[Footnote 6:  Ellis’s Specimens of Early English Poetical Romances, vol. ii. p. 287; and Panizzi’s Essay on the Romantic Narrative Poetry of the Italians; in his edition of Boiardo and Ariosto, vol. i. p. 113.]

[Footnote 7:  De Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi Historia, &c. cap. xviii. p. 39 (Ciampi’s edition).  The giant in Turpin is named Ferracutus, or Fergus.  He was of the race of Goliath, had the strength of forty men, and was twenty cubits high.  During the suspension of a mortal combat with Orlando, they discuss the mysteries of the Christian faith, which its champion explains by a variety of similes and the most beautiful beggings of the question; after which the giant stakes the credit of their respective beliefs on the event of their encounter.]

[Footnote 8:  Canto xix. st. 21.]

[Footnote 9:  When a proper name happens to be a part of the tautology, the look is still more extraordinary.  Orlando is remonstrating with Rinaldo on his being unseasonably in love: 

  “Ov’ e, Rinaldo, la tua gagliardia? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, il tuo sommo potere? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, il tuo senno di pria? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, il tuo antivedere? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, la tua fantasia? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, l’ arme e ’l tuo destriere? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, la tua gloria e fama? 
  Ov’ e, Rinaldo, il tuo core? a la dama.”

Canto xvi. st. 50.

  Oh where, Rinaldo, is thy gagliardize? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, is thy might indeed? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thy repute for wise? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thy sagacious heed? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thy free-thoughted eyes? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thy good arms and steed? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thy renown and glory? 
  Oh where, Rinaldo, thou?—­In a love-story.

The incessant repetition of the names in the burdens of modern songs is hardly so bad as this.  The single line questions and answers in the Greek drama were nothing to it.  Yet there is a still more extraordinary play upon words in canto xxiii. st. 49, consisting of the description of a hermitage.  It is the only one of the kind which I remember in the poem, and would have driven some of our old hunters after alliteration mad with envy:—­

“La casa cosa parea bretta e brutta, Vinta dal vento; e la notta e la notte Stilla le stelle, ch’ a tetto era tutto:  Del pane appena ne dette ta’ dotte. Pere avea pure, e qualche fratta frutta; E svina e svena di botto una botte Poscia per pesci lasche prese a l’esca; Ma il letto allotta a la frasca fu fresca.”

This holy hole was a vile thin-built thing, Blown by the blast; the night nought else o’erhead But staring stars the rude roof entering;