she said. 
  “Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not,” cried the dwarf;
  “Thou art not worthy ev’n to speak of him;”
  And when she put her horse toward the knight,
  Struck at her with his whip, and she return’d
  Indignant to the Queen; whereat Geraint
  Exclaiming, “Surely I will learn the name,”
  Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask’d it of him,
  Who answer’d as before; and when the Prince
  Had put his horse in motion toward the knight,
  Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek. 
  The Prince’s blood spurted upon the scarf,
  Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive hand
  Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him: 
  But he, from his exceeding manfulness
  And pure nobility of temperament,
  Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrain’d
  From ev’n a word, and so returning said: 

    “I will avenge this insult, noble Queen,
  Done in your maiden’s person to yourself: 
  And I will track this vermin to their earths;
  For tho’ I ride unarm’d, I do not doubt
  To find, at some place I shall come at, arms
  On loan, or else for pledge; and, being found,
  Then will I fight him, and will break his pride,
  And on the third day will again be here,
  So that I be not fall’n in fight.  Farewell.”

    “Farewell, fair Prince,” answer’d the stately Queen. 
  “Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;
  And may you light on all things that you love,
  And live to wed with her whom first you love: 
  But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,
  And I, were she the daughter of a king,
  Yea, tho’ she were a beggar from the hedge,
  Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.”

    Geraint, now thinking that he heard
  [Transcriber’s note:  Illegible]t at bay, now the far horn,
  A little vext at losing of the hunt,
  A little at the vile occasion, rode,
  By ups and downs, thro’ many a grassy glade
  And valley, with fixt eye following the three. 
  At last they issued from the world of wood,
  And climb’d upon a fair and even ridge,
  And show’d themselves against the sky, and sank. 
  And thither came Geraint, and underneath
  Beheld the long street of a little town
  In a long valley, on one side whereof,
  White from the mason’s hand, a fortress rose;
  And on one side a castle in decay,
  Beyond a bridge that spann’d a dry ravine: 
  And out of town and valley came a noise
  As of a broad brook o’er a shingly bed
  Brawling, or like a clamor of the rooks
  At distance, ere they settle for the night.

    And onward to the fortress rode the three,
  And enter’d, and were lost behind the walls. 
  “So,” thought Geraint, “I have track’d him to his earth.” 
  And down the long street riding wearily,
  Found every hostel full, and everywhere
  Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss
  And bustling whistle of the youth who