Great was the heat, the dust arose and blew;Still pagans fled, and hotly Franks pursued.
The chase endured from there to Sarraguce.
On her tower, high up clomb Bramimunde, Around her there the clerks and canons stood Of the false law, whom God ne'er loved nor knew;Orders they'd none, nor were their heads tonsured.
And when she saw those Arrabits confused Aloud she cried: "Give us your aid, Mahume!
Ah! Noble king, conquered are all our troops, And the admiral to shameful slaughter put!"When Marsile heard, towards the wall he looked, Wept from his eyes, and all his body stooped, So died of grief. With sins he's so corrupt;The soul of him to Hell live devils took.
