As they in pure vermilion had beene dyde,`
Whereof great vertues over all were redd;
For happy life to all which thereon fedd,
And life eke everlasting, did befall:
Great God it planted in that blessed stedd
With His Almighty hand, and did it call
The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers fall.
In all the world like was not to be fownd,
Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,
And freely sprong out of the fruitfull grownd,
As incorrupted Nature did them sow,
Till that dredd dragon all did overthrow.
Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,
Whereof whoso did eat eftsoones did know
Both good and ill: O mournfull memory!
That tree through one mans fault have doen us all to dy.
From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,
A trickling streame of balme, most soveraine
And dainty deare, which on the ground still fell,
And overflowèd all the fertile plaine,
As it had deawèd bene with timely raine:
Life and long health that gracious ointment gave,
And deadly wounds could heale, and reare againe
The sencelesse corse appointed for the grave.
Into that same he fell, which did from death him save.
For nigh thereto the ever damnèd beast
Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,
And al that life preservèd did detest;
Yet he it oft adventured to invade.
By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,
And yield his rowme to sad succeeding Night,
Who with her sable mantle gan to shade
The face of, earth and wayes of living wight,
And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.
When gentle Una saw the second fall
Of her deare knight, who, weary of long fight,
And faint through losse of blood, mooved not at all,
But lay as in a dreame of deepe delight,
Besmeard with pretious balme, whose vertuous might
Did heale his woundes, and scorching heat alay,
Againe she stricken was with sore affright,
And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,
And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.
The joyous day gan early to appeare,
And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed
Of aged Tithone gan her selfe to reare,
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;
Her golden locks for hast were loosely shed
About her eares, when Una her did marke
Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,
From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke;
With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke.
Then freshly up arose the doughty knight,
All healed of his hurts and woundès wide,
And did himselfe to battaile ready dight;
Whose early foe awaiting him beside
To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,
When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare,
As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,
He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to feare:
Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advauncèd neare.
And in his first encounter, gaping wyde,
He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight,
And rusht upon him with outragious pryde;
Who, him rencountring fierce, as hauke in flight,
Perforce rebutted backe: the weapon bright,
Taking advantage of his open jaw,
Ran through his mouth with so importune might
That deepe emperst his darksom hollow maw,
And, back retyrd, his life-blood forth with all did draw.
So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,
That vanisht into smoke and cloudès swift;
So downe he fell, that th' earth him underneath
Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift;
So downe he fell, as an huge rocky clift,
Whose false foundacion waves have washt away,
With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,
And, rolling down, great Neptune doth dismay; So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.
The knight him selfe even trembled at his fall,
So huge and horrible a masse it seemd;
And his deare lady, that beheld it all,
Durst not approch for dread which she misdeemd: 490 But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend
She saw not stirre, of-shaking vaine affright,
She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end: Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight, That had atchievde so great a conquest by his might.
Guyon findes Mamon in a delve,
Sunning his threasure hore;
Is by him tempted, and led downe
To see his secrete store.
As pilot well expert in perilous wave,
That to a stedfast starre his course hath bent,
When foggy mistes or cloudy tempests have
The faithfull light of that faire lampe yblent,
And covered heaven with hideous dreriment, .
Upon his card and compas firmes his eye,
The maysters of his long experiment,
And to them does the steddy helme apply,
Bidding his wingèd vessell fairely forward fly;
So Guyon, having lost his trustie guyde,
Late left beyond that Ydle Lake, proceedes
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde;
And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes
Of his owne vertues and praise-worthie deedes.
So, long he yode, yet no adventure found,
Which Fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes;
For still he traveild through wide wastfull ground,
That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all around.
At last he came unto a gloomy glade,
Covered with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, 20 Whereas he sitting found in secret shade
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight,
Of griesly hew and fowle ill-favoured sight;
His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard,
His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,
His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben seard In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard.
His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust,
Was underneath envelopèd with gold;
Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy dust,
Well yet appeared to have beene of old
A worke of rich entayle and curious mould,
Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery;
And in his lap a masse of coyne he told,
And turned upside downe, to feede his eye
And covetous desire with his huge threasury.
And round about him lay on every side
Great heapes of gold that never could be spent;
Of which some were rude owre, not purifide
Of Mulcibers devouring element;
Some others were new driven, and distent
Into great ingowes and to wedges square;
Some in round plates withouten moniment;
But most were stampt, and in their metal bare
The antique shapes of kings and kesars stroung and rare. 45
Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright
And haste he rose for to remove aside
Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight,
And downe them pourèd through an hole full wide
Into the hollow earth, them there to hide.
But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd
His hand, that trembled as one terrifyde;
And though him selfe were at the sight dismayd,
Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd:
"What art thou, man (if man at all thou art), That here in desert hast thine habitaunce,
And these rich heapes of welth doest hide apart
From the worldes eye and from her right usaunce?"
Thereat, with staring eyes fixèd askaunce,
In great disdaine he answerd: "Hardy elfe,
That darest vew my direfull countenaunce,
I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe,
To trouble my still seate and heapes of pretious pelfe.
"God of the world and worldlings I me call,
Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye,
That of my plenty poure out unto all,
And unto none my graces do envye:
Riches, renowme, and principality,
Honour, estate, and all this worldès good,
For which men swinck and sweat incessantly,
Fro me do flow into an ample flood,
And in the hollow earth have their eternall brood.
"Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew,
At thy commaund, lo, all these mountaines bee;
Or if to thy great mind or greedy vew
All these may not suffise, there shall to thee
Ten times so much be nombred francke and free." "Mammon," said he, "thy godheads vaunt is vaine, And idle offers of thy golden fee;
To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunts entertaine.
"Me ill besits, that in derdoing armes
And honours suit my vowèd daies do spend,
Unto thy bounteous baytes and pleasing charmes,
With which weake men thou witchest, to attend.
Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend
And low abase the high heroicke spright,
That joyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend:
Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes, be my delight;
Those be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight."
"Vaine-glorious elfe," saide he, "doest not thou weet
That money can thy wantes at will supply?
Shields, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee meet,
It can purvay in twinckling of an eye,
And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply.
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