That darkesome caue they enter, where they find xxxv That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind; His griesie lockes, long growen, and vnbound, Disordred hong about his shoulders round, And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound; His raw-bone cheekes through penurie and pine, Were[316] shronke into his iawes, as he did neuer dine. His garment nought but many ragged clouts, xxxvi With thornes together pind and patched was, The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts; And him beside there lay vpon the gras A drearie corse, whose life away did pas, All wallowd in his owne yet luke-warme blood, That from his wound yet welled fresh alas; In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood, And made an open passage for the gushing flood. Which piteous spectacle, approuing trew xxxvii The wofull tale that _Treuisan_ had told, When as the gentle _Redcrosse_ knight did vew, With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold, Him to auenge, before his bloud were cold, And to the villein said, Thou damned wight, The author of this fact, we here behold, What iustice can but iudge against thee right, With thine owne bloud to price his bloud, here shed in sight?[317] What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught xxxviii Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to giue? What iustice euer other iudgement taught, But he should die, who merites not to liue? None else to death this man despayring driue, But his owne guiltie mind deseruing death. Is then vniust to each his due to giue? Or let him die, that loatheth liuing breath? Or let him die at ease, that liueth here vneath? Who trauels[318] by the wearie wandring way, xxxix To come vnto his wished home in haste, And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay, Is not great grace to helpe him ouer past, Or free his feet, that in the myre sticke fast? Most enuious man, that grieues at neighbours good, And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast, Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood Vpon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood? He there does now enioy eternall rest xl And happie ease, which thou doest want and craue, And further from it daily wanderest: What if some litle paine the passage haue, That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter waue? Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet graue? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.