Aleel, the poet, who should know these woods,

Because we met him on their border but now

Wandering and singing like the foam of the sea,

Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come

That he can give no help.

MAIRE.
[Going to the door with her.]

You’re almost there.

There is a trodden way among the hazels

That brings your servants to their marketing.

ALEEL.