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The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto 4
by [?]

He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds, 280
And him no lesse, that any like did use,
And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds,
His almes for want of faith he doth accuse;
So every good to bad he doth abuse:
And eke the verse of famous Poets witt 285
He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues
From leprous mouth on all that ever writt:
Such one vile Envie was, that fifte in row did sitt.


And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,
Upon a Lion, loth for to be led; 290
And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
The which he brandisheth about his hed;
His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red,
And stared sterne on all that him beheld,
As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded; 295
And on his dagger still his hand he held,
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld.


His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood,
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent,
Through unadvized rashnesse woxen wood; 300
For of his hands he had no governement,
Ne car’d for bloud in his avengement:
But when the furious fit was overpast,
His cruell facts he often would repent;
Yet wilfull man he never would forecast, 305
How many mischieves should ensue his heedlesse hast.


Full many mischiefes follow cruell Wrath;
Abhorred bloodshed and tumultuous strife,
Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scath,[*]
Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife, 310
And fretting griefe the enemy of life;
All these, and many evils moe haunt ire,
The swelling Splene,[*] and Frenzy raging rife,
The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire:[*]
Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire. 315


And after all, upon the wagon beame
Rode Sathan, with a smarting whip in hand,
With which he forward lasht the laesie teme,
So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand.
Hugh routs of people did about them band, 320
Showting for joy, and still before their way
A foggy mist had covered all the land;
And underneath their feet, all scattered lay
Dead sculs and bones of men, whose life had gone astray.


So forth they marchen in this goodly sort, 325
To take the solace of the open aire,
And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport;
Emongst the rest rode that false Lady faire,
The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire
Of proud Lucifera, as one of the traine: 330
But that good knight would not so nigh repaire,
Him selfe estraunging from their joyaunce vaine,
Whose fellowship seemd far unfit for warlike swaine.