Orlando Furioso

CANTO 26

AR­GU­MENT Of mighty mat­ters, sculp­tured in a font, Does Malagi­gi to his com­rades tell: On them come Man­dri­car­do and Rodomont, And forth­with bat­tle fol­lows fierce and fell. Dis­cord goes scat­ter­ing quar­rel and af­front Amid the crew: but whith­er, forced by spell, Fair Do­ral­ice up­on her pal­frey speeds, The Tar­tar king, and Sarzan, turn their steeds.

I In for­mer ages cour­te­ous ladies were, Who wor­shipt virtue, and not world­ly gear. Wom­en in this de­gen­er­ate age are rare, To whom aught else but sor­did gain is dear; But they who re­al good­ness make their care, Nor with the avari­cious many steer, In this frail life are wor­thy to be blest, — Held glo­ri­ous and im­mor­tal when at rest.

II Bradamant well would death­less praise in­her­it, Who nor in wealth nor em­pire took de­light; But in Rogero’s worth, ex­celling spir­it, In his un­bound­ed gen­tlesse; and aright For this did good Duke Ay­mon’s daugh­ter mer­it To be beloved of such a val­or­ous knight; Who, what might be for mir­acles re­ceived, In fu­ture ages, for her sake achieved.

III He, with those two of Cler­mont, as whilere To you I in the for­mer can­to said, I say with Richard­et and Aldigi­er, Was gone, to give the pris­oned brethren aid: I told, as well how they a cav­alier Of haughty look ap­proach­ing had sur­veyed, Who bore that no­ble bird, by fiery birth Re­newed, and ev­er sin­gle up­on earth.

IV When those three of that war­rior were es­pied, Poised on the wing, as if about to smite, He fain by proof their prowess would have tried, And if their sem­blance tal­lied with their might. “Is there, among you, one,” the stranger cried, “Will prove up­on me, which is best in fight, With lance or sword, till one to ground be cast, While in the sell his foe is seat­ed fast?”

V ” — I, at your choice,” said Aldigi­er, “were fain To flour­ish faul­chion, or to tilt with spear; But this with feat, which, if you here re­main, Your­self may wit­ness, so would in­ter­fere, That for the present par­ley time with pain Suf­fices, and yet less for the ca­reer. Six hun­dred men, or more, we here at­tend, With whom we must to-​day in arms con­tend.

VI “Two of our own to res­cue from their foes, And free from chains, us Love and Pity sway.” He to that stranger next the rea­son shows Why thus in steel their bod­ies they ar­ray. “So just is the ex­cuse which you op­pose,” — He an­swered — “that I ill should this gain­say, And hold you sure­ly for three cav­aliers That sel­dom up­on earth will find their peers.

VII “With you a lance or two I would have crost To prove how great your prowess in the field; But, since ’tis shown me at an­oth­er’s cost, Forego the joust, and to your rea­sons yield. Warm­ly I pray your leave against that host, To join with your good arms this helm and shield; And hope, if suf­fered of your band to be, No worth­less com­rade shall you find in me.”

VI­II Some one, meseems, may crave the stranger’s name, Who thus the cham­pi­ons on their road de­layed, And so to part­ner­ship in arms laid claim With those three war­riors, for the strife ar­rayed: SHE — style no more a man that mar­tial dame — Marphisa was; that on Zerbino laid The task to bear about, against his will, Rib­ald Gab­ri­na, prone to ev­ery ill.

IX The two of Cler­mont and their bold com­peer Glad­ly re­ceived her suc­cour in their cause, Whom certes they be­lieved a cav­alier, And not a damsel, and not what she was. A ban­ner was es­pied by Aldigi­er And shown the oth­ers, af­ter lit­tle pause, Which by the wa­ver­ing wind was blown about, And round about it ranged a nu­mer­ous rout.

X And when, now near­er, the ad­vanc­ing crew Were bet­ter marked in Moor­ish habit stoled, For Sara­cens the stranger band they knew; And they up­on two sor­ry jades be­hold, I’ the mid­dle of that troop, the pris­on­ers, who Were to the false Ma­ga­nza to be sold. Marphisa cries, “Why is the feast de­layed, When lo! the guests are here, for whom we stayed?”

XI — “Not all,” Rogero said, “Of the ar­ray In­vit­ed, lacks as yet a nu­mer­ous part: A solemn fes­ti­val is held to-​day, And we. to grace it more, use ev­ery art: Yet they can now but lit­tle more de­lay.” While thus they par­ley, they from oth­er part De­scry the treach­er­ous Ma­ga­nzese ad­vance; So all was ready to be­gin the dance.

XII They of Ma­ga­nza from one quar­ter steer, And laden mules be­neath their con­voy go, Bear­ing vest, gold, and oth­er cost­ly gear. On the oth­er side, mid faul­chion, spear, and bow, Ap­proached the cap­tive two with dole­ful cheer, Who found them­selves await­ed by the foe; And false and im­pi­ous Berto­la­gi heard, As with the Moor­ish cap­tain he con­ferred.

XI­II Nor Buo­vo’s nor Duke Ay­mon’s valiant son Can hold, when that false Ma­ga­nzese they view; Against him both with rest­ed lances run: He falls the vic­tim of those fu­ri­ous two, Through bel­ly and through pum­mel pierced by one, And by the oth­er, in mid vis­age, through His bleed­ing cheeks: may like dis­as­trous fate O’er­whelm all evil do­ers, soon or late!

XIV Marphisa with Rogero moved her horse At this, nor wait­ed oth­er trum­pet-​strain; Nor broke her lance in her im­petu­ous course, Till in suc­ces­sion three had prest the plain. A mark well wor­thy fierce Rogero’s force, The payn­im lead­er in a thought is slain; And with him, pierced by the same weapon, go Two oth­ers to the gloomy realms be­low.

XV ‘Twas hence a foul mis­take the as­sault­ed made; It caused their ut­ter loss, and ru­ined all: They of Ma­ga­nza deemed them­selves be­trayed By the in­fi­dels, up­on their lead­er’s fall: On the oth­er side, so charged with hos­tile blade, The Moors those Ma­ga­nzese as­sas­sins call; And, with fierce slaugh­ter, ei­ther an­gry horde ‘Gan bend bow, and bran­dish lance and sword.

XVI Rogero, charg­ing this, or the oth­er band, Slays ten or twen­ty, shift­ing his ca­reer; No few­er by the war­like damsel’s hand Are slaugh­tered and ex­tin­guished, there and here: As many men as feel the mur­der­ous brand Are from the sad­dle seen to dis­ap­pear: Be­fore it van­ish cuirass, helms and shields, As the dry wood to fire in for­est yields.

XVII If ev­er you re­mem­ber to have viewed, Or heard, — what time the wasps di­vid­ed are, And all the winged col­lege is at feud, Mus­ter­ing their swarms for mis­chief in mid air, — The greedy swal­low swoop amid that brood, To man­gle and de­vour, and kill, and tear, You must imag­ine so, on ei­ther part The bold Rogero and Marphisa dart.

XVI­II Not so Sir Richard­et and Aldigi­er, Var­ied the dance be­tween those squadrons twain; For, heed­less of the Moors, each cav­alier Had but an eye to false Ma­ga­nza’s train. The broth­er of Ri­nal­do, Charles’s peer, Much courage added to much might and main; And these were now re­dou­bled by the spite, Which against false Ma­ga­nza warmed the knight.

XIX This cause made him who in his fury shared, Good Buo­vo’s bas­tard, seems a li­on fell; He, with­out pause, each trusty hel­met pared With his good blade, or crushed it like the shell Of brit­tle egg: and who would not have dared — Would not have shown a Hec­tor’s worth as well, Hav­ing two such com­pan­ions in the stow­er, Of war­like wights the very choice and flow­er?

XX Marphisa, wag­ing all the while the fight, On her com­pan­ions of­ten turned to gaze, And as she marked their ri­val­ry in might, Ad­mir­ing, up­on all be­stowed her praise; But when she on Rogero fixed her sight, Deemed him un­par­al­leled; and in amaze, At times be­lieved that Pal­adin was Mars, Who left his heav­en to mix in mor­tal wars.

XXI She mar­vels at the cham­pi­on’s hor­rid blows; She mar­vels how in vain they nev­er fell. The iron, smit by Bal­is­ar­da shows Like pa­per, not like stub­born plate and shell. To pieces helm and sol­id corslet goes, And men are sev­ered, even to the sell; Whom in­to equal parts those strokes di­vide, Half dropt on this, and half on the oth­er side.

XXII With the same down­right stroke, he over­bore The horse and rid­er, bleed­ing in the dust; The heads of oth­ers from their shoul­ders bore, And part­ed from the hips the bleed­ing bust. He of­ten at a blow cleft five and more; And — but I doubt who hears me might dis­trust What of a seem­ing false­hood bears the im­press — I would say more; but I par­force say less.

XXI­II Good Turpin, he who knows that he tells true, And leaves men to be­lieve what they think right, Says of Rogero won­drous things, which you Hear­ing re­lat­ed, would as false­hoods slight. Thus, with Marphisa matched, that hos­tile crew Ap­pears like ice, and she like burn­ing light. Nor her Rogero with less mar­vel eyes, That she had marked his val­our with sur­prise.

XXIV As she had Mars in bold Rogero seen, Per­haps Bel­lona he had deemed the maid, If for a wom­an he had known that queen, Who seemed the con­trary, in arms ar­rayed; And hap­ly em­ula­tion had be­tween The pair en­sued, by whom with cru­el blade Most dead­ly signs of prowess should be shown, Mid that vile herd, on sinew, flesh and bone.

XXV To rout each hos­tile squadron, filled with dread, Suf­ficed the soul and val­our of the four; Nor bet­ter arms re­mained for them who fled Than the sharp goads which on their heels they wore. Hap­py was he with cours­er well best­ed! By trot or am­ble they set lit­tle store; And he who had no steed, here learned, dis­mayed, How wretched is the poor foot-​sol­dier’s trade.

XXVI The con­queror’s prize re­mained both field and prey; Nor was there foot­man left nor mule­teer; The Moor took this, Ma­ga­nza took that way; One leaves the pris­on­ers, and one leaves the gear. With vis­age glad, and yet with heart more gay, The four unit­ed each cap­tive cav­alier; Nor were less dili­gent to free from chains The pris­oned pages, and un­load the wains.

XXVII Be­sides good quan­ti­ty of sil­ver fine, Wrought in­to dif­fer­ent ves­sels, with a store Of fem­inine ar­ray, of fair de­sign, Em­broi­dered round about with choic­est lore, And suit of Flem­ish tapestry, framed to line Roy­al apart­ments, wrought with silk and ore — – They, ‘mid more cost­ly things in plen­ty spread — Dis­cov­ered flasks of wine, and meat and bread.

XXVI­II When now the con­quer­ing troop their tem­ples bare, All see they have re­ceived a damsel’s aid, Known by her curl­ing locks of gold­en hair, And del­icate and beau­teous face dis­played: Her the knights hon­oured much, and to de­clare Her name, so well de­serv­ing glo­ry, prayed; Nor she, that ev­er was of cour­te­ous mood Among her friends, their in­stances with­stood.

XXIX With view­ing her they can­not sate their eyes, Who in the bat­tle such had her es­pied, She speaks but with the Child, but him de­scries; None prizes, val­ues none, ‘twould seem, be­side. Mean­while that ready spread a ban­quet lies, To them is by the ser­vants no­ti­fied. This they had served about a neigh­bour­ing foun­tain, Screened from the sun by an o’er­shad­ow­ing moun­tain.

XXX This spring was one of those four foun­tains rare, Of those in France pro­duced by Mer­lin’s sleight; En­com­passed round about with mar­ble fair, Shin­ing and pol­ished, and then milk more white. There in the stone choice fig­ures chisseled were, By that ma­gi­cian’s god­like labour dight; Save voice was want­ing, these you might have thought Were liv­ing and with nerve and spir­it fraught.

XXXI Here, to ap­pear­ance, from the for­est prest A cru­el Beast and hideous to the eye, With teeth of wolf, an ass’s head and crest, A car­cass with long famine lean and dry, And li­on’s claws; a fox in all the rest: Which seemed to rav­age France and Italy, And Spain and Eng­land’s des­olat­ed strands, Eu­rope and Asia, and in fine all lands.

XXXII The beast the low and those of proud­est port Had slain or maimed through­out this earth­ly ball; Yea, fiercest seemed on those of no­ble sort, Sovereign and satrap, prince and peer, to fall; And made most hav­oc in the Ro­man court; For it had slaugh­tered Pope and Car­di­nal: Had filled St. Pe­ter’s beau­teous seat with scathe, And brought foul scan­dal on the HOLY FAITH.

XXXI­II Whate’er she touch­es, wall or ram­pire steep, Goes to the ground’ where’er the mon­ster wends, Each fortress opens; nei­ther cas­tle-​keep, Nor city from her rage its wealth de­fends. Hon­ours di­vine as well that Beast would reap, It seems (while the be­sot­ted rab­ble bends) And claim with­al, as to its keep­ing giv­en, The sa­cred keys which open Hell and Heav­en.

XXXIV Ap­proach­ing next, is seen a cav­alier, His tem­ples cir­cled with im­pe­ri­al bay; Three youths with him in com­pa­ny ap­pear, With gold­en lilies wrought in their ar­ray: A li­on seems against that mon­ster drear To is­sue, with the same de­vice as they: The name of these are on the mar­ble read, Some on their skirt, some writ­ten over­head.

XXXV Of those who so against Beast ad­vance, One to the hilt has in his life-​blood dyed His faul­chion, Fran­cis styled the first of France; With Aus­tri­an Max­im­il­ian at his side: In one, who gores his gul­let with the lance, The em­per­or Charles the fifth is sig­ni­fied: Hen­ry the eighth of Eng­land is he hight, Who in the mon­ster’s breast a dart has pight.

XXXVI The TENTH, in writ­ing, on his back dis­played The Li­on, who that Beast is seen to hold By both his ears, and him so well has bayed, That thith­er troop as­sis­tants man­ifold. ‘Twould seem the world all fear aside has laid; And, in amend­ment of their er­rors old, Thith­er­ward no­bles troop, but these are few; And so that hideous Beast those hunters slew.

XXXVII In won­der stood long time that war­like train, De­sirous, as the sto­ried work they traced, To know by hands of whom that Beast was slain, Which had so many smil­ing lands de­faced, The names un­known to them, though fig­ured plain Up­on the mar­ble which that foun­tain cased: They one an­oth­er prayed, if any guessed That sto­ry, he would tell it to the rest.

XXXVI­II Vi­vian on Malagi­gi turned his eyes, Who lis­ten­ing stood this while, yet spake he nought. “With thee,” he cried, “to tell the mean­ing lies, Who are they, by whose darts and lances dies That shouldst by what I see in this be taught: The hideous mon­ster, that to bay is brought?” — And Malagi­gi — “Hith­er­to their glo­ry No au­thor has con­signed to liv­ing sto­ry.

XXXIX “The chiefs whose names are graved up­on the stone, Not yet have moved up­on this world­ly stage; But will with­in sev­en hun­dred years be known, To the great hon­our of a fu­ture age. What time king Arthur filled the British throne, This foun­tain Mer­lin made, en­chanter sage; Who things to come up­on the mar­ble fair Made sculp­ture by a cun­ning artist’s care.

XL “This Beast, when weights and mea­sures first were found, Came out of nether hell; when on the plain, Com­mon be­fore, men fixed the land­mark’s bound, And fash­ioned writ­ten pacts with jeal­ous pain; Yet walked not ev­ery where, at first, her round: Un­vis­it­ed she left yet many a reign: Through di­verse places in our time she wends; But the vile rab­ble and the crowd of­fends.

XLI “From the be­gin­ning even to our day, Aye has that mon­ster grown, and aye will grow; And till much time be past will grow al­way: Was nev­er might­ier, nor worse cause of woe. That Python, oft the theme of an­cient lay, So pass­ing won­der­ful and fierce in show, Came not by half this loath­some mon­ster nigh, In all its foul­ness and de­for­mi­ty.

XLII “Dread des­ola­tion shall it make; nor place Will un­pol­lut­ed or un­taint­ed be; And you in the mys­te­ri­ous sculp­tured trace But lit­tle of its foul in­iq­ui­ty. The world, when weary of im­plor­ing grace, Those wor­thy peers (whose names you sculp­tured see, And which shall blaz­ing car­bun­cle out­shine), To suc­cour in its ut­most need com­bine.

XLI­II “No one shall more that cru­el beast mo­lest Than Fran­cis, who the realm of France will steer, Who just­ly shall be for­ward in this quest, Whom none shall go be­yond, whom few shall peer Since he in splen­dour, as in all the rest, Want­ing in worth, will many make ap­pear Who whilom per­fect seemed; so fade and yield All less­er glo­ries to the sun re­vealed.

XLIV “In the first year of his suc­cess­ful reign, The crown yet ill se­cure up­on his front, He threads the Alps, and makes their labour vain, Who would against his arms main­tain the Mount. Im­pelled by gen­er­ous and by just dis­dain, The un­avenged as yet is that af­front, Which a French army suf­fered from their rage, Who poured from beast-​cote, field, and pas­turage:

XLV “And thence shall in­to the rich Lom­bard plain De­scend, with all the flow­er of France, and so Shall break the Switzer, that hence­forth in vain Would he up­lift his horn against the foe. To the sore scan­dal of the Church and Spain, And to the Flo­ren­tine’s much scathe and woe, By him that fa­mous cas­tle shall be quelled, Which in­ex­pugnable whilere was held.

XLVI “In quelling it his hon­oured faul­chion, more Than oth­er arms, avail­ing shall be found; Which first that cru­el Beast to death will gore, The foul de­stroy­er of each coun­try round: Par­force will ev­ery stan­dard fly be­fore That con­quer­ing faul­chion, or be cast to ground: Nor, stormed by it, will ram­part, fos­se, or wall, Se­cure the city, they sur­round, from fall.

XLVII “Im­bued with ev­ery gen­er­ous qual­ity, Which can in great com­man­der be com­bined, — Pru­dence like his who won Thrasy­menae And Treb­bia’s field, with Cae­sar’s dar­ing mind, And Alexan­der’s for­tune, him I see; With­out which all de­signs are mist and wind; With­al, so pass­ing lib­er­al, I in none Mark his ex­am­ple or his par­ragon.”

XLVI­II So Malagi­gi to his com­rades said, And moved in them de­sire some name to hear Of oth­ers, who had laid that mon­ster dead, Which to slay oth­ers had been used whilere. Among the first Bernar­do’s name was read, Much vaunt­ed in the writ­ing of the Seer: Who said, “Through him as known as Bib­bi­ena As her own neigh­bour Flo­rence and Siena.

XLIX “More for­ward in this chase shall no one show Than Sigis­mond, than Lewis, and than John; Each to that hideous beast a cru­el foe; One a Gon­za­ga, one of Ar­ragon, And one a Salviati: with them go Fran­cis Gon­za­ga and Fred­er­ick his son: Broth­er and son-​in-​law, their aid af­ford; One chief Fer­rara’s, one Urbino’s lord.

L “Of one of these the son, Sir Guidobald, Will not by sire, or oth­er, dis­tanced be: With Ot­to­bon de Flis­co, Sini­bald Chas­es the Beast, both striv­ing equal­ly: Lewis de Gazo­lo its neck has galled With one of those keen darts, Apol­lo’s fee, Giv­en with his bow, what time as well his glaive, The god of war, to gird that war­rior, gave.

LI “Two Her­cules and two Hip­poly­ti Of Este, a Her­cules and Hip­poly­te Of the Gon­za­gas’ and the Medi­ci, Hunt and fa­tigue the mon­ster in his flight: Nor Ju­lian lets his good son pass him by; Nor bold Fer­rant his broth­er; nor less wight Is An­drew Do­ria; nor by any one Is Fran­cis Sforza in the chase out­done.

LII “Of good Ava­lo’s glo­ri­ous lin­eage bred, Two chiefs that moun­tain for their bear­ing show, Which, hid­ing him, from drag­on-​feet to head, The wicked Ty­pheus seems to keep be­low. ‘Mid those com­bined, to lay the mon­ster dead, Shall none more for­ward than this cou­ple go: Him Fran­cis of Pescara names the text; Alphon­so, hight of Guas­to, is the next.

LI­II “But where leave I Gon­sal­vo Fer­rant, who Is held in such es­teem, the pride of Spain? So praised by Malagi­gi, that him few Equal among the wor­thies of that train. William, sur­named of Mon­fer­ra­to, view ‘Mid those that have the hideous mon­ster slain: But these are few com­pared with num­bers round, Whom that de­spi­teous Beast shall kill or wound.”

LIV To con­verse gay the friends them­selves ad­drest, And seem­ly pas­times, when their meal was done, Through the hot noon­tide, and fine car­pets prest, ‘Mid shrubs, by which the limpid riv­er run. Vi­vian and Malagi­gi, that the rest Might be more tran­quil, watched with ar­mour on; When un­ac­com­pa­nied they saw a dame, Who quick­ly to­wards their place of shel­ter came;

LV Hip­pal­ca she; from whom was torn away Fron­ti­no, that good horse, by Rodomont: Him had she long pur­sued the for­mer day, And now with prayer, now fol­lowed with af­front. Which boot­ing nought, she had re­traced her way, To seek Rogero out in Agris­mont; And, how I know not, heard up­on her round, He here with Richard­et­to would be found.

LVI And, for to her well known was that re­pair, Used by her of­ten, she her­self ad­drest To­wards the fount, and in that quar­ter fair Found him, and in what man­ner, was ex­prest; But like em­bas­sadress, who — wise and ware — Bet­ter than was en­joined per­forms a hest, When Richard­et­to she be­held, made show As if she good Rogero did not know.

LVII She turned her whol­ly to Sir Richard­et, As bound di­rect to him; and, on his side, He who well knew her, straight up­rose and met, And asked that damsel whith­er­ward she hied. Hip­pal­ca, with her eyes yet red and wet From her long weep­ing, sigh­ing deeply, cried, But cried aloud, that young Rogero, near The war­rior she ad­drest, her tale might hear:

LVI­II “I from Mount Al­ban with a cours­er sped; (So your good sis­ter had com­mand­ed me) A horse much loved by her, and high­ly bred; Fron­ti­no is yclept that charg­er free; And him I more than thir­ty miles had led To­wards Mar­seilles, where she de­signed to be With­in few days; by her en­joined to wend Thith­er, and her ar­rival there at­tend.

LIX “I in the sure be­lief pur­sued my course, Was none so stout of heart, if I should say How Sir Ri­nal­do’s sis­ter owned the horse, He would pre­sume to take that steed away. But vain was my de­sign; for him par­force A Sara­cen took from me yes­ter­day: Nor, when to him his mas­ter’s name I read, Will that bold rob­ber ren­der back the steed.

LX “Him I to-​day and all the day be­fore Have prayed, and prayer and men­ace prov­ing vain, Aye curs­ing him and ex­ecrat­ing sore, Have left at lit­tle dis­tance; where, with pain, Both to his cours­er and him­self, the Moor, As best he can, a com­bat does main­tain Against a knight, who him so hard has prest, I trust my in­jury shall be re­drest.”

LXI At this Rogero, leap­ing on his feet, Who scarce­ly had en­dured the whole to hear, To Richard­et­to turned; and, as a meet Guer­don for his good deed, the cav­alier Did, with be­seech­ings in­fi­nite, en­treat To let him singly with that damsel steer, Un­til she showed the payn­im, who by force Had wrest­ed from her hands that good­ly horse.

LXII Richard­et (though it seems dis­cour­tesy To yield to oth­er cham­pi­on that em­prize, Which by him­self should ter­mi­nat­ed be) Yet with Rogero’s earnest suit com­plies; Who takes farewell of that good com­pa­ny, And with the damsel on her jour­ney hies. And leaves those oth­ers, whom his feats con­found, Not mere­ly lost in won­der, but as­toud.

LXI­II To him Hip­pal­ca said, when she apart Had drawn him to some dis­tance from the rest, She was dis­patched by her that in her heart Bore of his worth the im­age so im­prest; — And added, with­out us­ing far­ther art, All that her la­dy had to him ad­drest; And if she told an­oth­er tale whilere, Of Richard­et­to she was then in fear.

LX­IV She added how the au­thor of that deed Had al­so said to her with mick­le pride; “Be­cause I know Rogero owns the steed, More will­ing­ly I take him from his guide. If he would re­pos­sess the cours­er, read To him what I have no de­sire to hide, I am that Rodomont, whose mar­tial worth Scat­ters its splen­dour through this am­ple earth.”

LXV Lis­ten­ing, the vis­age of the youth­ful knight Showed with what rage his heart was in a flame, As well as that the horse was his de­light; As well up­on ac­count of whence it came; And al­so that ’twas reft in his de­spite; He sees dis­hon­our will en­sue and blame, Save he from Rodomont re­deems the prey, And with a due re­venge that wrong re­pay.

LXVI With him, with­out re­pose, the damsel rides, Who with his foe would bring him front to front; And thith­er journies where the road di­vides, And one branch cuts the plain, one climbs the mount, And ei­ther path­way to that val­ley guides, Where she had new­ly left King Rodomont, The moun­tain track was short, but trod with pain; That oth­er longer far, but smooth and plain.

LXVII Hip­pal­ca’s ar­dour to re­trieve the prey, And up­on Rodomont’s avenge the wrong, In­cites that maid the moun­tain to as­say; By which (as said) the jour­ney was less long: While Man­dri­car­do, Rodomont, and they Of whom I erst made men­tion in my song, That eas­ier track across the lev­el hold; And thus en­counter not Rogero bold.

LXVI­II Un­til King Agra­mant shall suc­coured be, Sus­pend­ed is their quar­rel (in what wise You know), and in the cham­pi­ons’ com­pa­ny Do­ral­ice, cause of all their dis­cord, hies. Now hear the up­shot of this his­to­ry! Their way di­rect­ly by that foun­tain lies, Be­side whose mar­gin are in pas­time met Marphisa and Aldigi­er and Richard­et.

LX­IX Marphisa had, at her com­pan­ions’ prayer, Cloathed her in fe­male or­na­ments and vest, Of those, which by Ma­ga­nza’s trai­tour were Late to Lan­fusa, in full trust, ad­drest; And, though the ap­pear­ance of that maid was rare With­out her corslet, casque and all the rest, — At their en­treaty, these for once laid down — She deigned to seem a maid and donned the gown.

LXX As soon as Man­dri­car­do saw her face, In trust that, could he win her in af­fray, He would that maid, in rec­om­pense and place Of Do­ral­ice, to Rodomont con­vey; As if Love traf­ficked in such con­tracts base, And lover could his la­dy change away, Nor yet with rea­son at the event be pained, If he in los­ing one an­oth­er gained.

LXXI Hence with a damsel to pro­vide the peer, That he him­self the oth­er may re­tain; Deem­ing her wor­thy any cav­alier, He would by force of arms the maid ob­tain; And, as if he could sud­den­ly hold dear This maid as that, on him be­stow the gain; And all of those, whom he about her spied, Forth­with to joust and sin­gle fight de­fied.

LXXII Vi­vian and Malagi­gi (who were dight In arms, as guard and sure­ty for the rest,) One and the oth­er cham­pi­on — prompt for fight, Rose light­ly from the herbage which they prest, Deem­ing they had to joust with ei­ther knight; But Rodomont, who came not on this quest, No mo­tion made as he a course would run; So that they had to tour­ney but with one.

LXXI­II Sir Vi­vian is the first who moves his horse, With mighty heart, and lays his weapon low; And he, that Tar­tar king, renowned for force, With greater puis­sance meets the com­ing foe. His lance each war­rior lev­els in the course Where he bests trusts to plant the fu­ri­ous blow. Vain­ly Sir Vi­vian’s spear the casque of­fends; Nor throws that payn­im knight, nor even bends.

LXXIV That Tar­tar’s hard­er weapon makes the shield Of Vi­vian, at their on­set, fly like grass; And, tum­bling from his sad­dle on the field, Ex­tends the cham­pi­on amid flow­ers and grass. To run his chance Sir Malagi­gi, steeled, Did to his broth­er’s suc­cour quick­ly pass; But (such that war­rior’s hur­ry to be near) Rather ac­com­pa­nied, than venged the peer.

LXXV The oth­er of those brethren armed be­fore His cousin, and had backed his cours­er wight; And, hav­ing first de­fied, en­coun­tered sore, Spurring with flow­ing rein, the stranger knight. Against the tem­pered helm that pa­gan wore Sound­ed the blow, an inch be­low the sight: Heav­en-​high the trun­cheon flew, in frag­ments broke, But the stout pa­gan winced not for the stroke.

LXXVI Him on the left side smote that payn­im peer, And (for the blow was with huge force de­signed) Lit­tle his shield, and less his iron gear, Availed, which opened like the yield­ing rhind: The weapon pierced his shoul­der; Aldigi­er Now right now left up­on his horse in­clined; Then him, ‘mid grass and flow­ers, his com­rades view, With arms of crim­son, face of pal­lid, hue.

LXXVII Next Richard­et­to comes, and for the blow In­tend­ed, lev­els such a mighty lance, He showed him­self, as he was wont to show, Wor­thy to be a pal­adin of France; And has stamped signs of this up­on the foe. If he had warred on him with equal chance; But pros­trate rolled, en­cum­bered by his steed; Nor fell the cours­er through his lord’s mis­deed.

LXXVI­II When knight ap­peared not on the oth­er side, Who should in joust the payn­im king af­front, He thought the damsel was his prize, and hied Thith­er, where she was seat­ed by the fount. And — “La­dy, you are mine,” the Tar­tar cried, “Save oth­er cham­pi­on in your suc­cour mount; Nor can you make de­nial or ex­cuse, Since such the right of war and com­mon use.”

LXXIX Marphisa raised her face with haughty cheer, And an­swered him: “Thy judg­ment wan­ders far; I will con­cede thy sen­tence would be clear, Con­clud­ing I am thine by right of war, If ei­ther were my lord or cav­alier Of those, by thee un­horsed in bloody jar: Nor theirs am I, nor oth­er’s, but my own, Who wins me, wins me from my­self alone.

LXXX “I too with lance and sword do doughty deed, And more than one good knight on earth have laid. — Give me,” she cried, “my ar­mour and my steed.” And read­ily her squires that hest obeyed: Then in her waist­coat stood, of flow­ing weed De­spoiled, with well-​knit from and charms dis­played; And in all points (such strength she shewed and grace) Re­sem­bled heav­en­ly Mars, ex­cept her face.

LXXXI The damsel donned her sword, when armed all o’er, And on her cours­er leapt with nim­ble spring; And, right and left, she made him, thrice or more Poised on his haunch­es, turn in nar­row ring. And, lev­el­ling the stur­dy lance she bore, De­fied, and next as­sailed, the Tar­tar king. So com­bat­ing with Peleus’ son, of yore, Penthe­si­laea warred on Tro­jan shore.

LXXXII Like brit­tle crys­tal, in that proud ca­reer, The weapons at the rest to pieces went; Yet nei­ther of those war­riors, ‘twould ap­pear, Back­wards one inch at their en­counter bent. Marphisa, who would will­ing­ly be clear What of a clos­er fight would be the event, For a new com­bat with the payn­im lord, Wheeled, to at­tack that war­rior with the sword.

LXXXI­II That Tar­tar cursed the el­ements and sky, When her he saw re­main­ing in her sell; And she, who thought to make his buck­ler fly, Cursed heav­en as loud­ly as that in­fi­del. Al­ready were their faul­chions raised on high, Which on the en­chant­ed arms like ham­mers fell: En­chant­ed arms both com­bat­ants en­close, Nev­er more need­ed by those dead­ly foes.

LXXXIV So per­fect are the cham­pi­ons’ plate and chain, They thrust or cut of spear or faul­chion stay; So that the two the bat­tle might main­tain, Through­out this and through­out an­oth­er day: But Rodomont leaps in be­tween the twain, And tax­es Man­dri­car­do with de­lay; Cry­ing, “If bat­tle here is to be done, Fin­ish we that which we to-​day be­gun.

LXXXV “We made a truce, thou know­est, up­on pact Of fur­nish­ing our baf­fled forces aid; Nor foe in joust or fight can be at­tacked By us with jus­tice till this debt be paid.” Then to Marphisa he in rev­er­ent act Ad­dressed him­self, and of that couri­er said; And next re­count­ed to the mar­tial dame, How seek­ing aid for Agra­mant he came.

LXXXVI Next prays not on­ly with that Tar­tar knight She will aban­don or de­fer the fray; But that, Troy­ano’s valiant son to right, She will, to­geth­er with them, wend her way; By which her war­like fame a high­er flight, More eas­ily may, even to heav­en, as­say, Than in a quar­rel of such pal­try guise, Which of­fers hin­drance to such fair em­prize.

LXXXVII Marphisa, who had ev­er­more in thought To prove the pal­adins of Charles, and who To France was over land and ocean brought, From clime so dis­tant, with no oth­er view, Than by her own ex­pe­ri­ence to be taught If their far-​spread renown were false or true, Re­solved to­geth­er with the troop to speed, As soon as she had heard their monarch’s need.

LXXXVI­II Mean­while Rogero, with that guid­ing may, Had vain­ly by the rugged path­way sped; Who that king Rodomont an­oth­er way Had tak­en, when he reached the moun­tain, read; And think­ing, that he was not far away, And the road straight to­wards that foun­tain led, Trot­ting in haste be­hind the Sarzan hied, Where he new prints up­on the path es­pied.

LXXXIX Hip­pal­ca he to Mont Al­bano prayed, To wend, which dis­tant one day’s jour­ney lies; Be­cause to seek anew that foun­tain-​glade, Would be to wan­der in too wide a guise. And that she need not doubt with­al, he said, But that he would re­trieve the rav­ished prize. And, were she in Mount Al­ban — or where’er — Vowed she the tid­ings speed­ily should hear,

XC And gave the let­ter to that maid to bear, Which, writ by him, he in his bo­som wore, And added many mat­ters, with the prayer, She would ex­cuse him by her friend­ly lore. Hip­pal­ca in her mem­ory fixt, with care, The whole; took leave, and turned her horse once more: Nor ceased that faith­ful mes­sen­ger to ride Till she Mount Al­ban reached at evening-​tide.

XCI Rogero fol­lowed fast the payn­im knight, Tracked o’er the lev­el by those foot­steps new, But over­took him not, till he got sight, Be­side the fount, of Man­dri­car­do too. Al­ready ei­ther had his promise plight, He nought un­known to his com­peer would do, Till they had suc­cour to that host con­veyed, On which King Charles his yoke had near­ly laid.

XCII Ar­rived, Rogero knew Fron­ti­no gay, And, through that cours­er, knew the knight astride; And on his lance with bend­ing shoul­der lay, And in fierce tone the African de­fied. Job was out­done by Rodomont that day, In that the king sub­dued his haughty pride, And the fell fight which he had ev­er used To seek with ev­ery in­stance, he re­fused.

XCII The first day this and last, that e’er in fight King Rodomont re­fused his part to bear! But his de­sire ap­peared to him so right, In suc­cour of his sovereign to re­pair; That if he had be­lieved he clutched the knight Faster than nim­ble leop­ard gripes the hare, He not so far his pur­pose would forego, As on his prey to waste a pass­ing blow.

XCIV Add, that he knows Rogero is the peer Who him for good Fron­ti­no now as­sails; — So fa­mous, that no oth­er cav­alier Like him such em­inence of glo­ry scales; — The man, of whom he glad­ly would be clear, By proof, how much in bat­tle he avails: Yet shuns the com­bat, prof­fered on his part; So much his monarch’s siege has he at heart.

XCV Three hun­dred miles, a thou­sand, would he ride, — Were it not so — to pur­chase such af­fray; But he, if him Achilles had de­fied, Had done no oth­er­wise than as I say; So deeply did the cov­er­ing ash­es hide That fire be­neath, whose fury sti­fled lay: He told why he re­fused the strife; and prayed, As well Rogero the de­sign to aid.

XCVI Adding that he, in do­ing so, would do What to his lord a faith­ful vas­sal owes; Still, when the siege was raised, might they re­new And ter­mi­nate their dead­ly strife by blows. To him Rogero cried, “The fight with you I freely will de­fer, till from his foes King Agra­mant be res­cued by the sword; Pro­vid­ed first Fron­ti­no be re­stored.

XCVII “Would you that I de­lay to prove by deed, That you have act­ed in un­wor­thy sort, — Nor did, like valiant man, to take my steed Thus from a wom­an — till we meet at court, Ren­der me my Fron­ti­no back, or read, Up­on no oth­er ground, will I sup­port That bat­tle shall not be be­tween us two; Nor will ac­cord an hour of truce to you.”

XCVI­II While of that African he so de­mands Fron­ti­no, or him threats with in­stant fray; And ei­ther still the oth­er’s claim with­stands, Nor this the steed will grant, nor that de­lay; King Man­dri­car­do stirs, on the oth­er hand, An­oth­er strife; who sees that en­sign gay Rogero on his shield was wont to wear, The bird which reigns o’er oth­er fowls of air.

XCIX He bore on azure field that ea­gle white, The beau­teous en­sign of the Tro­jan throng: Such glo­ri­ous bear­ing showed that youth­ful knight, Be­cause he drew his line from Hec­tor strong. But Man­dri­car­do knew not of this right, Nor would en­dure — and deemed a cry­ing wrong, That any oth­er but him­self should wield Famed Hec­tor’s ar­gent ea­gle on his shield.

C King Man­dri­car­do is like bla­zon wore The bird of Ide, which bore off Ganymede: How in the cas­tle per­ilous of yore, He gained that no­ble en­sign for his meed, — That en­ter­prize I ween, with mat­ter more, You bear in mind, and how, for his good deed, The fairy gave it him with all the gear, Erst giv­en by Vul­can to the Tro­jan peer.

CI The Tar­tar and Rogero had be­fore En­gaged in bat­tle, on­ly on this quest, Di­vid­ed by what ac­ci­dent, my lore Re­cites not, as al­ready man­ifest: Nor had till now those knights en­coun­tered more: When Man­dri­car­do sees that bird im­prest On the Child’s shield, he shouts with threat­en­ing cry To young Rogero: “Take my proud de­fy!”

CII “Au­da­cious man, mine en­sign do’st thou wear, Nor this to-​day for the first time, is said; And think’st thou, mad­man, I will thee for­bear, Be­cause for once to spare thee I was led? But since nor men­ace nor yet coun­sel are Of force to drive this fol­ly from thy head, It shall ap­pear how much it had been best For thee forth­with to have obeyed my hest.”

CI­II “As fire, where­on dry, heat­ed wood is strown, Roused by a lit­tle puff, at once as­cends, So burns Rogero’s wrath, to fury blown, By the first word with which that king of­fends. “Thou think­est,” he ex­claims, “to bear me down, Be­cause his knight as well with me con­tends: But learn that I can win in fight­ing field From him the horse, from thee good Hec­tor’s shield.

CIV “Yet once be­fore — nor is it long ago — Twixt us in bat­tle was this ques­tion tried: But I that day re­strained the mur­der­ous blow, Be­cause thou hadst no faul­chion at thy side. These shall be deeds, that strife was but a show; And ill this ar­gent bird shall thee be­tide; This is the an­cient bear­ing of my line; Tis thou usurpest what by right is mine.”

CV — “Say rather, thou usurpest mine from me”; Cried Man­dri­car­do; and that faul­chion drew, Which late­ly, un­der­neath the green­wood tree, Or­lan­do from his hand in fury threw. The Child, who could not aught but cour­te­ous be, (Such was his gen­tle na­ture) at the view Of Man­dri­car­do, with his faul­chion drawn, Let fall his ready lance up­on the lawn;

CVI And at the same time, strained his good­ly sword; And bet­ter braced the cov­er­ing shield he wore: But ‘twixt those com­bat­ants leapt Argi­er’s lord, And quick Marphisa spurred the pair be­fore; And one this foe, the oth­er that im­plored, And both be­sought, that they would strive no more. King Rodomont com­plains the Tar­tar knight Has vi­olat­ed twice the com­pact plight.

CVII First, in be­lief he should Marphisa gain, He more than once had joust­ed for that fair; Now to bear off Rogero’s en­sign fain, He for king Agra­mant shows lit­tle care. — “If thus” (said Rodomont) “you faith main­tain, To fin­ish our own com­bat bet­ter were, A cause of strife more fit­ting and more due Than ei­ther of the pleas main­tained by you.

CVI­II “On this con­di­tion was the treaty plight, And the ac­cord be­tween us now in force; When I with thee shall have per­formed the fight, I next shall an­swer him about the horse: You then with him, if you sur­vive, your right Shall to the shield main­tain in war­like course. But I such work shall give you, I con­ceive, As will small labour for Rogero leave.”

CIX — “The bar­gain which thou hopest thou shalt not have,” (King Man­dri­car­do an­swered Rodomont) “I will ac­cord thee more than thou do’st crave, And trust to make thee sweat from feet to front. And to be­stow on oth­ers, much shall save, As wa­ter nev­er fails in plen­teous font; And for Rogero and a thou­sand more, And all the world be­side re­serve a store.”

CX Their fury waxed, and an­gri­er words en­sued, Now up­on this and now up­on that side. With Rodomont and with the Child at feud, Fierce Man­dri­car­do both at once de­fied. Rogero, not en­dowed with suf­fer­ing mood, Would hear no more of peace, but vengeance cried. Now here Marphisa hur­ried, and now there, But could not singly such an ill re­pair.

CXI As peas­ant, when a riv­er saps its mounds, And seek­ing vent the ooz­ing wa­ters drop, Has­ten­ing to shut the stream with­in its bounds, And save his pas­tures and ex­pect­ed crop, Dams right and left; yet him the stream con­founds: For, if he here the sink­ing ru­in prop, There he be­holds the rot­ten dyke give out, And from thick seams the rest­less wa­ter spout,

CXII So, while the Tar­tar and Rogero rage, And Rodomont, in hurly-​burly fray, For each of these would fiercest bat­tle wage, And would out­go his fears in that as­say, Marphisa seeks their fury to as­suage, And strives, and time and trou­ble throws away; For as she makes one knight from strife re­tire, She sees the oth­ers re-​en­gage with ire.

CXI­II Marphisa, to ap­pease the war­riors bent, Ex­claimed, “Sirs, lis­ten to my bet­ter lore; A good re­mem­brance ’tis, all ar­gu­ment To leave un­til we Agra­mant re­store. If each is on his own de­sign in­tent, With Man­dri­car­do will I strive once more; And fain would see, ac­cord­ing to his word, If he can con­quer me with spear and sword.

CX­IV “But if, to aid our sovereign, du­ty call, Him let us aid, nor civ­il dis­cord breed.” — “To ground, through me, such project shall not fall,” Rogero said, “so he re­store my steed. Let him re­sign that horse, or — once for all. I say again — to his de­fence take heed. I ei­ther here my part­ing breath will yield, Or on my cours­er will re­turn afield.”

CXV — “Twere not so easy to ob­tain this quest As ’twere that oth­er,” Rodomont replied; And thus pur­sued: “I un­to thee protest, If any evil shall our king be­tide, Thine is the fault not mine; for I am prest To do whate’er is fit­ting, on my side.” Small heed to that protest Rogero paid, And stung by fury, griped his tren­chant blade.

CXVI On Argi­er’s king he sprang, like sav­age boar, En­coun­ter­ing him with shoul­der and with shield; And him dis­or­dered and dis­trest so sore, That with one stir­rup’s loss, the monarch reeled. — “Rogero,” Man­dri­car­do cried, “give o’er, Or else with me di­vide the bat­tle-​field”; And struck, this said, with worse than felon spite, Up­on the mori­on of that youth­ful knight.

CXVII Even to his cours­er’s neck Rogero bends; Nor, when he would, him­self can rear; Be­cause the sword of Ulien’s son de­scends As well up­on the youth­ful cav­alier; And, but that adamant his face de­fends, Across the cheeks his tem­pered helm would sheer. The Child, in an­guish, opens ei­ther hand; And this the bri­dle drops and that the brand.

CXVI­II Him o’er the field his cours­er bears away; On earth the faul­chion lies, which he let go: Marphisa (with Rogero’s through that day, Com­rade in arms) ap­peared like fire to glow, En­raged, that two one knight should over­lay; And, as mag­nan­imous and stout, for foe Sin­gled King Man­dri­car­do out, and sped, With all her might, stroke up­on his head.

CX­IX Rodomont o’er the plain pur­sues his man. — An­oth­er stroke, and he has lost the horse! But Richard­et­to drives, and Vi­vian, Be­tween the Child and payn­im in that course. This war­rior at the king of Argi­er ran, And from Rogero sev­ered him by force; That (it was Vi­vian) in Rogero’s hand, Now from the blow re­cov­ered, placed his brand.

CXX As soon as to him­self the Child re­turns, And is by Vi­vian armed with sword again, To venge the in­jury that stripling burns, And runs at Rodomont with flow­ing rein, Like li­on, whom a bull up­on his horns Has lift­ed, though he feels this while no pain, So him his heat of blood, dis­dain, and ire, To venge that cru­el out­rage goad and fire.

CXXI Rogero storms up­on the payn­im’s crest; And, could that knight re­cov­er his own brand, Which by foul felony (as erst ex­prest) Was rav­ished from the youth­ful war­rior’s hand, I well be­lieve that the de­scend­ing pest Rodomont’s iron casque will ill with­stand; That casque which Ba­bel’s king bade forge, who sought To war on Heav­en in his pre­sump­tu­ous thought.

CXXII Dis­cord, be­liev­ing noth­ing could en­sue But stir, and strife, and com­bat on that head; And that there was no place, amid the crew, For truce or treaty, to her sis­ter said, That she, her well-​beloved monks to view, Might now again with her se­cure­ly tread. Let them de­part; and mark we where in front Rogero has sore wound­ed Rodomont.

CXXI­II Rogero’s blow was lev­elled with such spite, That this up­on Fron­ti­no’s crup­per made The hel­met and the shell of iron smite, In which that Sara­cen his limbs ar­rayed; And he, three times or four, to left and right, — As if about to fall — head-​fore­most, swayed; And would have lost with­al his trusty brand, But that the hilt was fas­tened to his hand.

CXXIV Marphisa has king Man­dri­car­do prest Mean­while, and makes him sweat breast, front, and face; And he Marphisa has as sore dis­trest: But such good plates each valiant bo­som case, Im­pass­able is ei­ther iron vest; And both have hith­er­to main­tained their place. But, at a turn her mar­tial cours­er made, Marphisa need­ed young Rogero’s aid.

CXXV Marphisa’s mar­tial steed, in turn­ing short, Where a firm foot­ing that soft mead de­nied, On the moist sur­face slipt, and in such sort, That he fell, help­less, on his bet­ter side; And, as he rose in haste and lacked sup­port, Athwart by fu­ri­ous Brigli­ador was plied; On which the payn­im, lit­tle cour­te­ous, came; So that he fell anew be­neath the dame.

CXXVI Rogero, when Marphisa on the ground He saw un­horsed, de­ferred no more his aid; Who for that deed had leisure; since, as­tound, Rodomont far away had been con­veyed: He smote the mori­on which that Tar­tar crowned; And, cleft like stalk, his head on earth had laid, Had he his trusty Bal­is­ar­da born, Or Man­dri­car­do oth­er hel­met worn.

CXXVII Rodomont, of his sens­es re­pos­sest, Turned round this while, and Richard­et­to spied; And rec­ol­lect­ing how, when late dis­trest, He to Rogero suc­cour had sup­plied, Quick­ly against that youth­ful war­rior prest; Who an ill guer­don would from him abide, Did Malagi­gi not his mal­ice thwart With oth­er mag­ic and with mick­le art.

CXXVI­II Sage Malagi­gi versed in ev­ery sleight Which by the wis­est wiz­ard can be done; Al­though his book he has not, by whose might, He in his course can stop the pass­ing sun; The con­ju­ra­tion rec­ol­lects and rite, By which he tames the rebel fiends; and one Bids en­ter in­to Do­ral­ice’s steed, Whom he to fury stings and head­long speed.

CXXIX In­to that gen­tle pal­frey’s form, who bore The beau­teous daugh­ter of King Stordi­lane, Sir Vi­vian’s broth­er, sim­ply by his lore, Made pass an an­gel of the dark do­main; And the good horse, who nev­er moved be­fore, Ex­cept in due obe­di­ence to the rein, Now took a leap, pos­sest by that ill sprite, Thir­ty feet long and six­teen feet in height.

CXXX It was a mighty leap, yet not so wide As to make any rid­er void the sell. See­ing her­self so high in air, loud cried, (Yield­ing her­self for dead) that bon­ni­bel. Her pal­frey, with the Dae­mon for his guide, Af­ter his leap, runs, goad­ed by the spell (The maid still scream­ing) such a fu­ri­ous course, An ar­row had not reached the fly­ing horse.

CXXXI At the first hear­ing of that voice, the son Of Ulien, on his part, the strife sus­pend­ed; And thith­er, where the fu­ri­ous pal­frey run, Swift­ly in suc­cour of the la­dy wend­ed. No less was by the Tar­tar monarch done; Who nei­ther Child nor damsel more of­fend­ed; But with­out crav­ing time, or truce, or peace, Pur­sued King Rodomont and Do­ral­ice.

CXXXII Marphisa rose mean­while, to fury stirred; And, with dis­dain all over in a glow, Thought to ac­com­plish her re­venge, and erred: For at too great a dis­tance was the foe. Rogero, who be­held the war de­ferred, Rather like li­on roared than sighed: well know Those two their cours­ers they should vain­ly gore, Fol­low­ing Fron­ti­no and good Brigli­ador.

CXXXI­II Rogero will not halt till he re­new And end the un­fin­ished com­bat for the horse; Marphisa will not quit that Tar­tar, who Will to her sat­is­fac­tion prove his force. To leave their quar­rel in such guise the two Es­teem foul scan­dal; as their bet­ter course, In chase of those of­fend­ing knights to fare, Is the con­clu­sion of that valiant pair.

CXXXIV They in the payn­im camp will find each foe, If them be­fore they find not on their way; Whom thith­er bound, to raise the siege they know, Ere Charle­magne bring all be­neath his sway. So thith­er­ward the twain di­rect­ly go Where these, they deem, will be their cer­tain prey. Yet not so rude­ly thence Rogero broke, But that he first with his com­pan­ion spoke.

CXXXV Thith­er re­turns Rogero, where apart Is he, the broth­er of his la­dy fair; And vows him­self his friend, with gen­er­ous heart, In good or evil for­tune, ev­ery­where. Him he im­plores — and frames his speech with art — He his salutes will to his sis­ter bear; And this so well, he moves by that re­quest No doubt in him, nor any of the rest.

CXXXVI Of Malagi­gi he and Vi­viane Next takes farewell and wound­ed Aldigi­er; Their ser­vices no less that kind­ly twain Prof­fer, as ev­er debtors to the peer. Marphisa to seek Paris is so fain, That part­ing she for­gets her friends to cheer; But Malagi­gi and Vi­vian, in pur­suit, Fol­low, and from afar that maid salute;

CXXXVII And so Sir Richard­et as well: but low On earth lies Aldigi­er, and there must rest. The two first cham­pi­ons to­wards Paris go, And the two oth­ers next pur­sue that quest. In oth­er can­to, Sir, I hope to show Of won­drous and of su­per­hu­man gest, Wrought to the dam­age of the Chris­tian king, By those two cou­ples of whose worth I sing.