"Bitter sweet," answered the jester. "Call you me counsellor, uncle? I would give you all right good advice and sharp, if you would but take it--man, woman, and child." "Let us hear, let us hear," cried Count Frederick; "then will we judge whether it be worth the taking. Begin with the lady, cousin, as in duty-bound." "Well, then, here's for her counsel," said the jester, laying his finger on his brow:-- THE JESTER'S ADVICE TO LADIES. "Flaunt not your beauty in the common eye, Lest, like hedge flowers, it be not thought worth plucking, Trust to no young man's tender word or sigh; For even pigs are gentle when they're sucking. "Judge of your lover by his deeds to others, For to yourself he's ever a deceiver. Mark, girls, your fathers' conduct to your mothers, And each be, if she can be, a believer." "Good counsel, cousin! good counsel!" cried Count Frederick, "but now for another. What say you to the young men?" "Good faith! uncle, I know not that I have anything to say," answered the jester; "for whatever age says, youth will not believe, and whatever wisdom advises, folly will not follow; grace has gone out of season with garden rue; and wit, as well as wisdom, has become the property of fools. Argue me now wisely, with a sleek young crimson-spotted trout, upon the eminent perdition which befalls him if he snaps at a gay-looking fly with a hook in its belly; yet will your trout leap at the bait, and soon be flapping his broad tail on the bank. If the hook break in his jaws, indeed, he will gain wit from his wound, and look before he leaps another time--experience is the scourge that drives us all, admonition but a fool's blown bladder, that makes a sound where it strikes, but no impression. Boys will after their own game, as a goshawk after a partridge--and a pretty pair of heels, or a small delicate hand, most kissable and sugary, rosy lips set in a white skin, like strawberries in cream, and eyes that say 'Come, love me,' will any day, about feeding time, make a lad like that jump at a hook that will draw him into the frying-pan. Heaven help and mend us all! "Beauty's a butterfly, and youth's a boy, Let him catch it if he can. When he casts away his toy, He may learn to be a man." "Pretty Mistress Bertha wouldn't thank him if she could hear that," said Seckendorf, apart to his fellow-knight. "Mistress Bertha!" answered old Mosbach. "I've a notion the young cockerel carries his eyes higher than that, and all this notice of him will spoil him. The other day I saw him looking into the Lady Adelaide's eyes, and she into his, as if they were drinking love pledges to one another." "Pooh! nonsense," answered Seckendorf. "You are always finding out a nest of cock's eggs, Karl. Have you nothing to say to us, Sir Jester?" he continued aloud, speaking across the table.