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Orlando answer'd, « Baron just and pious,
If this good wish your heart can really move
To the true God, who will not then deny us
Eternal honour, you will go above.

And, if you please, as friends we will ally us,
And I will love you with a perfect love.
Your idols are vain liars full of fraud,
The only true God is the Christian's God.


<< The Lord descended to the virgin breast
Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine;
If you acknowledge the Redeemer blest,
Without whom neither sun or star can shine,
Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test,

Your renegado God, and worship mine,-
Baptise yourself with zeal, since you repent. »
To which Morgante answer'd, «I'm content.»>

And then Orlando to embrace him flew,

And made much of his convert, as he cried, «To the abbey I will gladly marshal you :>>

To whom Morgante, « Let us go," replied; I to the friars have for peace to sue,» Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride, Saying, My brother, so devout and good, Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would:


«Since God has granted your illumination, Accepting you in mercy for his own, Humility should be your first oblation.»

Morgante said, « For goodness' sake make knownSince that your God is to be mine-your station, And let your name in verity be shown; Then will I every thing at your command do. On which the other said, he was Orlando.


« Then,» quoth the giant, « blessed be Jesu,
A thousand times with gratitude and praise!
Oft. perfect baron! have I heard of you
Through all the different period of my days:
And, as I said, to be your vassal too

I wish, for your great gallantry always.»> Thus reasoning, they continued much to say, And onwards to the abbey went their way. XLIX.

And by the way, about the giants dead
Orlando with Morgante reason'd: « Be,
For their decease, I pray you, comforted,

And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon me;
A thousand wrongs unto the monks they bred,
And our true scripture soundeth openly-
Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill,
Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil :


<< Because his love of justice unto all
Is such, he wills his judgment should devour
All who have sin, however great or smali;
But good he well remembers to restore:
Nor without justice holy could we call

Him, whom I now require you to adore :

All men must make his will their wishes sway, And quickly and spontaneously obey.


<< And here our doctors are of one accord,

Coming on this point to the same conclusionThat in their thoughts who praise in heaven the Lord, If pity e'er was guilty of intrusion

For their unfortunate relations stored

In hell below, and damn'd in great confusion,→→
Their happiness would be reduced to nought,
And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought.

« But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all
Which seems to him, to them too must appear
Well done; nor could it otherwise befal;

He never can in any purpose err:

If sire or mother suffer endless thrall,

They don't disturb themselves for him or her; What pleases God to them must joy inspire;— Such is the observance of the eternal choir.>>


« A word unto the wise,» Morgante said, << Is wont to be enough, and you shall see How much I grieve about my brethren dead; And if the will of God seem good to me, Just, as you tell me, 't is in heaven obey'dAshes to ashes,-merry let us be!

I will cut off the hands from both their trunks, And carry them unto the holy monks.


«So that all persons may be sure and certain That they are dead, and have no further fear To wander solitary this desert in,

And that they may perceive iny spirit clear

By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain
Of darkness, making his bright realm appear.»>
He cut his brethren's hands off at these words,
And left them to the savage beasts and birds.

Then to the abbey they went on together,

Where waited them the abbot in great doubt. The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither To their superior, all in breathless rout, Saying, with tremor, « Please to tell us whether

You wish to have this person in or out?» The abbot, looking through upon the giant, Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant.


Orlando, seeing him thus agitated,

Said quickly, «Abbot, be thou of good cheer; He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated, And hath renounced his Macon false;» which here Morgante with the hands corroborated,

A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear: Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored, Saying, « Thou hast contented me, oh Lord!»>


He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated,

And more than once contemplated his size; And then he said, «Oh giant celebrated,

Know, that no more my wonder will arise, How you could tear and fling the trees you late did, When I behold your form with my own eyes. You now a true and perfect friend will show Yourself to Christ, as once you were a foe.

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And thus great honour to Morgante paid
The abbot; many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both stray'd,

And saunter d here and there, where'er they chose, The abbot show'd a chamber where array'd

Much armour was, and hung up certain bows;
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.


There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,

« Morgante, I could wish you in this case
To go
for water.»> « You shall be obey'd
In all commands,» was the reply, «straightway.
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,
And went out on his way unto a fountain,

Where he was wont to drink below the mountain.


Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his
quiver he prepares

An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours,
So that the giant's join'd by all the boars.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,

Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear, And pass'd unto the other side quite thorough, So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near. Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career, And reach'd the passage with so swift a foot, Morgante was not now in time to shoot.


Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head
As floor'd him, so that he no more arose-
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,

Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook,

The tun was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on tother, and he brush'd apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvell'd to see his strength so very great;-
So did the abbot, and set wide the gate.


The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork; All animals are glad at sight of food:

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,

That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork. Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, For all the fasts are now left in arrear.


As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,

Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean.
The abbot, who to all did honour great,

A few days after this convivial scene,
Gave to Morgante a fine horse well train'd,
Which he long time had for himself maintain'd.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,

And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof. Morgante said, «Get up, thou sulky cur!» And still continued pricking with the spur.


But finally he thought fit to dismount,

And said, I am as light as any feather, And he has burst-to this what say you, count?» Orlando answer'd, « Like a ship's mast rather You seem to me, and with the truck for front:— Let him go, fortune wills that we together Should march, but you on foot, Morgante, still.» To which the giant answered, «So I will.


When there shall be occasion, you shall see How I approve my courage in the fight.» Orlando said, I really think you 'll be,

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight, Nor will you napping there discover me:

But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'T were best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood.»


The giant said, «Theu carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back.»
Orlando answer'd, «If my counsel still

May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,
As you have done to him, will do to you.

LXXII. Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead, As Nessus did of old beyond all cure;

I don't know if the fact you've heard or read, But he will make you burst, you may be sure.»>> « But help him on my back,» Morgante said,

And you shall see what weight I can endure: In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry.»> LXXIII.

The abbot said, « The steeple may do well,

But, for the bells, you've broken them, I wot.» Morgante answer'd, « Let them pay in hell

The penalty, who lie dead in yon grot:>> And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,

He said, « Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force;»-
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

Morgante was like any mountain framed;
So if he did this, 't is no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,

Because he was one of his family;

And, fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd, Once more he bade him lay his burthen by: Put down, nor bear him further the desert in.»> Morgante said, « I'll carry him for certain.>>



He did; and stow'd him in some nook
And to the abbey then return'd with speed.
Orlando said, « Why longer do we stay?
Morgante, here is nought to do indeed.»>
The abbot by the hand he took one day,


And said with great respect, he had agreed To leave his Reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission. LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd: He said, «<I mean, and quickly, to retrieve

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed; Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave,

Kind father, but I really was ashamed, And know not how to show my sentiment, So much I see you with our stay content.


<< But in my heart I bear through every clime, The abbot, abbey, and this solitude

So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood: Meanwhile we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.»> LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, « Cavalier,» he said, «< if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,
I know I've done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.


We can indeed but honour you with masses,
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters,
Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters);
But such a love for you my heart embraces,
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters,
That wheresoe'er you go, I too shall be,
And, on the other part, you rest with me.


«This may involve a seeming contradiction,
But you, I know, are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced
With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.

«You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here, That comfortless we all are to our cost;

But months and years you could not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth;


« But to bear arms and wield the lance; indeed,
With these as much is done as with this cowl;
In proof of which the scripture you may read.
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion; now in peace proceed.

Your state and name I seek not to unroll,
But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given,
That here an angel was sent down from heaven.


«If you want armour or aught else, go in, Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you chuse ;

And cover with it o'er this giant's skin.>>

Orlando answer'd, « If there should lie loose
Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,
The gift would be acceptable to me.>>
The abbot said to him, «Come in and see.»>

And in a certain closet, where the wall

Was cover'd with old armour like a crust, The abbot said to them, « I give you all.»

Morgante rummaged piece-meal from the dust
The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small,
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.
They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly,
Which ne'er had suited others so compactly.

T was an immeasurable giant's, who
By the great Milo of Argante fell
Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well;
In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable: Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

Note 1. Page 500, stanza 64.


Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his own heart, «Oh God! who in the sky
Know'st all things, how was Milo hither led,
Who caused the giant in this place to die?»
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,-
As I will tell in the ensuing story.

From evil keep you, the high King of Glory!

He gave him such a punch upon the head.

« Gli dette in sulla testa un gran punzone.» It is strange that Pulci should have literally anticipated the technical terms of my old friend and master, Jackson, and the art which he has carried to its highest pitch. ¦ A punch on the head,» or « a punch in the head,» « un punzone in sulla testa,» is the exact and frequent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream that they are talking the purest Tuscan.

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saw up and down sort of tune, that reminded me of the black joke,» only more « affettuoso,» till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down:-but, no; with Mrs H.'s hand on his shoulder, «quam familiariter» 3 (as Terence said when I AM a country gentleman of a midland county. I was at school), they walked about a minute, and then might have been a parliament-man for a certain boat it again, like two cock-chafers spitted on the same rough, having had the offer of as many votes as General T. at the general election in 1812. ' was all for domestic happiness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid of honour. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, when my wife and I were invited by the Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse

But I

to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable or as they call it, marketable) age, and having besides a chancery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came up in our old chariot, of which, by the bye, my wife

grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount the box, Mrs H. says, if I could drive, but never see the inside-that place being reserved for the honourable Augustus Tiptoe, her partnergeneral and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of Mrs H.'s dancing (she was famous for birth-night minuets in the latter end of the last century, I unbooted, and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, cotillions, reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But, judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussarlooking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and round, and round, to a d――d see

bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a
loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina a
name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield,
though her mother would call her after the Princess
of Swappenbach), said, «Lord, Mr Hornem, can't you
see they are valizing,» or waltzing (I forget which); and
up got, and her mother and sister, and away
they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now
that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so
does Mrs H. (though I have broken my shins, and four
times overturned Mrs Hornem's maid in practising the


preliminary steps in a morning.) Indeed, so much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed in some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the victories (but till lately I have had little practice in that way) I sat down, and with the aid of W. F. Esq., and a few hints from Dr B. (whose recitations I attend, and am monstrous fond of Master B.'s manner of delivering his father's late successful D. L. address), I composed the following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentiments known to the public, whom, nevertheless, I heartily despise as well as the critics.

I am, Sir, yours, etc., etc.


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