Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Whilome in Albion’s isle there dwelt a youth,
   Who ne in virtue’s ways did take delight;
   But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
   And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
   Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
   Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
   Few earthly things found favour in his sight
   Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.