I washt in purity,

The whiles my soule was soyld with fowle iniquity.”

Infinite moe tormented in like paine

He there beheld, too long here to be told:

Ne Mammon would there let him long remayne,

For terrour of the tortures manifold,

In which the damned soules he did behold,

But roughly him bespake: “Thou fearefull foole,

Why takest not of that same fruite of gold?

Ne sittest downe on that same silver stoole,

To rest thy weary person in the shadow coole?”

All which he did to do him deadly fall

In frayle intemperaunce through sinfull bayt;

To which if he inclyned had at all,

That dreadfull feend, which did behinde him wayt,

Would him have rent in thousand peeces strayt:

But he was wary wise in all his way,

And well perceived his deceiptfull sleight,

Ne suffred lust his safety to betray.

So goodly did beguile the Guyler of his pray.

And now he has so long remained theare,

That vitall powres gan wexe both weake and wan

For want of food and sleepe, which two upbeare,

Like mightie pillours, this frayle life of man,

That none without the same enduren can:

For now three dayes of men were full outwrought,

Since he this hardy enterprize began:

Forthy great Mammon fayrely he besought

Into the world to guyde him backe, as he him brought.

The God, though loth, yet was constraynd t’obay;

For lenger time then that no living wight

Below the earth might suffred be to stay:

So backe againe him brought to living light.

But all so soone as his enfeebled spright

Gan sucke this vitall ayre into his brest,

As overcome with too exceeding might,

The life did flit away out of her nest,

And all his sences were with deadly fit opprest.