With bows and arrows, slings and swords and spears,
The natives now descend upon the shore.
From this side and from that a group appears,
Far off, approaching, near, behind, before.
With all this bestial rabble round his ears,
Which threatens to assail him more and more,
Orlando, in astonishment, perceives,
Not thanks, but blows and insults he receives.

As when a bear, by Lithuanians led,
Or Russians, who divert the visitors
To fairs, goes by unmoved with plodding tread,
By the shrill insolence of yapping curs
So unperturbed it scarce will turn its head,
So, at this onrush, not a tremor stirs
The paladin, who, with one single breath,
That savage horde could scatter to their death.

A space in front of him was quickly made
Where, sword in hand, he turned to face the mob.
The rabble so deluded were and mad,
They thought, because he was divested of
Cuirass, and neither helm nor buckler had,
Without resistance he would let them rob
Him of his life; if only they had known,
From top to toe he was as hard as stone.

And what against him others cannot do,
Orlando, for his part, can do full well.
Thirty he kills, with but ten strokes, or few
More, if the truth precisely I must tell.
He turns, thus disencumbered, to undo
The damsel's bonds, when tumult, audible
From yet another quarter, meets his ears
And echoes of it everywhere he hears.

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