XXXIII At noon of day, descending from a mount, She in a streight and ill declivity, Led by a dwarf, encountered Rodomont, Who was afoot and harnessed cap-a-pee. The Moor towards her raised his haughty front, And straight blasphemed the eternal Hierarchy, That horse, so richly trapped and passing fair, He had not found in a knight-errant's care. XXXIV On the first courser he should find, the knight Had sworn a solemn oath his hands to lay: This was the first, nor he on steed could light Fairer or fitter; yet to take away The charger from a maid were foul despite. Doubtful he stands, but covets sore the prey; Eyes and surveys him, and says often, "Why Is not as well the courser's master by?" XXXV "Ah! would be were!" to him the maid replied, "For haply he would make thee change thy thought. A better knight than thee the horse doth ride, And vainly would his match on earth be sought." -- "Who tramples thus on other's fame?" -- he cried; And she -- "Rogero" -- said, as she was taught. Then Rodomont -- "The steed I may my own; Since him a champion rides of such renown. XXXVI "If he, as you relate, be of such force, That he surprises all beside in might, I needs must pay the hire as well as horse; And be this at the pleasure of the knight! That I am Rodomont, to him discourse; And, if indeed with me he lists to fight, Me shall to find; in that I shine confest, By my own light, in motion or at rest. XXXVII "I leave such vestige wheresoe'er I tread, The volleyed thunder leaves not worse below." He had thrown back, over Frontino's head, The courser's gilded reins, in saying so, Backed him, and left Hippalca sore bested; Who, bathed in tears, and goaded by her woe, Cries shame on him, and threats the king with ill: Rodomont hearkens not, and climbs the hill: XXXVIII Whither the dwarf conducts him on the trace Of Doralice and Mandricardo bold. Behind, Hippalca him in ceaseless chase, Pursues with taunt and curses manifold. What came of this is said in other place. Turpin, by whom this history is told, Here makes digression, and returns again Thither, where faithless Pinnabel was slain. XXXIX Duke Aymon's daughter scarce had turned away From thence, who on her track in haste had gone, Ere thither by another path, astray, Zerbino came, with that deceitful crone, And saw the bleeding body where it lay: And, though the warrior was to him unknown, As good and courteous, felt his bosom swell, With pity at that cruel sight and fell. XL Dead lay Sir Pinnabel, and bathed in gore; From whom such streams of blood profusely flow, As were a cause for wonderment, had more Swords than a hundred joined to lay him low. A print of recent footsteps to explore The cavalier of Scotland was not slow; Who took the adventure, in the hope to read Who was the doer of the murderous deed.