Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet,
Across the bridge that spann’d the dry ravine.
There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl 295
(His dress a suit of fray’d magnificence,
Once fit for feasts of ceremony), and said:
“Whither, fair son?” to whom Geraint replied,
“O friend, I seek a harbourage for the night.”
Then Yniol, “Enter, therefore, and partake 300
The slender entertainment of a house
Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door’d.”