Almost on his steed's neck the Tartar fell, Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped;
And, had the helmet been unfenced by spell, The biting faulchion would have cleft his head.
The king, without delay, avenged him well, "Nor I for you till other season," said, "Will keep this gift"; and levelled at his crest, Hoping to part Zerbino to the chest.
