So Marganor whilere each bound and bourn Made tremble, whereso'er his name was heard:
Now one is come to bruise the tyrant's horn;
And now his prowess is so little feared, That even the little children work him scorn:
Some pluck his hair and others pluck his beard.
Thence young Rogero and the damsels twain Towards his rock-built castle turn the rein.
