XXXIII “Not so,” quoth he, “pardy it’s not the guise Of Christian knights, though fall’n, so soon to yield; I can my fall excuse in better wise, And will revenge this shame, or die in field.” The great Circassian bent his frowning eyes, Like that grim visage in Minerva’s shield, “Then learn,” quoth he, “what force Argantes useth Against that fool that proffered grace refuseth.”
XXXIV With that he spurred his horse with speed and haste, Forgetting what good knights to virtue owe, Otho his fury shunned, and, as he passed, At his right side he reached a noble blow, Wide was the wound, the blood outstreamed fast, And from his side fell to his stirrup low: But what avails to hurt, if wounds augment Our foe’s fierce courage, strength and hardiment?
XXXV Argantes nimbly turned his ready steed, And ere his foe was wist or well aware, Against his side he drove his courser’s head, What force could he gainst so great might prepare? Weak were his feeble joints, his courage dead, His heart amazed, his paleness showed his care, His tender side gainst the hard earth he cast, Shamed, with the first fall; bruised, with the last.
XXXVI The victor spurred again his light-foot steed, And made his passage over Otho’s heart, And cried, “These fools thus under foot I tread, That dare contend with me in equal mart.” Tancred for anger shook his noble head, So was he grieved with that unknightly part; The fault was his, he was so slow before, With double valor would he salve that sore.
XXXVII Forward he galloped fast, and loudly cried: “Villain,” quoth he, “thy conquest is thy shame, What praise? what honor shall this fact betide? What gain? what guerdon shall befall the same? Among the Arabian thieves thy face go hide, Far from resort of men of worth and fame, Or else in woods and mountains wild, by night, On savage beasts employ thy savage might.”
XXXVIII The Pagan patience never knew, nor used, Trembling for ire, his sandy locks he tore, Out from his lips flew such a sound confused, As lions make in deserts thick, which roar; Or as when clouds together crushed and bruised, Pour down a tempest by the Caspian shore; So was his speech imperfect, stopped, and broken, He roared and thundered when he should have spoken.