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For wit and practice there are found,

And many who have trod the round

Of life have proved, beyond a doubt.

Those good, when all is else worn out

On which they have their substance spent;

Save for that twain their lives were shent.

When I had wit through practice won,

A thing with no small labour done,

Full many a noble man did I

Trick and beguile most skilfully;

But also, often was deceived

Ere yet full wit had I achieved.

Unhappy wretch! ’twas all too late,

Youth failed and left me desolate.

And now beheld I that my door,

Which on its hinges heretofore

Swung day and night, stood idly to,

From hour to hour none passed therethrough,

Until I thought: ‘Alas! poor soul,

Thy life is changed to grief and dole!’

When thus I saw my dwelling left

Deserted, nigh in twain was cleft

My heart, and I betook me thence,

Shamed and abashed my every sense.

Such misery scarce could I endure,

What balsam my deep wounds could cure,

When gay-clad gallants in the street,

Who lately fawned before my feet,

And spent their breath to sing my praise,

Now passed me in the public ways

Unheedingly, with heads tossed high,

As I were struck with leprosy?