XXXV

That darkesome cave they enter, where they find
  That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
  Musing full sadly in his sullein mind;
  His griesie lockes, long growen, and unbound, 310
  Disordred hong about his shoulders round,
  And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne
  Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound;
  His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine,
Were shronke into his jawes, as[*] he did never dine. 315

XXXVI

His garment nought but many ragged clouts,
  With thornes together pind and patched was,
  The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts;
  And him beside there lay upon the gras
  A drearie corse,[*] whose life away did pas, 320
  All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood,
  That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;
  In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.

XXXVII

Which piteous spectacle, approving trew 325
  The wofull tale that Trevisan had told,
  When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew,
  With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold,
  Him to avenge, before his bloud were cold,
  And to the villein said, Thou damned wight, 330
  The author of this fact we here behold,
  What justice can but judge against thee right,[*]
With thine owne bloud to price[*] his bloud, here shed in sight.

XXXVIII

What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught
  Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give? 335
  What justice[*] ever other judgement taught,
  But he should die, who merites not to live? 
  None else to death this man despayring drive,
  But his owne guiltie mind deserving death. 
  Is then unjust[*] to each his due to give? 340
  Or let him die, that loatheth living breath? 
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?

XXXIX

Who travels by the wearie wandring way,[*]
  To come unto his wished home in haste,
  And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay, 345
  Is not great grace to helpe him over past,
  Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast? 
  Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,
  And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,
  Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood 350
Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?

XL

He there does now enjoy eternall rest
  And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave,
  And further from it daily wanderest: 
  What if some little paine the passage have, 355
  That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave? 
  Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,
  And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave? 
  Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please. 360