rive me, though in beauteous cheer
The palm I to that damsel should concede
'Twere hard, before I yield to her in charms,
That I should forfeit what I won in arms.

CV
"And if it be your usage, that the dame
Who yields in beauty, from your tower must wend,
Here to remain I my design to proclaim,
Should my resolve have good or evil game,
Hence I infer, unequal were the game,
If she and I in beauty should contend:
For if such strife 'twixt her and me ensues,
Nought can the damsel gain, and much may lose;

CVI
"And save the gain and loss well balanced be
In every match, the contest is unfair.
So that by right, no less than courtesy,
May she a shelter claim in you repair.
But are there any here that disagree,
And to impugn my equal sentence dare,
Behold my prompt, at such gainsayer's will,
To prove my judgment right, his judgment ill!"

CVII
Bradamant -- grieved that maid of gentle kind
Should from that castle wrongfully be sped,
To bide the raging of the rain and wind,
Where sheltering house was none, nor even shed --
With reasons good, in wary speech combined,
Persuades that lord; but mostly what she said
On ending silences the knight; and he
Allows the justice of that damsel's plea.

CVIII
As when hot summer sun the soil has rived,
And most the thirsty plant of moisture drains,
The weak and wasting flower, well nigh deprived
Of that quick sap which circled in its veins,
Sucks in the welcome rain, and is revived;
So, when bold Bradamant so well maintains
The courier maid's defence, her beauteous cheer
And mirth revive, and brighten as whilere.

CIX
At length the supper, which had long been dight,
Nor yet was touched, enjoys each hungry guest;
Nor any further news of errant knight
Them, seated at the festive board, molest;
All, saving Bradamant, enjoy, whose sprite,
As wont, is still afflicted and opprest.
For that suspicious fear, that doubt unjust,
Which racked her bosom, marred the damsel's gust.

CX
The supper done -- brought sooner to a close
Haply from their desire to feast their eyes --
First of the set, Duke Aymon's daughter rose,
And next the courier maid is seen to rise.
With that the warder signs to one, that goes
And many torches fires in nimble wise;
Whose light on storied wall and ceiling fell.
What followed shall another canto tell.

CANTO 33

ARGUMENT
Brada