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For sharply raged fierce contests then.

If learnèd Algus, of all men

The wisest in his reckoning,

Should his ten wondrous figures bring

To bear thereon, I doubt if well

By multiplying he could tell

The number of the deadly fights

Wherein my gallants strove o’ nights.

Right fair of face was I, and sound

Of body, and of sterlings round

Had many a thousand, glistering white,

But like a dunce my business dight.

I was, in truth, a fair young fool,

Of no experience in love’s school.

Nought of love’s theory I knew,

But learned in its practice grew,

And all throughout my life have I

Its battles fought unflinchingly.

And now to you may I impart

The mysteries of that sweet art,

For blame were mine should I forego

To teach young folk the lore I know.

’Tis no great marvel if love’s pleasure

You neither know to mete or measure,

Since you are but a nestling still,

With callow wings and yellow bill;

While I so wrought have in the field

Of love that unto none I yield

In knowledge, but might lightly dare

To fill a grave professor’s chair.

’Tis but a fool who would despise

And mock old age, by time grown wise,