Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/50

16 Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;

Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine

To grace so plain a tale—this lowly lay of mine.

II.

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,

Who ne in Virtue's ways did take delight;

But spent his days in riot most uncouth,

And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.

Ah me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,

Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;

Few earthly things found favour in his sight

Save concubines and carnal companie,

And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.