The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit, xli And said, The terme of life is[319] limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The souldier may not moue from watchfull sted, 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, xlii In heauen and earth? did not he all create To die againe? all ends that was begonne. Their times in his eternall booke of fate Are written sure, and haue their certaine date. Who then can striue with strong necessitie, That holds the world in his still chaunging state, Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie? When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why. The lenger life, I wote the greater sin, xliii The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battels, which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and bloud-shed, and auengement, Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent: For life must life, and bloud must bloud 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 do no further goe, no further stray, xliv But here lie 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, Paine, 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 wretched man, of death hast greatest need, xlv If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state: For neuer knight, that dared warlike deede, More lucklesse disauentures did amate: Witnesse the dongeon deepe, wherein of late Thy life shut 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 hereafter thou maiest happen fall. Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire xlvi To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree? Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire High heaped vp with huge iniquitie, Against the day of wrath, to burden thee? Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde Thou falsed[320] hast thy faith with periurie, And sold thy selfe to serue _Duessa_ vilde, With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?