Childhood Friends
He moved in a tumult of glad alarm,
But his heart was asleep on his one love's arm.
One night, when the rain was pouring down,
All scratched and heated, he clambered out
Of a countess's window, and gazed about
And thought as he looked at the town:
But his heart was asleep on his one love's arm.
One night, when the rain was pouring down,
All scratched and heated, he clambered out
Of a countess's window, and gazed about
And thought as he looked at the town:
"When a daughter lies to her mother, we say
Love's vaunted sun approaches the prime.
When she lies to him she has sworn to obey,
Her heart feels love for the second time.
Like a sneaking thief with skeleton keys
Love breaks through all vows and promises.
There is not in love one man of honor.
Would you see the worst scoundrels that ever drank
At breast, then behold them rank on rank,
When the whispering couples beneath Love's banner
Go by, each pair with fetters that clank,
As in long parade through the streets they walk
With insult and lie and slanderous talk;
For merely to watch how lovers gloat
Enkindles in others the mean and the low.
The sage, whether clad in toga or coat,
Closes his window and laughs at the show.
Next to the waiter and the woman's physician
The lover's the man that merits derision.
Wise married man, let your blood be chill,
And leave him to play his vaudeville,
For the horn he stealthily gives you to wear
Is less droll than the ass's ears be must bear
Love's vaunted sun approaches the prime.
When she lies to him she has sworn to obey,
Her heart feels love for the second time.
Like a sneaking thief with skeleton keys
Love breaks through all vows and promises.
There is not in love one man of honor.
Would you see the worst scoundrels that ever drank
At breast, then behold them rank on rank,
When the whispering couples beneath Love's banner
Go by, each pair with fetters that clank,
As in long parade through the streets they walk
With insult and lie and slanderous talk;
For merely to watch how lovers gloat
Enkindles in others the mean and the low.
The sage, whether clad in toga or coat,
Closes his window and laughs at the show.
Next to the waiter and the woman's physician
The lover's the man that merits derision.
Wise married man, let your blood be chill,
And leave him to play his vaudeville,
For the horn he stealthily gives you to wear
Is less droll than the ass's ears be must bear
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