XVI Yet I of Origilla's treachery Shall not so steadfastly pursue the lore, Who, famed not for one single perfidy, Thousands and thousands had betrayed before, But that I will return again to see Two hundred thousand wretched men or more Burnt by the raging wild-fire, where they spread, About the walls of Paris, scathe and dread. XVII I left you where king Agramant prepared To storm a gate, and to the assault was gone: This he had hoped to find without a guard; And work elsewhere to bar the way was none. For there, in person, Charles kept watch and ward With many, practised warriors every one; Two Angelines, two Guidos, Angelier, Avino, Avolio, Otho, and Berlinghier. XVIII One and the other host its worth, before Charles and king Agramant, desire to show, Where praise, where riches are, they think, in store For those that do their duty on the foe. But such were not the atchievements of the Moor As to repair the loss; for, to his woe, Full many a Saracen the champaign prest; Whose folly was a beacon to the rest. XIX The frequent darts a storm of hail appear, Which from the city-wall the Christians fling; The deafening clamours put the heavens in fear, Which, from our part, and from that other, ring. But Charles and Agramant must wait; for here I of the Mars of Africa will sing, King Rodomont, that fierce and fearful man, That through the middle of the city ran. XX I know not, sir, if you the adventure dread Of that so daring Moor to mind recall, The leader, who had left his people dead, Between the second work and outer wall; Upon those limbs the ravening fire so fed, Was never sight more sad! -- I told withal, How vaulting o'er that hindrance at a bound, He cleared the moat which girt the city round. XXI When he was known the thickening crowd among, By the strange arms he wore and scaly hide, There, where the aged sires and feebler throng. Listened to each new tale on every side; Heaven-high groan, moan, and lamentation rung, And loud they beat their lifted palms and cried: While those who had the strength to fly aloof, Sought safety not from house or temple's roof. XXII But this the cruel sword concedes to few, So brandished by that Saracen robust; And here, with half a leg dissevered, flew A foot, there head divided from the bust: This cleft across, and that behold him hew, From head to hips, so strong the blow and just. While, of the thousands wounded by the Moor, Is none that shows an honest scar before. XXIII What by weak herd, in fields of Hircany, The tiger does, or Indian Ganges near, Or wolf, by lamb or kid, on heights which lie On Typheus' back, the cruel cavalier Now executes on those, I will not, I Call phalanxes or squadrons, but a mere Rabble, that I should term a race forlorn, Who but deserved to die ere they were born.