row
Whom thou wouldst kill, if in that cavalier
Matched against thee thou didst Rogero know,
On whom depend thy very life-threads, ere
Thou killed him thou wouldst kill thyself; for thou,
I know, dost hold him than thyself more dear;
And when he for Rogero shall be known,
I know these very strokes thou wilt bemoan.

LXXXI
King Charles and peers him sheathed in plate and shell
Deem not Rogero, but the emperor's son;
And viewing in that combat fierce and fell
Such force and quickness by the stripling shown;
And, without e'er offending her, how well
That knight defends himself, now change their tone;
Esteem both well assorted; and declare
The champions worthy of each other are.

LXXXII
When Phoebus wholly under water goes,
Charlemagne bids the warring pair divide;
And Bradamant (nor boots it to oppose)
Allots to youthful Leo as a bride.
Not there Rogero tarried to repose;
Nor loosed his armour, nor his helm untied:
On a small hackney, hurrying sore, he went
Where Leo him awaited in his tent.

LXXXIII
Twice in fraternal guise and oftener threw
Leo his arms about the cavalier;
And next his helmet from his head withdrew,
And kiss'd him on both cheeks with loving cheer.
"I would," he cried, "that thou wouldst ever do
By me what pleaseth thee; for thou wilt ne'er
Weary my love: at any call I lend
To thee myself and state; these friendly spend;

LXXXIV
"Nor see I recompense, which can repay
The mighty obligation that I owe;
Though of the garland I should disarray
My brows, and upon thee that gift bestow."
Rogero, on whom his sorrows press and prey,
Who loathes his life, immersed in that deep woe,
Little replies; the ensigns he had worn
Returns, and takes again his unicorn;

LXXXV
And showing himself spiritless and spent,
From thence as quickly as he could withdrew,
And from young Leo's to his lodgings went;
When it was midnight, armed himself anew,
Saddled his horse, and sallied from his tent;
(He takes no leave, and none his going view;)
And his Frontino to that road addrest,
Which seemed to please the goodly courser best.

LXXXVI
Now by straight way and now by crooked wound
Frontino, now by wood and wide champaign;
And all night with his rider paced that round,
Who never ceased a moment to complain:
He called on Death, and therein comfort found;
Since broke by him alone is stubborn