LXXXI.
A large provision, next, of twigs and lime
—Your witcheries, O women!—he explored.
The things he witnessed, to recount in rhyme
Too tedious were; were myriads on record,
To sum the remnant ill should I have time.
’Tis here that all infirmities are stored,
Save only Madness, seen not here at all,
Which dwells below, nor leaves this earthly ball.
LXXXII.
He turns him back, upon some days and deeds
To look again, which he had lost of yore;
But, save the interpreter the lesson reads,
Would know them not, such different form they wore.
He next saw that which man so little needs,
—As it appears—none pray to Heaven for more;
I speak of sense; whereof a lofty mount
Alone surpast all else which I recount.
LXXXIII.
It was as ’twere a liquor soft and thin,
Which, save well corked, would from the vase have drained;
Laid up, and treasured various flasks within,
Larger or lesser, to that use ordained.
That largest was which of the paladin,
Anglantes’ lord, the mighty sense contained;
And from those others was discerned, since writ
Upon the vessel was Orlando’s wit.
