LXXXI.
With mickle industry, with mighty pain
And art, Rinaldo, shifting here and there,
Avoids the deadly dint of Durindane,
Well knowing how ’tis wont to cleave and tear.
Gradasso struck with greater might and main,
But well nigh all his strokes were spent in air;
Or, if he sometimes smote, he smote on part,
Where Durindana wrought less harm than smart.
LXXXII.
Rinaldo with more skill his blade inclined,
And stunned the arm of Sericana’s lord.
Him oft he reached where casque and coat confined,
And often raked his haunches with the sword:
But adamantine was his corslet’s rind,
Nor link the restless faulchion broke pr bored.
If so impassive was the paynim’s scale,
Know, charmed by magic was the stubborn mail.
LXXXIII.
Without reposing they long time had been,
Upon their deadly battle so intent,
That, save on one another’s troubled mien,
Their angry eyes the warriors had not bent.
When such despiteous war and deadly spleen,
Diverted by another strife, were spent.
Hearing a mighty noise, both champions turn,
And good Bayardo, sore bested, discern.
