"Yet stay," he paused awhile, and then—
"Let messengers the country scour
On pain of death forbidding men
To speak, in hut or hall or tower,
Of what I said this night of dread,
Or where I spent its darkest hour."
Swift flew the minions to obey;
The wearied monarch slumbered late;
Yet, in the Capital next day,
Writ large upon his palace gate,