XCVII At his departure waxed Zerbino woe, And Isabella wept for sorrow: they Had wended with him, but the count, although Their company was fair and good, said nay; Urging for reason, nought so ill could show In cavalier, as, when upon his way To seek his foeman out, to take a friend, Who him with arms might succour or defend. XCVIII Next, if they met the Saracen, before They should encounter him, besought them say, That he, Orlando, would for three days more. Waiting him, in that territory stay: But, after that, would seek the flags which bore The golden lilies, and King Charles' array. That Mandricardo through their means might know, If such his pleasure, where to find his foe. XCIX The lovers promised willingly to do This, and whatever else he should command. By different ways the cavaliers withdrew, One on the right, and one on the left hand. The count, ere other path he would pursue, Took from the sapling, and replaced, his brand. And, where he weened he might the paynim best Encounter, thitherward his steed addrest. C The course in pathless woods, which, without rein, The Tartar's charger had pursued astray, Made Roland for two days, with fruitless pain, Follow him, without tidings of his way. Orlando reached a rill of crystal vein, On either bank of which a meadow lay; Which, stained with native hues and rich, he sees, And dotted o'er with fair and many trees. CI The mid-day fervour made the shelter sweet To hardy herd as well as naked swain; So that Orlando, well beneath the heat Some deal might wince, opprest with plate and chain. He entered, for repose, the cool retreat, And found it the abode of grief and pain; And place of sojourn more accursed and fell, On that unhappy day, than tongue can tell. CII Turning him round, he there, on many a tree, Beheld engraved, upon the woody shore, What as the writing of his deity He knew, as soon as he had marked the lore. This was a place of those described by me, Whither ofttimes, attended by Medore, From the near shepherd's cot had wont to stray The beauteous lady, sovereign of Catay. CIII In a hundred knots, amid those green abodes, In a hundred parts, their cyphered names are dight; Whose many letters are so many goads, Which Love has in his bleeding hear-core pight. He would discredit in a thousand modes, That which he credits in his own despite; And would parforce persuade himself, that rhind Other Angelica than his had signed. CIV "And yet I know these characters," he cried, "Of which I have so many read and seen; By her may this Medoro be belied, And me, she, figured in the name, may mean." Feeding on such like phantasies, beside The real truth, did sad Orlando lean Upon the empty hope, though ill contented, Which he by self-illusions had fomented.