The man on whom virtue smiles is blest,
He is lost who neglects her instructions;
Poor youth that I am, I am ruin’d
By evil companions’ seductions.
For cards and dice soon dispossess’d
My pockets of all their money;
At first the maidens consoled me
With smiles as luscious as honey.
But when they had fuddled with wine their guest,
And torn my garments, straightway
(Poor youth that I am) they seized me,
And bundled me out at the gateway.
On waking after a bad night’s rest,—
Sad end to all my ambition!—
Poor youth that I am, I was filling
At Cassel a sentry’s position.