er, bade them seize him. The unhappy Medoro turned now this way,
now that, trying to conceal himself behind an oak or a rock, still
bearing the body, which he would by no means leave. Cloridan not
knowing how to help him, but resolved to perish with him, if he must
perish, takes an arrow, fits it to his bow, discharges it, and pierces
the breast of a Christian knight, who falls helpless from his horse.
The others look this way and that, to discover whence the fatal bolt
was sped. One, while demanding of his comrades in what direction the
arrow came, received a second in his throat, which stopped his words,
and soon closed his eyes to the scene.

Zerbino, furious at the death of his two comrades, ran upon Medoro,
seized his golden hair, and dragged him forward to slay him. But the
sight of so much youth and beauty commanded pity. He stayed his arm.
The young man spoke in suppliant tones. "Ah! signor," said he, "I
conjure you by the God whom you serve, deprive me not of life until I
shall have buried the body of the prince, my master. Fear not that I
will ask you any other favor; life is not dear to me; I desire death as
soon as I shall have performed this sacred duty. Do with me then as you
please. Give my limbs a prey to the birds and beasts; only let me first
bury my prince." Medoro pronounced these words with an air so sweet and
tender that a heart of stone would have been moved by them. Zerbino was
so to the bottom of his soul. He was on the point of uttering words of
mercy, when a cruel subaltern, forgetting all respect to his commander,
plunged his lance into the breast of the young Moor. Zerbino, enraged
at his brutality, turned upon the wretch to take vengeance, but he
saved himself by a precipitate flight.

Cloridan, who saw Medoro fall, could contain himself no longer. He
rushed from his concealment, threw down his bow, and, sword in hand,
seemed only desirous of vengeance for Medoro, and to die with him. In a
moment, pierced through and through with many wounds, he exerts the
last remnant of his strength in dragging himself to Medoro, to die
embracing him. The cavaliers left them thus to rejoin Zerbino, whose
rage against the murderer of Medoro had drawn him away from the spot.

Cloridan died; and Medoro, bleeding copiously, was drawing near his end
when help arrived.

A young maiden approached the fallen knights at this critical moment.
Her dress was that of a peasant-girl, but her air was noble, and her