Is not he iust, that all this doth behold xlvii From highest heauen, and beares an equall eye? Shall he thy sins vp in his knowledge fold, And guiltie be of thine impietie? Is not his law, 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 glasse be all out ronne? Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne. The knight was much enmoued with his speach, xlviii That as a swords point through his hart did perse, And in his conscience made a secret breach, Well knowing true all, that he did reherse, And to his fresh remembrance did reuerse The vgly vew of his deformed crimes, That all his manly powres it did disperse, As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes, That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes. In which amazement, when the Miscreant xlix Perceiued him to wauer weake and fraile, Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant, And hellish anguish did his soule assaile, To driue him to despaire, and quite to quaile, He shew’d him painted in a table plaine, The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile, And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine With fire and brimstone, which for euer shall remaine. The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid, l That nought but death before his eyes he saw, And euer burning wrath before him laid, By righteous sentence of th’Almighties law: Then gan the villein him to ouercraw, And brought vnto him swords, ropes, poison, fire, And all that might him to perdition draw; And bad him choose, what death he would desire: For death was due to him, that had prouokt Gods ire. But when as none of them he saw him take, li He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene, And gaue it him in hand: his hand did quake, And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene, And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene To come, and goe with tydings from the hart, As it a running messenger had beene. At last resolu’d to worke his finall smart, He lifted vp his hand, that backe againe did start. Which when as _Vna_ saw[321], through euery vaine lii The crudled cold ran to her well of life, As in a swowne: but soone reliu’d[322] againe, Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife, And threw it to the ground, enraged rife, And to him said, Fie, fie, faint harted knight, What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife? Is this the battell, which thou vauntst to fight With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright?