That to the princess I had said."
The huntsman to the marquise goes,
"I bring you news of woe and scorn,
Dom Pedro is condemned to die,
As sure as comes to-morrow's morn."
The marquise mounted a fleet steed,
And all her servants followed on,
Their mantles hung upon their arms,
They had not time their cloaks to don.
"What do you in a prison cell?"