LXXII “Or deem’st thou it a praise of little prize, The glorious title of a virgin’s name? That thou will gad by night in giglot wise, Amid thine armed foes, to seek thy shame. O fool, a woman conquers when she flies, Refusal kindleth, proffers quench the flame. Thy lord will judge thou sinnest beyond measure, If vainly thus thou waste so rich a treasure.”
LXXIII The sly deceiver Cupid thus beguiled The simple damsel, with his filed tongue: “Thou wert not born,” quoth he, “in desert wild The cruel bears and savage beasts among, That you shouldest scorn fair Citherea’s child, Or hate those pleasures that to youth belong, Nor did the gods thy heart of iron frame; To be in love is neither sin nor shame.
LXXIV “Go then, go, whither sweet desire inviteth, How can thy gentle knight so cruel be? Love in his heart thy grief and sorrows writeth, For thy laments how he complaineth, see. Oh cruel woman, whom no care exciteth To save his life, that saved and honored thee! He languished, one foot thou wilt not move To succor him, yet say’st thou art in love.
LXXV “No, no, stay here Argantes’ wounds to cure, And make him strong to shed thy darling’s blood, Of such reward he may himself assure, That doth a thankless woman so much good: Ah, may it be thy patience can endure To see the strength of this Circassian wood, And not with horror and amazement shrink, When on their future fight thou hap’st to think?
LXXVI “Besides the thanks and praises for the deed, Suppose what joy, what comfort shalt thou win, When thy soft hand doth wholesome plaisters speed, Upon the breaches in his ivory skin, Thence to thy dearest lord may health succeed, Strength to his limbs, blood to his cheeks so thin, And his rare beauties, now half dead and more, Thou may’st to him, him to thyself restore.
LXXVII “So shall some part of his adventures bold And valiant acts henceforth be held as thine; His dear embracements shall thee straight enfold, Together joined in marriage rites divine: Lastly high place of honor shalt thou hold Among the matrons sage and dames Latine, In Italy, a land, as each one tells, Where valor true, and true religion dwells.”
LXXVIII With such vain hopes the silly maid abused, Promised herself mountains and hills of gold; Yet were her thoughts with doubts and fears confused How to escape unseen out of that hold, Because the watchman every minute used To guard the walls against the Christians bold, And in such fury and such heat of war, The gates or seld or never opened are.