XII 'Be well aware,' quoth then that ladie milde, 'Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke: The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: therefore your stroke, Sir knight, with-hold, till further tryall made.' ‘Ah, ladie,' sayd he, 'shame were to revoke The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertue gives her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade.' XIII 'Yea, but,' quoth she, 'the perill of this place I better wot then you; though nowe too late To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Therefore I read beware.' 'Fly, fly!' quoth then The fearefull dwarfe: 'this is no place for living men.' XIV But full of fire and greedy hardiment, But forth unto the darksom hole he went, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. XV And as she lay upon the durtie ground, Her huge long taile her den all overspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes up wound, Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred |