For Durindane, he sought the greenwood, round, Which separate from the scabbard met his view;
And next the surcoat, but in tatters, found;
That, in a hundred rags, the champaign strew.
Zerbino and Isabel, in grief profound, Stood looking on, nor what to think they knew:
They of all matters else might think, besides The fury which the wretched Count misguides.
