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Cards, and swords, and a lady's love, That is a tale worth reading, An insult veiled, a downcast glove, And rapiers leap unheeding. And 'tis O! for the brawl, The thrust, the fall, And the foe at your feet a-bleeding.

Tales of revel at wayside inns, The goblets gaily filling, Braggarts boasting a thousand sins, Though none can boast a shilling. And 'tis O! for the wine, The frothing stein, And the clamour of cups a-spilling.

Tales of maidens in rich brocade, Powder and puff and patches, Gallants lilting a serenade Of old-time trolls and catches. And 'tis O! for the lips And the finger tips, And the kiss that the boldest snatches.