Rememberest thou aught of the lands where we wended? KING PHARAMOND Yea, many a thing--as the moonlit warm evening When we stayed by the trees in the Gold-bearing Land, Nigh the gate of the city, where a minstrel was singing That tale of the King and his fate, o'er the cradle Foretold by the wise of the world; that a woman Should win him to love and to woe, and despairing In the last of his youth, the first days of his manhood. MASTER OLIVER I remember the evening; but clean gone is the story: Amid deeds great and dreadful, should songs abide by me? KING PHARAMOND They shut the young king in a castle, the tale saith, Where never came woman, and never should come, And sadly he grew up and stored with all wisdom, Not wishing for aught in his heart that he had not, Till the time was come round to his twentieth birthday. Then many fair gifts brought his people unto him, Gold and gems, and rich cloths, and rare things and dear-bought, And a book fairly written brought a wise man among them, Called the Praising of Prudence; wherein there was painted The image of Prudence:--and that, what but a woman, E'en she forsooth that the painter found fairest;-- Now surely thou mindest what needs must come after? MASTER OLIVER Yea, somewhat indeed I remember the misery Told in that tale, but all mingled it is With the manifold trouble that met us full often, E'en we ourselves. Of nought else hast thou memory? KING PHARAMOND Of many such tales that the Southland folk told us, Of many a dream by the sunlight and moonlight; Of music that moved me, of hopes that my heart had; The high days when my love and I held feast together. --But what land is this, and how came we hither? MASTER OLIVER