The victory achieved, he blows the third and last blast upon his horn, which the author thus prefaces:
These dragons and these gardens, made by spell,
And dog, and book by witch or wizard writ,
And savage hairy man, and giant fell,
And human face, to monstrous form ill fit,
Are food for ignorance, which you may well
Decypher, that are blest with shrewder wit:
Then muse upon the doctrine sage and sound,
Which lies conceal'd beneath this rugged ground.*
* The Italian reader will here again trace some lines of Dante.
Such matter as is excellent and rare,
And things of scent or savour, rich or fine,
In open hand we do not loosely bear;
Nor cast such pearls to be defiled of swine.
Nature, great mistress, teaches better care.
Who loves the flower with fencing thorns to twine;
And covers well her fruits, and things of mark;
The kernel with its stone, the tree with bark;
A safe defence from bird, and beast, and storm;
And has conceal'd the yellow gold i' the ground,
Jewels, and what is rare for tint or form;
That these may be with cost and labour found.
And vain and witless is th' unwary swarm
Who show their wealth, if they with wealth abound.
The mark, at which knave, thief, and cheater level;
And so by matchless folly tempt the devil.
As duly would it seem to square with reason.
That good should be with toil and trouble bought.
And to obtain it otherwise were treason,
Than by activity of deed and thought.
'Tis thus we see, that art and labour season
The victual, which without their aid is nought;
And simple viands, in their nature good,
Convert to sweeter, and more savoury food.
If Homer's Odyssey appear compounded
Of lying legends, deem not these unfit;
Nor, reading of some god or goddess wounded,
Let this aught scandalize your weaker wit:
For who the secrets of the sage has sounded,
Well knows, that for the sage, the poet writ;
And veils a different thing, from that which lies
Open to them, who see but with their eyes.
But stop not ye, content, at the outer rind;
Be not as these, but seek what is within;
For if no better nourishment you find,
You will have made small progress for your sin,
And see in these strange emblems ill-divined,
But sick men's dreams, and fables. Then begin
A better task, their secret meaning measure,
And turn the stubborn soil for hidden treasure.
Returning to the story, Orlando sounded his horn a third time; and, on the echo dying away, was disappointed by the appearance of a little white bitch-hound.
This, the damsel of the book, in hopes to stay the count, who was now disposed to depart, assured him was that which was to crown his toils.