That they played for the treasures of the king,
Played till the cocks began to sing.
And the youth had become a worthless thing—
A mark for shame and scorn.
“The youth knelt down at the noble’s feet,
And, weeping, prayed that he should not meet
The eyes of his master, the injured king,
Who had trusted him well—a worthless thing!
Yet he turned, the wretch! to stalk away,
When a cry arrested his cruel way,