Tight round our bodies; every vice was lurking like a cockatrice.
Ah, flesh can never quite repel the sinuous things which thoughts entice.
You honey-coloured Syrian girls, whose voices turned our knights to thirls,
I looked away and stopped my ears by thinking of the glossier merles
At home. The arm upheld by Hur had not sufficed him to deter
The dissipation of our force, alas. My lord deceived The Burr.
'Twas worse when treachery let us in. Blood, lechery, pillage, fire and din
Burned an impression on my mind: the sexual ugliness of sin.
Cool Bohemond called Antioch his. Ere we had killed our mutineers,
We the besiegers were besieged by Kurbugha and his Amírs.