“She doth love him, then; and even now the horn doth sound anew—and she the prize!
“I call the God above to see the joke that fate hath played; for I do swear, Beppo, that when he rides he carries on his lance-point this heart.
“I fret me here, but dare I see the play? Yea, ’tis a poor fool that loveth not his jest.
“I go, Beppo; I know not why, save I do love her so.
“I’ll bear my hunch like a badge of His colors and I shall laugh, Beppo, shall laugh at losing. He loves me well, else why didst send me thee?
“The way seems over long.
“They parry at the ring! I see her veil to float like cloud upon the breeze.
“She sees me not. I wonder that she heareth not the thumping of my heart. My eyes do mist. Beppo, look thou! Ah, God, to see within her eyes the look of thine!
“They rank! And hell would cool my brow, I swear. Beppo, as thou lovest me, press sorely on my hump! Her face, Beppo, it swayeth everywhere, as a garden thick with bloom—a lily, white and glistening with a rain of tears. My heart hath torn asunder, that I know.
“The red knight now doth cast! O Heaven turn his lance!