Cant. IX.
the Faery Queene.
131
Nor leaue his stand, vntill his Captaine bed.Who life did limit by almightie doome,(Quoth he) knowes best the termes established;And he, that points the Centonell his roome,Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome.
Is not his deed, what euer thing is donne,In heauen and earth? did not he all create,To die againe? all ends that was begonne.Their times in his eternall booke of fateAre written sure, and haue their certein date.Who then can striue with strong necessitie,That holds the world in his still chaunging state,Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie?Whē houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why.
The lenger life, I wote the greater sin,The greater sin, the greater punishment:All those great battels, which thou boasts to win,Through strife, and blood-shed, and auengement,Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent:For life must life, and blood must blood repay.Is not enough thy euill life forespent?For he, that once hath missed the right way.The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.
Then doe no further goe, no further stray,But herely downe, and to thy rest betake,Th'ill to preuent, that life ensewen may.For what hath life, that may it loued make,And giues not rather cause it to forsake?Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,Payne, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake;And euer fickle fortune rageth rife,All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.
Thou
