Thinking him slain who only lay amazed, By pity prest, Zerbino leapt to ground, And from his deathlike face the vizor raised;
And he, as wakened out of sleep profound, In silence, hard upon Zerbino gazed;
Then cried, "It does not me, in truth, confound, To think that I am overthrown by thee, Who seem'st the flower of errant chivalry.