ZERBINO AND ISABELLA

Zerbino's pain at seeing the Tartar prince go off with the sword
surpassed the anguish of his wound; but now the loss of blood so
reduced his strength that he could not move from where he fell.
Isabella, not knowing whither to resort for help, could only bemoan
him, and chide her cruel fate. Zerbino said, "If I could but leave
thee, my best beloved, in some secure abode, it would not distress me
to die; but to abandon thee so, without protection, is sad indeed." She
replied, "Think not to leave me, dearest; our souls shall not be
parted; this sword will give me the means to follow thee." Zerbino's
last words implored her to banish such a thought, but live, and be true
to his memory. Isabella promised, with many tears, to be faithful to
him so long as life should last.

When he ceased to breathe, Isabella's cries resounded through the
forest, and reached the ears of a reverend hermit, who hastened to the
spot. He soothed and calmed her, urging those consolations which the
word of God supplies; and at last brought her to wish for nothing else
but to devote herself for the rest of life wholly to religion.

As she could not bear the thoughts of leaving her dead lord abandoned,
the body was, by the good hermit's aid, placed upon the horse, and
taken to the nearest inhabited place, where a chest was made for it,
suitable to be carried with them on their way. The hermit's plan was to
escort his charge to a monastery, not many days' journey distant, where
Isabella resolved to spend the remainder of her days. Thus they
travelled day after day, choosing the most retired ways, for the
country was full of armed men. One day a cavalier met them, and barred
their way. It was no other than Rodomont, king of Algiers, who had just
left the camp of Agramant, full of indignation at the treatment he had
received from Doralice. At sight of the lovely lady and her reverend
attendant, with their horse laden with a burden draped with black, he
asked the meaning of their journey. Isabella told him her affliction,
and her resolution to renounce the world and devote herself to
religion, and to the memory of the friend she had lost. Rodomont
laughed scornfully at this, and told her that her project was absurd;
that charms like hers were meant to be enjoyed, not buried, and that he
himself would more than make amends for her dead lover. The monk, who
promptly interposed to rebuke this impious talk, was commanded to hold
his