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OLD MAN: What mischief brings you hither?

You are like those

Who are crazy for the shedding of men's blood,

And for the love of women.

YOUNG MAN: A rumour has led me,

A story told over the wine towards dawn.

I rose from table, found a boat, spread sail,

And with a lucky wind under the sail

Crossed waves that have seemed charmed, and found this shore.

OLD MAN: There is no house to sack among these hills

Nor beautiful woman to be carried off.

YOUNG MAN: You should be native here, for that rough tongue

Matches the barbarous spot. You can, it may be,

Lead me to what I seek, a well wherein

Three hazels drop their nuts and withered leaves,

And where a solitary girl keeps watch

Among grey boulders. He who drinks, they say,

Of that miraculous water lives for ever.

OLD MAN: And