He laughed: "Ye'll find or the day be through
There's more nor that, young master.
Oh, roving's good and youth is sweet
And love is its own reward;
But there's that shall stay your careless feet
When ye come to the Sign o' the Sword."
"Riddle me, riddlemaree," quoth I,
"Is a game that's ill to win,
And the day is o'er fair such tasks to try"—
Said he, "Ye shall know at the inn."