Motioned him—the convalescent prince would—to vacate the presence:
Babylonians plucked his beard and tore his raiment,
Drove him from that tower he built: while, had he peered at stars,
Town howled "Stone the quack who styles our Dog-star—Sirius!"
Country yelled "Aroint the churl who prophesies we take no pleasance
Under vine and fig-tree, since the year 's delirious,
Bears no crop of any kind,—all through the planet Mars!"
Straightway would the whilom youngster grow a grisard,
Or, as case might hap, the hoary eld drop off" and show a stripling.
Town and country groaned—indebted to a wizard!