CXXXI
“Cruel at thy departure, at return
As cruel, say, what chance thee hither guideth,
Would’st thou prevent her death whose heart forlorn
For thee, for thee death’s strokes each hour divideth?
Com’st thou to save my life? alas, what scorn,
What torment for Armida poor abideth?
No, no, thy crafts and sleights I well descry,
But she can little do that cannot die.
CXXXII
“Thy triumph is not great nor well arrayed
Unless in chains thou lead a captive dame:
A dame now ta’en by force, before betrayed,
This is thy greatest glory, greatest fame:
Time was that thee of love and life I prayed,
Let death now end my love, my life, my shame.
Yet let not thy false hand bereave this breath,
For if it were thy gift, hateful were death.
CXXXIII
“Cruel, myself an hundred ways can find,
To rid me from thy malice, from thy hate,
If weapons sharp, if poisons of all kind,
If fire, if strangling fail, in that estate,
Yet ways enough I know to stop this wind:
A thousand entries hath the house of fate.
Ah, leave these flatteries, leave weak hope to move,
Cease, cease, my hope is dead, dead is my love.”
CXXXIV
Thus mourned she, and from her watery eyes
Disdain and love dropped down, rolled up in tears;
From his pure fountains ran two streams likewise,
Wherein chaste pity and mild ruth appears:
Thus with sweet words the queen he pacifies,
“Madam, appease your grief, your wrath, your fears,
For to be crowned, not scorned, your life I save;
Your foe nay, but your friend, your knight, your slave.
CXXXV
“But if you trust no speech, no oath, no word;
Yet in mine eyes, my zeal, my truth behold:
For to that throne, whereof thy sire was lord,
I will restore thee, crown thee with that gold,
And if high Heaven would so much grace afford
As from thy heart this cloud this veil unfold
Of Paganism, in all the east no dame
Should equalize thy fortune, state and fame.”
CXXXVI
Thus plaineth he, thus prays, and his desire
Endears with sighs that fly and tears that fall;
That as against the warmth of Titan’s fire,
Snowdrifts consume on tops of mountains tall,
So melts her wrath; but love remains entire.
“Behold,” she says, “your handmaid and your thrall:
My life, my crown, my wealth use at your pleasure;”
Thus death her life became, loss proved her treasure.
CXXXVII
This while the captain of the Egyptian host,—
That saw his royal standard laid on ground,
Saw Rimedon, that ensign’s prop and post,
By Godfrey’s noble hand killed with one wound,
And all his folk discomfit, slain and lost,
No coward was in this last battle found,
But rode about and sought, nor sought in vain,
Some famous hand of which he might be slain;
CXXXVIII
Against Lord Godfrey boldly out he flew,
For nobler foe he wished not, could not spy,
Of desperate courage showed he tokens true,
Where’er he joined, or stayed, or passed by,
And cried to the Duke as near he drew,
“Behold of thy strong hand I come to die,
Yet trust to overthrow thee with my fall,
My castle’s ruins shall break down thy wall.”
CXXXIX
This said, forth spurred they both, both high advance
Their swords aloft, both struck at once, both hit,
His left arm wounded had the knight of France,
His shield was pierced, his vantbrace cleft and split,
The Pagan backward fell, half in a trance,
On his left ear his foe so hugely smit,
And as he sought to rise, Godfredo’s sword
Pierced him through, so died that army’s lord.
CXL
Of his great host, when Emiren was dead,
Fled the small remnant that alive remained;
Godfrey espied as he turned his steed,
Great Altamore on foot, with blood all stained,
With half a sword, half helm upon his head,
Gainst whom a hundred fought, yet not one gained.
“Cease, cease this strife,” he cried: “and thou, brave knight,
Yield, I am Godfrey, yield thee to my might!”