And into him infused such force again,
       That he could mount the horse the swain conveyed;
     But good Medoro would not leave the plain
       Till he in earth had seen his master laid. 
     He, with the monarch, buried Cloridane,
       And after followed whither pleased the maid. 
     Who was to stay with him, by pity led,
     Beneath the courteous shepherd’s humble shed.

     Nor would the damsel quit the lowly pile
       (So she esteemed the youth) till he was sound;
     Such pity first she felt, when him erewhile
       She saw outstretched and bleeding on the ground. 
     Touched by his mien and manners next, a file
       She felt corrode her heart with secret wound;
     She felt corrode her heart, and with desire,
     By little and by little warmed, took fire.

     The shepherd dwelt between two mountains hoar,
       In goodly cabin, in the greenwood shade,
     With wife and children; in short time before,
       The brand-new shed had builded in the glade. 
     Here of his grisly wound the youthful Moor
       Was briefly healed by the Catayan maid;
     But who in briefer space, a sorer smart
     Than young Medoro’s, suffered at her heart.

[She pines for love of him, and at length makes her love known.  They solemnize their marriage, and remain a month there with great happiness.]

     Amid such pleasures, where, with tree o’ergrown,
       Ran stream, or bubbling fountain’s wave did spin,
     On bark or rock, if yielding were the stone,
       The knife was straight at work, or ready pin. 
     And there, without, in thousand places lone,
       And in as many places graved, within,
     Medoro and Angelica were traced,
     In divers ciphers quaintly interlaced.

     When she believed they had prolonged their stay
       More than enow, the damsel made design
     In India to revisit her Catay,
       And with its crown Medoro’s head entwine. 
     She had upon her wrist an armlet, gay
       With costly gems, in witness and in sign
     Of love to her by Count Orlando borne,
     And which the damsel for long time had worn.

     No love which to the paladin she bears,
       But that it costly is and wrought with care,
     This to Angelica so much endears,
       That never more esteemed was matter rare;
     This she was suffered, in the isle of tears,
       I know not by what privilege, to wear,
     When, naked, to the whale exposed for food
     By that inhospitable race and rude.

     She, not possessing wherewithal to pay
       The kindly couple’s hospitality,—­
     Served by them in their cabin, from the day
       She there was lodged, with such fidelity,—­
     Unfastened from her arm the bracelet gay,
       And bade them keep it for her memory. 
     Departing hence, the lovers climb the side
     Of hills, which fertile France from Spain divide.