LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall Was covered with old armour like a crust, The Abbot said to them, "I give you all." Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust The whole, which, save one cuirass[347], was too small, And that too had the mail inlaid with rust. They wondered how it fitted him exactly, Which ne'er had suited others so compactly.