Enamoured am I of a fair one, A youngling new a-blow;
I've sought it with prayer from heaven, The gladness of this woe.

Whoremonger, amorist, toper, I tell thee outright, I am;
So thou, that with all these merits Endowed I am, mayst know.

Now shame of my sin-soiled cassock Is over me come, whereon
I, patch upon patch, devices An hundred still did sew.

Yea, well mayst thou burn, o candle, In passion for her! For see,
Upstanding in that same business, Loin-girt, am I e'enso.

The profit of my endeavour, In this my bewilderment,
I've lost: as in heart and spirit I dwindle, in grief I grow.

So haply that new-blown charmer May me to her bosom draw,
To the tavern, with robe (like Hafiz) All open in front I go.