Kan.
You oped a grave and sacrileged its peace?
Gyges.
Nay, nay, my King—I found it oped to hand.
I only crept therein to slip from robbers
Toward hid retreat, for they in whelming odds
Were hot-foot on my track and harried me
As I, by some adventurous prompting driven,
Of late a desolate wooded mountain ranged.
The urns were overthrown and spilt their ashes,