Untangling Word Order

       Sixteenth-century poets did great violence to English word order in order to make their verses scan smoothly and to maneuver rhyme words to the ends of lines. Their acquaintance with Latin, in which word order is much less rigidly determined than in English, partly justified this practice. Modern readers find this twisting of word order disconcerting at first, but a little practice can decrease its power to confuse.
       Ignoring meter, rhyme, capitalization, and line divisions, restore normal word order to the words of the following stanzas of Sir John Harington's translation of Ariosto's Orlando Furioso (1591). You are to change nothing except the word order—not even the spelling. Do not paraphrase the text; merely rearrange the words. I know that regardless of what instructions I give here, half of the class will throw out all clues to syntax, changing nouns to verbs and objects of prepositions to subjects of sentences, adding words and throwing others out, and stirring the resultant soup of denotations with a large wooden spoon. All I can say is that if you do that you will be wasting your time. In the first place, no poem will ever be quite that completely deranged to start with. In the second place, in giving up word order as a device for guiding a reader, a poet leaves nothing but word endings, pronoun case, articles, and function words to guide a reader through the syntax; if you change these, you can never decipher the meaning. You might be wise to do the exercise at this link before you begin.
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NOTE WELL: To earn your six little points, you need to untangle two stanzas adequately. You may attempt all of them and let me determine if the best two are good enough to earn you credit. Or you may try two stanzas only, and if you do not earn a full six points, you may try again with another stanza or two, and so on until you do earn a full six points. After doing a bit of the assignment, reread the instructions above so see if you have done what you were told not to do.

There Bardyn stood, a man well stricke in yeares,
And in such sort to wayle he did persever
That with aboundant shedding of his teares
Men thought he would have lost his eyes for ever.
To blame the heav'ns and starres he not forbeares,
But roring like a Lyon in a feaver
Tare his gray haire and all about it sprinkled
And spared not his aged skin and wrinkled.

[The situation is that a jealous man has caused his wife to be bribed to sell her chastity in order that he might witness her repel the proposition. He is being scolded for causing her corruption.]

You should not with a dart so fierce assayle
If her defend herself to see you sought.
What, know you not [i.e., do you not know] stone walls cannot avayle,
Nor steele, if gold be to the batt'rie brought?
Now sure your selfe of duetie [i.e., in duty] more did fayle
In tempting her then she in beeing caught.
Perhaps if she had tempted you so sore,
Your follie would have been as much or more.

But at that table sat another guest
Of riper years and judgement more discreet,
Who such untruths to heare could not digest
And see their [i.e., women's] praises so trod under feet.
Wherefore his speech he presently adrest
Unto his host and said, "We daylie meet
With slaunders and with lying fables told,
And this is one to say I dare be bold.

"Nor thee nor him that told thee [i.e., the original author of the tale told by the host] trust I will,
["Nor . . . nor . . . " means "neither . . . nor. . . ."]
No, though in other things he gospell spake.
I dare affirm it well that evill will,
Not any triall that him selfe could make,
Mov'd him of all the kinde [i.e., womankind] to speake so ill,
Belike for some one naughtie womans sake;
But he that would enter in women's praise
On higher stepps aloft his stile might raise.'

King Ferramont that was the first that past
The streame of Rhine with armie great of France
And being in possession quiet plast
Of all those parts, sturd with so luckie chance,
Straight in ambitious thought began to cast
His rule and scepter higher to advance;
Which that he might to passe the better bring, [Here you may use "this" instead of "which"; we no longer use this grammatical construction in English.]
He made a league with Arthur, English king,

Informing him how that ["how that" means simply "that."] his meaning was
Of Italie the rule and crowne to get,
And askt his ayd to bring the same to passe
Which never had atchieved bin as yet.
Now Merlin, that did all men farre surpasse
In Magicke art, his purpose sought to let [i.e., to prevent, as in "let and hindrance"],
For Merlin had with Arthur so great credit
He thought all Gospell was if once he sed it.

[Bradamant, a lady knight in full armor, meets the lady Fiordeliege, who mistakes her for a man.]

Now when the comfortlesse dame Bradamant
Had met a dame as comfortlesse as she,
Such sympathie she felt of griefe that scant [=scarcely, an adverb, not an adjective]
She kept in tears so sad a sight to see.
She askt her what misfortune or what want [=what lack]
Of her sad plight unworthie cause might be.
Fayre Fiordeliege, that for a knight did hold [i.e., took, mistook] her,
The circumstance of all the matter told her. . . .