Who when these two approaching he aspide, At their first presence grew agrieved sore, That forst him lay his heavenly thoughts aside; 435 And had he not that Dame respected more, Whom highly he did reverence and adore, He would not once have moved for the knight. They him saluted, standing far afore; Who well them greeting, humbly did requight, 440 And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.
What end (quoth she) should cause us take such paine, But that same end which every living wight Should make his marke, high heaven to attaine? Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right 445 To that most glorious house that glistreth bright With burning starres and everliving fire, Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require, To show it to his knight, according his desire. 450
Thrise happy man, said then the father grave, Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead, And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to save. Who better can the way to heaven aread, Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred 455 In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine? Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead Present before the majestie divine, And his avenging wrath to clemencie incline.
Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne. 460 Then come thou man of earth, and see the way, That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne, That never leads the traveiler astray, But after labors long, and sad delay, Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis. 465 But first thou must a season fast and pray, Till from her bands the spright assoiled is, And have her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis.
That donne, he leads him to the highest Mount; Such one as that same mighty man° of God, 470 That blood-red billowes° like a walled front On either side disparted with his rod, Till that his army dry-foot through them yod, Dwelt forty dayes upon; where writ in stone With bloudy letters by the hand of God, 475 The bitter doome of death and balefull mone He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.
Or like that sacred hill,° whose head full hie, Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd, Is, as it were for endlesse memory 480 Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd, For ever with a flowring girlond crownd: Or like that pleasaunt Mount,° that is for ay Through famous Poets verse each where renownd, On which the thrise three learned Ladies play 485 Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.