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They’d pass me by with hop and skip

sweet As one not worth an apple pip:

And some, to whom I’d favour shown,

Now voted me a wrinkled crone.

It seemed as each would put on me

Some new refined indignity.

Upon the other hand no man,

How fine soe’er of feeling, can,

Dear friend, believe the woes I felt,

Or how mine eyes in tears would melt,

When rose the picture in my mind

Of old good days when kisses kind

Were showered upon me ’mid delights

Of joyous days and passioned nights—

Sweet words to sweeter actions wed.

Alas! for ever all are fled,

Past over to return no more.

Far better had a prison door

Closed on me than that I were born

So soon. Ah God! what scathing scorn

Have fair gifts lost brought down on me,

And consciousness they ne’er can be

Reclaimed hath sent a poisoned dart

Of anguish through my wasted heart.

I ask again, why was I born

So soon? unhappy wretch forlorn!

Is there, but you, one single one

To whom I can complain, dear son?

In nowise could my vengeance reach

My foes so well as if I teach

To you my doctrine for this end;

Thereon my breath I well may spend,