LXXV.
What arms they had upon them, they unbound,
And cast them, stung by rage and fury sore,
Into the moat which girt that castle round,
Nor even kept the faulchions which they wore;
And, since a woman them had cast to ground,
O’erwhelmed with rage and shame, the warriors swore,
Themselves of such a crying shame to clear,
‘They, without bearing arms, would pass a year;
LXXVI.
‘And that they evermore afoot would fare
‘Up hill or down, by mountain or by plain,
‘Nor, when the year was ended, would they wear
‘The knightly mail or climb the steed again;
‘Save that from other they by force should bear,
‘In battle, other steeds and other chain.
‘So, without arms, to punish their misdeeds,
‘These wend a-foot, those others on their steeds.’
LXXVII.
Lodged in a township at the fall of night,
Duke Aymon’s daughter, journeying Paris-ward,
Hears how King Agramant was foiled in fight.
Good harbourage withal of bed and board,
She in her hostel found; but small delight
This and all comforts else to her afford.
For the sad damsel meat and sleep foregoes,
Nor finds a resting place; far less repose.
