Verily, said Beltenebros, you tell me the truth of this dream, for these things have all come to pass, and therefore great cause have I to hope for the future. Yet was not this hope so great or so certain as to remove his sorrow, for he would often sit with his eyes fixed upon the ground, remembering what he had been, and his life would have been endangered by exceeding melancholy, had it not been for the counsel of that good man. And sometimes, to take him away from that pensiveness, the Hermit would make him go with two nephews that kept him company there, to angle in a little stream hard by, where they caught plenty of fish. Here Beltenebros dwelt in penitence and great grief, and he past the night most frequently under some large trees in the garden near the chapel, that he might there lament, without the knowledge of the Hermit or the boys; and calling to mind the great wrong he endured, he made this song in his passion: _Sith that the victory of right deserved By wrong they do withhold for which I served; Now sith my glory thus hath had a fall, Glorious it is to end my life withall. By this my death, likewise my woes release, My hope, my joy, my inflamed love doth cease. But ever will I mind my during pain, For they, to end my glory and my gain, Myself have murdered, and my glory slain._[156:A] [156:A] This is the version in the English translation from the French: the matter is preserved, the manner lost. The poem is curious from its age; it is printed with these marks: Pues seme niega victoria dojusto mera deuida alli do muere la gloria (:·:) es gloria morir la vida. Y con esta muerte mia moriran todas mis daños, (:·:) (:·:) mi esperanza y mi porfia el amor y sus engaños; mas quedara en mi memoria lastima nunca perdida, (:·:) que por me matar la gloria, me mataron gloria y vida.