On th’ borders of a wood
Arrived, quoth Skrymur: “Here we may,
Methinks, take rest and food.
Let us this night no further go,
Repose we all do need:
And, when at morn the cock’s shrill crow
Awakes us, we’ll proceed.”
His heavy wallet down he flings,
Then adds with meaning sly:
“Be cautious not to spoil the strings,