Go, cruel, go!

Go, cruel, go! go with such peace, such rest,

Such joy, such comfort as thou leav'st me here;

My angry soul, discharg'd from this weak breast,

Shall haunt thee ever and attend thee near,

And fury-like, in snakes and fire-brands dress'd,

Shall aye torment thee whom it late held dear:

And if thou 'scape the seas, the rocks, and sands,

And come to fight amid the pagan bands,

There lying wounded 'mongst the hurt and slain,

Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear,

And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain

At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear.

Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief, and pain,

Her latest words scant well expressed were,

But in a swoon on earth outstretch'd she lies,

Stiff were her frozen limbs, clos'd were her eyes.

Wak'd from her trance, forsaken, speeches, sad,

Armida wildly star'd and gaz'd about:-

And is he gone (quoth she), nor pity had,

To leave me thus 'twixt life and death in doubt?

Could he not stay? could not the traitor bad

From this last trance help or recall me out?

And do I love him still, and on this sand

Still unreveng'd, still mourn, still weeping stand?