Had power o'er the laurel wreath,
Than she, women's wonder,
Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe.
They all hyena-like will weep,
When that they would deceive:
Deceit in them doth lurk and sleep,
Which makes me thus to grieve.
Young man's delight, farewell;
Wine, women, game, pleasure, adieu:
Content with me shall dwell;