Is but to him a juggling bawd,
That opens up for man’s deceit
Only another chest of fraud.
Old Ash-in-Blood still deals advice
To Rose-of-Youth, and as he deals it,
Rolls piously his eyes; but ah,
He knows the pain whose body feels it.
In youth my head was hollow, like
A gourd, not knowing good from ill;
Now, though ’tis long since then, I’m like