But sith the heauens, and your faire handeling[282] xxviii Haue made you maister[283] of the field this day, Your fortune maister eke with gouerning, And well begun end all so well, I pray, Ne let that wicked woman scape away; For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall, My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay, Where he his better dayes hath wasted all. O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call. Forthwith he gaue in charge vnto his Squire, xxix That scarlot whore to keepen carefully; Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire Into the Castle entred forcibly,[284] Where liuing creature none he did espye; Then gan he lowdly through the house to call: But no man car’d to answere to his crye. There raignd a solemne silence ouer all, Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall. At last with creeping crooked pace forth came xxx An[285] old old man, with beard as white as snow, That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame, And guide his wearie gate both too and fro: For his eye sight him failed long ygo, And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore, The which vnused rust did ouergrow: Those were the keyes of euery inner dore, But he could not them vse, but kept them still in store. But very vncouth sight was to behold, xxxi How he did fashion his vntoward pace, For as he forward moou’d his footing old, So backward still was turnd his wrincled face, Vnlike to men, who euer as they trace, Both feet and face one way are wont to lead. This was the auncient keeper of that place, And foster father of the Gyant dead; His name _Ignaro_ did his nature right aread. His reuerend haires and holy grauitie xxxii The knight much honord, as beseemed well, And gently askt, where all the people bee, Which in that stately building wont to dwell. Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell. Againe he askt, where that same knight was layd, Whom great _Orgoglio_ with his puissaunce fell Had made his caytiue thrall;[286] againe he sayde, He could not tell: ne euer other answere made. Then asked he, which way he in might pas: xxxiii He could not tell, againe he answered. Thereat the curteous[287] knight displeased was, And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red How ill it sits[288] with that same siluer hed In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee: But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed With natures pen, in ages graue degree, Aread in grauer wise, what I demaund of thee.