Woe! woe! woe! the winds are wailing. 
     The four great sisters, the winds of the world,
    Call one to the other, and it is thy doom
     They are calling, Jerusalem. 
     Woe! woe! woe! 
    The North brings ruin, the South brings sorrow,
     The East wind grief, and the West wind tears
     For Jerusalem. 
     Woe! woe! woe!

And he sung this little song several times, till the hearts of the disciples hardened against the outcast and they were minded to beat him if he did not cease; but the swineherd warned them that a surer way to silence him was by giving him some food; and while he stood by eating, the swineherd confided the story of the fool, or as much of it as he knew, to Jesus.  The fool, he said, came from Jerusalem some two years ago.  He had been driven out of the Temple, which he frequented daily, crying about the courts the song with which he wearied you just now, till the most patient were unable to bear it any longer; and every time he met a priest he looked into his face and sang:  woe! woe! woe! unto Jerusalem, and whenever he met a scribe he would cry:  woe! woe! woe! unto Jerusalem, hindering them in their work about the Temple.  Some stones were thrown, but enough life was left in him to crawl away, and as soon as he recovered from his wounds he was about again, singing his melancholy ditty (he knows but one).  He was told if he did not cease he would be beaten with rods, but he could not cease it, and started his ditty again as soon as he could bear a shirt on his back; and then he must have travelled up here afoot, picking up a bit here and a bit there, getting a lift in an ox-cart.  He is without memory of anything, who he is, where he came from, or who taught him his song.  He does not know why he chose that broken tower for a dwelling, nor do we, but fortunately it stands in a waste.  We hear him singing as we go by to our work and pitch him scraps of food from time to time.  We hear him as we return in the evening to our homes making his melancholy dwelling sadder with his song.  But he is a harmless, poor fool, save for the annoyance of his song, which he cannot stanch any more than the wind in the broken turrets.  A harmless fool who will follow whosoever asked him to follow, unafraid, and taking a blow or a hunch of bread in the same humour, and distinguishing no man from the next one.

As the swineherd said these words the fool said:  Jesus, thou hast come to my help, but woe to thee, Son of God, thou wilt suffer thy death in Jerusalem; and looking up into Jesus’ face more intensely:  oh, Son of Man, what aileth thee or me?  And knowest thou anything of the cloud of woe that hangs over Jerusalem?  To which Jesus made no answer, but called upon the devils to say how many there were, and they answered:  three.  Then depart ye three, Jesus replied, and was about to impose his hands when the three devils asked whither they should go, to which Jesus answered:  ye must seek another