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Old Man has camped on a desolate mountain for 50 years, waiting for a
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OLD MAN: What mischief brings you hither?
You are like those
Who are crazy for the shedding of men's blood,
And for the love of women.
YOUNG MAN: A rumour has led me,
A story told over the wine towards dawn.
I rose from table, found a boat, spread sail,
And with a lucky wind under the sail
Crossed waves that have seemed charmed, and found this shore.
OLD MAN: There is no house to sack among these hills
Nor beautiful woman to be carried off.
YOUNG MAN: You should be native here, for that rough tongue
Matches the barbarous spot. You can, it may be,
Lead me to what I seek, a well wherein
Three hazels drop their nuts and withered leaves,
And where a solitary girl keeps watch
Among grey boulders. He who drinks, they say,
Of that miraculous water lives for ever.
OLD MAN: And
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