The precious grapes which there I left...
Where is the fruit on which I counted?
Tell me of which I am bereft?’
Straight the Count himself imprison’d
In highest tower of Valderey:
—‘Ne’er shall bread assuage my hunger,
Ne’er shall wine my thirst allay.
Beard and hair grown rough and ragged,
Care from me shall ne’er receive;
Till the truth be plain before me,