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XXXIII

Then asked he, which way he in might pas:
He could not tell, againe he answered. 290
Thereat the curteous knight displeased was,
And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red
How ill it sits with that same silver hed,
In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed 295
With natures pen,[*] in ages grave degree,
Aread in graver wise, what I demaund of thee.

XXXIV

His answere likewise was, he could not tell.
Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance
When as the noble Prince had marked well, 300
He ghest his nature by his countenance,
And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.
Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach
Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance.
Each dore he opened without any breach; 305
There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach.

XXXV

There all within full rich arrayd he found,
With royall arras and resplendent gold.
And did with store of every thing abound,
That greatest Princes[*] presence might behold. 310
But all the floore (too filthy to be told)
With bloud of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew,[*]
Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold,
Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew,
And sacred ashes over it was strowed new.[*] 315

XXXVI

And there beside of marble stone was built
An Altare,[*] carv’d with cunning ymagery,
On which true Christians bloud was often spilt,
And holy Martyrs often doen to dye,
With cruell malice and strong tyranny: 320
Whose blessed sprites from underneath the stone
To God for vengeance cryde continually,
And with great griefe were often heard to grone,
That hardest heart would bleede, to hear their piteous mone.

XXXVII

Through every rowme he sought, and every bowr, 325
But no where could he find that woful thrall:
At last he came unto an yron doore,
That fast was lockt, but key found not at all
Emongst that bounch, to open it withall;
But in the same a little grate was pight, 330
Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call
With all his powre, to weet, if living wight
Were housed there within, whom he enlargen might.

XXXVIII

Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous plaints and dolours did resound; 335
O who is that, which brings me happy choyce
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?
For now three Moones have changed thrice their hew,
And have been thrice hid underneath the ground, 340
Since I the heavens chearfull face did vew,
O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew.