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For them most needeth comfort in the end,
When Sin, and Hell, and Death, doe most dismay
The feeble soule departing hence away.
All is but lost, that living we bestow,
If not well ended at our dying day.

O man! have mind of that last bitter throw;
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.

The sixt had charge of them now being dead, In seemely sort their corses to engrave, And deck with dainty flowres their brydall bed, That to their heavenly Spouse both sweet and brave They might appeare, when he their soules shall save. The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould, Whose face he made all beastes to feare, and gave All in his hand, even dead we honour should. Ah, dearest God, me graunt, I dead be not defould !5 The seventh, now after death and buriall done, Had charge the tender orphans of the dead, And wydowes ayd, least they should be undone : In face of iudgement he their right would plead, Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread In their defence; nor would for gold or fee Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread : And, when they stood in most necessitee,

He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.

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Thence forward by that painfull way they pas
Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;
On top whereof a sacred chappell was,
And eke a litle hermitage thereby,
Wherein an aged holy man did lie,
That day and night said his devotion,
Ne other worldly busines did apply:
His name was Hevenly Contemplation;
Of God and goodnes was his meditation.

Great grace that old man to him given had;
For God he often saw from Heavens hight:
All were his earthly eien both blunt and bad,
And through great age had lost their kindly sight,
Yet wondrous quick and persaunt' was his spright,
As eagles eie, that can behold the sunne.

That hill they scale with all their powre and might, 7 piercing.

5 dishonoured.

6 eyes.

That his fraile thighes, nigh weary and fordonne,
Gan faile; but, by her helpe, the top at last he wonne.

There they doe finde that godly aged sire,
With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed;
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire
The mossy braunches of an oke halfe ded.
Each bone might through his body well be red,
And every sinew seene, through his long fast:
For nought he car'd his carcas long unfed;
His mind was full of spirituall repast,

8

And pyn'd his flesh to keep his body low and chast.
Who, when these two approching he aspide,
At their first presence grew agrieved sore,
That forst him lay his hevenly thoughts aside;
And had he not that dame respected more,
Whom highly he did reverence and adore,
He would not once have moved for the knight.
They him saluted, standing far afore;

Who, well them greeting, humbly did requight,
And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious hight?
"What end," quoth she, "should cause us take such paine,
But that same end which every living wight

Should make his marke, high Heaven to attaine?
Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right
To that most glorious House, that glistreth bright
With burning starres and everliving fire,
Whereof the keies are to thy hand behight
By wise Fidelia ? She doth thee require,
To shew it to this knight, according his desire."
"Thrise happy man," said then the father grave,
"Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,
And shewes the way his sinfull soule to save!
Who better can the way to Heaven aread
Then thou thyselfe, that was both borne and bred
In hevenly throne, where thousand angels shine?
Thou doest the praiers of the righteous sead
Present before the Majesty Divine,

And his avenging wrath to clemency incline.

Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne.
Then come, thou man of Earth, and see the way,
That never yet was seene of Faries sonne;
That never leads the traveiler astray,

8 beheld.

But, after labors long and sad delay, Brings them to ioyous rest and endlesse blis. But first thou must a season fast and pray, Till from her bands the spright assoiled is, And have her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis." That done, he leads him to the highest mount; Such one as that same mighty man of God, That blood-red billowes like a walled front On either side disparted with his rod, Till that his army dry-foot through them yod, Dwelt forty daies upon; where, writt in stone With bloody letters by the hand of God,

The bitter doome of death and balefull mone
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone :
Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie,
Adornd with fruitfull olives all arownd,
Is, as it were for endlesse memory

Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd,
For ever with a flowring girlond crownd:

Or like that pleasaunt mount, that is for ay
Through famous poets verse each where renownd,
On which the thrise three learned ladies play

Their hevenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.
From thence, far off he unto him did shew

A little path, that was both steepe and long,
Which to a goodly citty led his vew;

Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong
Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong
Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell ;
Too high a ditty for my simple song!
The citty of the Greate King hight it well,
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.
As he thereon stood gazing, he might see
The blessed angels to and fro descend
From highest Heven in gladsome companee,
And with great ioy into that citty wend,
As commonly as frend does with his frend.
Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,
What stately building durst so high extend
Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere,
And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.
"Faire knight," quoth he, "Hierusalem that is,
The New Hierusalem, that God has built

For those to dwell in that are chosen his,—
His chosen people purg'd from sinful guilt
With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt
On cursed tree, of that unspotted Lam

That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt:
Now are they saints all in that citty sam,

More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam."
“Till now,” said then the knight, "I weened well,
That great Cleopolis where I have beene,

In which that fairest Fary queene doth dwell,
The fairest citty was that might be seene;
And that bright towre, all built of christall clene,
Panthea, seemd the brightest thing that was:
But now by proofe all otherwise I weene;

For this great citty that does far surpas,

And this bright angels towre quite dims that towre of glas.' "Most trew," then said the holy aged man;

"Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame,

The fairest peece that eie beholden can;
And well beseemes all knights of noble name,
That covett in th' immortal booke of fame
To be eternized, that same to haunt,

And doen their service to that soveraigne dame,
That glory does to them for guerdon graunt:
For she is hevenly borne, and Heaven may iustly vaunt.
And thou, fair ymp, sprong out from English race,
How ever now accompted Elfins sonne,

Well worthy doest thy service for her grace,
To aide a virgin desolate fordonne.

But when thou famous victory hast wonne,

And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield,
Thenceforth the suitt of earthly conquest shonne,10
And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody field:
For blood can nought but sin, and wars but sorrows yield.
Then seek this path that I to thee presage,
Which after all to Heaven shall thee send;
Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage
To yonder same Hierusalem doe bend,
Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end:

For thou emongst those saints, whom thou doest see,
Shalt be a saint, and thine owne nation's frend
And patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee,
Saint George of mery England, the signe of victoree."

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But man, forgetfull of his Makers grace,
No lesse than angels whom he did ensew,1
Fell from the hope of promist heavenly place
Into the mouth of death, to sinners dew;
And all his offspring into thraldome threw,
When they for ever should in bonds remaine,
Of never-dead, yet ever-dying paine.

Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first
Made of meere love, and after liked well,
Seeing him lie, like creature long accurst,
In that deep horror of despeysed hell,

Him wretch in doole2 would let no longer dwell;
But cast out of that bondage to redeeme
And pay the price, all were3 his debt extreme.

Out of the bosome of eternall blisse,
In which he reignéd with his glorious Syre,
He downe descended, like a most demisse1
And abject thrall, in fleshes fraile attyre;
That he for him might pay sinnes deadly hyre,
And him restore unto that happie state
In which he stood before his haplesse fate.

In flesh at first the guilt committed was,
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde:

Nor spirit, nor angel, though they man surpas,
Could make amends to God for man's misguyde ;5
But onely man himselfe, who selfe did slyde.
So taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe,
For mans deare sake he did a man become.

And that most blessed bodie, which was borne
Without all blemish or reprochfull blame,
He freely gave to be both rent and torne
Of cruell hands, who with despightfull shame
Revyling him that them most vile became,
At length him nayled on a gallow-tree,
And slew the Iust by most uniust decree.

O huge and most unspeakable impression
Of loves deep wound, that pierst the piteous hart
2 sorrow. 3 notwithstanding.
4 reduced. 5 misdeed.

1 follow.

D

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