‘Inn of Strange meetings!’ As my thirsty steed
Stoops to the hurrying rivulet, I ponder
What this may signify, and if indeed
It may be safe the ancient Hostel yonder
To enter. But of food and wine my need
Is sore, nor do I care my strength to squander
On farther travel: so I throw to a groom
My reins, and pass into a lofty room.