Angelica, when she had won again
       The ring Brunello had from her conveyed,
     So waxed in stubborn pride and haught disdain,
       She seemed to scorn this ample world, and strayed
     Alone, and held as cheap each living swain,
       Although amid the best by fame arrayed;
     Nor brooked she to remember a gallant
     In Count Orlando or King Sacripant: 

     And above every other deed repented,
       That good Rinaldo she had loved of yore;
     And that to look so low she had consented,
       (As by such choice dishonored) grieved her sore. 
     Love, hearing this, such arrogance resented,
       And would the damsel’s pride endure no more. 
     Where young Medoro lay he took his stand,
     And waited her, with bow and shaft in hand.

     When fair Angelica the stripling spies,
       Nigh hurt to death in that disastrous fray,
     Who for his king, that there unsheltered lies,
       More sad than for his own misfortune lay,
     She feels new pity in her bosom rise,
       Which makes its entry in unwonted way. 
     Touched was her naughty heart, once hard and curst,
     And more when he his piteous tale rehearsed.

     And calling back to memory her art,
       For she in Ind had learned chirurgery,
     (Since it appears such studies in that part
       Worthy of praise and fame are held to be,
     And, as an heirloom, sires to sons impart,
       With little aid of books, the mystery,)
     Disposed herself to work with simples’ juice,
     Till she in him should healthier life produce.

     And recollects an herb had caught her sight
       In passing thither, on a pleasant plain: 
     What (whether dittany or pancy hight)
       I know not; fraught with virtue to restrain
     The crimson blood forth-welling, and of might
       To sheathe each perilous and piercing pain. 
     She found it near, and having pulled the weed,
     Returned to seek Medoro on the mead.

     Returning, she upon a swain did light,
       Who was on horseback passing through the wood. 
     Strayed from the lowing herd, the rustic wight
       A heifer missing for two days pursued. 
     Him she with her conducted, where the might
       Of the faint youth was ebbing with his blood: 
     Which had the ground about so deeply dyed
     Life was nigh wasted with the gushing tide.

     Angelica alights upon the ground,
       And he, her rustic comrade, at her best. 
     She hastened ’twixt two stones the herb to pound,
       Then took it, and the healing juice exprest: 
     With this did she foment the stripling’s wound,
       And even to the hips, his waist and breast;
     And (with such virtue was the salve endued)
     It stanched his life-blood, and his strength renewed.