XXIX

Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts
  Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,
  Which love had launched with his deadly darts, 255
  With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe,
  He pluckt from us all hope of due reliefe,
  That earst us held in love of lingring life;
  Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe
  Perswade us die, to stint all further strife:  260
To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.

XXX

With which sad instrument of hasty death,
  That wofull lover, loathing lenger light,
  A wide way made to let forth living breath. 
  But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight, 265
  Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight,
  Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare:[*]
  Ne yet assur’d of life by you, Sir knight,
  Whose like infirmitie[*] like chaunce may beare: 
But God[*] you never let his charmed speeches heare. 270

XXXI

How may a man (said he) with idle speach
  Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?[*]
  I wote[*] (quoth he) whom triall late did teach,
  That like would not for all this worldes wealth: 
  His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt’h[*] 275
  Into the hart, and searcheth every vaine;
  That ere one be aware, by secret stealth
  His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine. 
O never Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.

XXXII

Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest, 280
  Till I that treacherours art have heard and tride;
  And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request,
  Of grace do me unto his cabin guide. 
  I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride,
  Against my liking backe, to do you grace:  285
  But not for gold nor glee[*] will I abide
  By you, when ye arrive in that same place
For lever had I die, then see his deadly face.

XXXIII

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight
  His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, 290
  Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight,
  Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave,
  That still for carrion carcases doth crave: 
  On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle,[*]
  Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave 295
  Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;
And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.

XXXIV

And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,
  Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene,
  Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees; 300
  On which had many wretches hanged beene,
  Whose carcases were scattered on the greene,
  And throwne about the clifts.  Arrived there,
  That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene,
  Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare, 305
But th’ other forst him stay, and comforted in feare.