XLVI

Thence forward by that painfull way they pas,
  Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;
  On top whereof a sacred chappell was,
  And eke a little Hermitage thereby,
  Wherein an aged holy man did lye, 410
  That day and night said his devotion,
  Ne other worldly busines did apply;
  His name was heavenly Contemplation;
Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

XLVII

Great grace that old man to him given had; 415
  For God he often saw from heavens hight,
  All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad,
  And through great age had lost their kindly sight,
  Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright,
  As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne:  420
  That hill they scale with all their powre and might,
  That his[*] fraile thighes nigh weary and fordonne
Gan faile, but by her[*] helpe the top at last he wonne.

XLVIII

There they do finde that godly aged Sire,
  With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed, 425
  As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire
  The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded. 
  Each bone might through his body well be red,
  And every sinew seene through his long fast: 
  For nought he car’d[*] his carcas long unfed; 430
  His mind was full of spirituall repast,
And pyn’d his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.

XLIX

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.

L

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

LI

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.