132
The first Booke of
Cant. IX.
Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,If in true ballaunce thou wilt weigh thy state:For neuer knight, that dared warlike deed,More luckless dissauentures did amate:Witnes the dungeon deepe, wherein of lateThy life shutt vp, for death so oft did call;And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall,Into the which heareafter thou maist happen fall.
Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desireTo draw thy dayes forth to their last degree?Is not the measure of thy sinfull hireHigh heaped vp with huge iniquitee,Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?Is not enough, that to this Lady mildThou falsest hast thy faith with periuree,And sold thy selfe to serue Duessa vild,With whom in al abuse thou hast thy selfe defild?
Is not he iust, that all this doth beholdFrom highest heuen, and beares an equall eie?Shall he thy sins vp in his knowledge fold,And guilty be of thine impietie?Is not his lawe, Let euery sinner die:Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne,Is it not better to doe willinglie,Then linger, till the glas be all out ronne?Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faries sonne.
The knight was much enmoued with his speach,That as a swords poynt through his hart did perse,And in his conscience made a secrete breach,Well knowing trew all, that he did reherse,
