Till, coming to this well, he stoupt to drincke: Reserve her cause to her eternall doome; The charme fulfild, dead suddeinly he downe And, in the meane, vouchsafe her honorable did sincke.
Babes bloody handes may not be clensd:
The face of golden Meane:
Her sisters, two Extremities,
Strive her to banish cleane.
THUS when Sir Guyon with his faithful guyde
Had with dew rites and dolorous lament
The end of their sad Tragedie uptyde,
The litle babe up in his armes he hent;
Who with sweet pleasaunce, and bold blan-
dishment,
Gan smyle on them, that rather ought to weepe,
As carelesse of his woe, or innocent
Of that was doen; that ruth emperced deepe
In that knightes hart, and wordes with bitter
teares did steepe:
Ah! lucklesse babe, borne under cruell starre,
And in dead parents balefull ashes bred,
Full little weenest thou what sorrowes are
Left thee for porcion of thy livelyhed;
Poore Orphane! in the wild world scattered,
As budding braunch rent from the native
tree,
And throwen forth, till it be withered.
Such is the state of men: Thus enter we
Into this life with woe, and end with miseree!'
Whom thus at gaze the Palmer gan to bord
With goodly reason, and thus fayre bespake;
'Ye bene right hard amated, gratious Lord,
And of your ignorance great merveill make,
Whiles cause not well conceived ye mistake:
But know, that secret vertues are infusd
In every fountaine, and in everie lake, [chusd,
Which who hath skill them rightly to have
To proofe of passing wonders hath full often
usd:
May not be clensd with water of this well: Ne certes, Sir, strive you it to withstand, But let them still be bloody, as befell, That they his mothers innocence may tell, As she bequeathd in her last testament; [pap That, as a sacred Symbole, it may dwell By great Dame Nature, from whose fruitfull In her sonnes flesh, to mind revengement, [ment.' Their welheads spring, and are with moisture And be for all chaste Dames an endlesse moni
Of those, some were so from their sourse indewd
Which feedes each living plant with liquid sap,
And filles with flowres fayre Floraes painted
But other some, by guifte of later grace, [lap:
Or by good prayers, or by other hap,
Had vertue pourd into their waters bace,
And thenceforth were renowmd, and sought
from place to place.
'Such is this well, wrought by occasion
straunge,
Which to her Nymph befell. Upon a day,
As she the woodes with bow and shaftes did
raunge,
The hartlesse Hynd and Robucke to dismay,
Which gotten was but hate. So love does raine But they, him spying, both with greedy forse In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous Attonce upon him ran, and him beset
With strokes of mortall steele without remorse,
And on his shield like yron sledges bet:
As when a Beare and Tygre, being met
In cruell fight on Lybicke Ocean wide,
Espye a traveiler with feet surbet,
Whom they in equall pray hope to divide,
He maketh warre, he maketh peace againe,
And yett his peace is but continual jarre :
O miserable men that to him subiect arre!
They stint their strife and him assayle on Whilst thus they mingled were in furious
armes, The faire Medina, with her tresses torne And naked brest, in pitty of their harmes, Emongst them ran; and, falling them beforne, Besought them by the womb which them had And by the loves which were to them most born, [deare, And by the knighthood which they sure had
But he, not like a weary traveilere,
Their sharp assault right boldly did rebut,
And suffred not their blowes to byte him nere,
Bat with redoubled buffes them backe did put:
Whose grieved mindes, which choler did englut,
Against themselves turning their wrathfull Their deadly cruell discord to forbeare,
Gan with new rage their shieldes to hew and And to her just conditions of faire peace to
But still, when Guyon came to part their fight,
With heavie load on him they freshly gan to
smight.
But her two other sisters, standing by,
Her lowd gainsaid, and both their champions
Pursew the end of their strong enmity, [bad
As ever of their loves they would be glad:
Yet she with pitthy words, and counsell sad,
Still strove their stubborne rages to revoke;
That at the last, suppressing fury mad,
They gan abstaine from dint of direfull stroke,
And hearken to the sober speaches which she
spoke.
'Ah, puissaunt Lords! what cursed evil
Or fell Erinnys, in your noble harts [Spright,
Her hellish brond hath kindled with despight,
And stird you up to worke your wilfull smarts?
Is this the joy of armes ? be these the parts
Of glorious knighthood, after blood to thrust,
And not regard dew right and just desarts?
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust,
That more to mighty hands then rightfull cause
doth trust.
And were there rightfull cause of difference,
Yet were not better fayre it to accord
Then with bloodguiltinesse to heape offence,
And mortal vengeaunce joyne to crime abhord?
O! fly from wrath; fly, O my liefest Lord!
Sad be the sights, and bitter fruites of warre,
And thousand furies wait on wrathfull sword;
Ne ought the praise of prowesse more doth
Then fowle revenging rage, and base contentious jarre.
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