"What frantic fit," quoth he, " hath thus distraught Thee, foolish man, so rash a doom to give? What justice ever other judgment taught, But he should die who merits not to live? None else to death this man despairing drove, But his own guilty mind deserving death. Is't 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 wandering way,
To come unto his wished home in haste,
And meets a flood, that doth his passage stay,
Is't not great grace to help him over past,
Or free his feet, that in the mire stick fast?
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours' good,
And fond, that joyest in the wo 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 doest want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest ;

What if some little pain the passage have,

That make 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, doth greatly please."

The knight much wondered at his sudden wit, And said, "The term of life is limited, Nor may a man prolong nor shorten it: The soldier may not move from watchful sted, Nor leave his stand until his captain bid." "Who life did limit by almighty doom, Quoth he, "knows best the term 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 are 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 wot the greater sin; The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battles which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and blood-shed, 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 ensewen 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;

Awhich, and thousands more, do make a loathsome life.

"Thou, wretched man, of death hath greatest need, If in true balance thou wilt weigh thy state; For never knight, that dared warlike deed, More luckless disadventures did await. 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 maist happen fall.

66

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't not enough, that to this lady mild
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjury,
And sold thyself to serve Duessa vile,

With whom in all abuse thou hast thyself defiled?

"Is not he 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 thine impiety?

Is not his law, Let every sinner die,

Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be done, Is it not better to die willingly,

Than linger till the glass be all outrun?

Death is the end of woes: die soon, O fairy's son."

The knight was much enmoved with this 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 thereof so thoroughly him dismayed,
That nought but death before his eyes he saw,
And ever-burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of the Almighty's law.
Then gan the villain him to over-craw,

And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire,
And all that might him to perdition draw;

And bade him choose what death he would desire: For death was due to him, that had provoked God's ire.

But whenas none of them he saw him take,
He to him brought 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,