"Shut out all night, the moody Clodion strayed,

  Puffing and pacing round his lofty tower,

  As if that prince the sentinel had played

  On them, that slept at ease in lordly bower:

  Him, sorer far than wind and cold dismayed

  That lovely lady's loss in Tristram's power:

  But he, with pity touched, upon the morrow,

  Rendered her back, and so relieved his sorrow.