XLV.
With Melicerta on her shoulders, weeping
Ino[10], and Nereids with dishevelled hair,
The Glauci, Tritons, and their fellows, leaping
They know not whither, speed, some here, some there.
Orlando draws to land, the billows sweeping,
That horrid fish, but might his labour spare:
For, with the torment worn, and travel sore,
The brute, exhausted, died, ere dragged ashore.
XLVI.
Of the islanders had trooped no petty throng,
To witness that strange fight, who by a vain
And miserable superstition stung,
Esteemed such holy deed a work profane;
And said ‘that this would be another wrong
‘To Proteus, and provoke his ire again;
‘Make him his herds pour forth upon the strand,
‘And with the whole old warfare vex the land;
XLVII.
‘And that it better were to sue for peace,
‘First from the injured god, lest worse ensue;
‘And Proteus from his cruel hate would cease,
‘If they into the sea the offender threw.’
As torch to torch gives fire, and lights increase,
Until the flame is spread the country through,
Even so from heart to heart the fury spread,
Which in the waves would doom Orlando dead.
