LVII.
“Lo! the imperial squadrons thither steer[33],
“Aid to the leaguered city to convey;
“And lo! burnt, sunk, destroyed, they disappear,
“Encountered by the Doria in mid-way.
“Behold! how Fortune light does shift and veer,
“So friendly to the Frenchman till this day!
“Who slays their host with fever, not with lance;
“Nor of a thousand one returns to France.”
LVIII.
These histories and more the pictures shew,
(For to tell all would ask too long a strain)
In beauteous colours and of different hue;
Since such that hall, it these could well contain.
The paintings twice and thrice those guests review,
Nor how to leave them knows the lingering train,
’Twould seem; perusing oft what they behold
Inscribed below the beauteous work in gold.
LIX.
When with these pictures they their sight had fed,
And talked long while—those ladies and the rest—
They to their chambers by that lord were led,
Wont much to worship every worthy guest.
Already all were sleeping, when her bed
At last Duke Aymon’s beauteous daughter prest.
She here, she there, her restless body throws,
Now right, now left, but vainly seeks repose:
