XVII Mast great the spear was which the gallant bore That in his warlike pride he made to shake, As winds tall cedars toss on mountains hoar: The king, that wondered at his bravery, spake To her, that near him seated was before, Who felt her heart with love’s hot fever quake, “Well shouldst thou know,” quoth he, “each Christian knight, By long acquaintance, though in armor dight.
XVIII “Say, who is he shows so great worthiness, That rides so rank, and bends his lance so fell?” To this the princess said nor more nor less, Her heart with sighs, her eyes with tears, did swell; But sighs and tears she wisely could suppress, Her love and passion she dissembled well, And strove her love and hot desire to cover, Till heart with sighs, and eyes with tears ran over:
XIX At last she spoke, and with a crafty sleight Her secret love disguised in clothes of hate: “Alas, too well,” she says, “I know that knight, I saw his force and courage proved late, Too late I viewed him, when his power and might Shook down the pillar of Cassanoe’s state; Alas what wounds he gives! how fierce, how fell! No physic helps them cure, nor magic’s spell.
XX “Tancred he hight, O Macon, would he wear My thrall, ere fates him of this life deprive, For to his hateful head such spite I bear, I would him reave his cruel heart on live.” Thus said she, they that her complainings hear In other sense her wishes credit give. She sighed withal, they construed all amiss, And thought she wished to kill, who longed to kiss.
XXI This while forth pricked Clorinda from the throng And ’gainst Tancredi set her spear in rest, Upon their helms they cracked their lances long, And from her head her gilden casque he kest, For every lace he broke and every thong, And in the dust threw down her plumed crest, About her shoulders shone her golden locks, Like sunny beams, on alabaster rocks.
XXII Her looks with fire, her eyes with lightning blaze, Sweet was her wrath, what then would be her smile? Tancred, whereon think’st thou? what dost thou gaze? Hast thou forgot her in so short a while? The same is she, the shape of whose sweet face The God of Love did in thy heart compile, The same that left thee by the cooling stream, Safe from sun’s heat, but scorched with beauty’s beam.