XXX "But grant, e'en now, some skipper hither fare, Who may for pity bear me hence away; And that I so eschew wolf, lion, bear, Torture, and dearth, and every horrid way Of death; to Holland shall he take me, where For thee is guarded fortilage and bay; Or take me to the land where I was born, If this thou hast from me by treachery torn? XXXI "Thou, with pretence, from me my state didst wrest Of our connection and of amity; And quickly of my land thy troops possest, To assure the rule unto thyself. Shall I Return to Flanders where I sold the rest, Though little, upon which I lived, to buy Thee needful succour and from prison bear? Wretch, whither shall I go? -- I know not where. XXXII "Can I to Friesland go, where I to reign As queen was called, and this for thee forewent; Where both my brethren and my sire were slain, And every other good from me was rent? -- Thee would I not, thou ingrate, with my pain Reproach, not therefore deal thee punishment: As well as I, the story dost thou know; Now, see the meed thou dost for this bestow! XXXIII "Oh! may I but escape the wild corsair, Nor taken be, and after sold for slave! Rather than this may lion, wolf, or bear, Tiger, or other beast, if fiercer rave, Me with his claws and rushes rend and tear, And drag my bleeding body to his cave." So saying she her golden hair offends, And lock by lock the scattered tresses rends. XXXIV She to the shore's extremest verge anew, Tossing her head, with hair dishevelled, run; And seemed like maid beside herself, and who Was by ten fiends possessed, instead of one; Of like the frantic Hecuba, at view Of murdered Polydore, her infant son; Fixed on a stone she gazed upon the sea, Nor less than real stone seemed stone to be. XXXV But let her grieve till my return. To show Now of the Child I wish: his weary way Rogero, in the noon's intensest glow, Takes by the shore: the burning sunbeams play Upon the hill and thence rebound; below Boils the white sand; while heated with the ray, Little is wanting in that journey dire, But that the arms he wears are all on fire. XXXVI While to the warrior thirst and labour sore, Still toiling through that heavy sand, as he Pursued his path along the sunny shore, Were irksome and displeasing company, Beneath the shadow of a turret hoar, Which rose beside the beach, amid the sea, He found three ladies of Alcina's court, As such distinguished by their dress and port. XXXVII Reclined on Alexandrian carpets rare The ladies joyed the cool in great delight; About them various wines in vessels were, And every sort of comfit nicely dight; Fast by, and sporting with the ripple there, Lay, waiting on their needs, a pinnace light, Until a breeze should fill her sail anew: For then no breath upon the waters blew.