Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/190

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A dungeon foul of paradise,

A May-tide midst of snow and ice;

A moth which deigns alike to fret

Coarse woollen cloth and fine brunette;

For love will thrive as well between

Rough blankets as fair silken sheen,

And no man yet was born so wise,

Nor bore such quarterings and device,

Nor proved himself of such great might

In counsel, court, or field of fight,

Nor showed himself so stern and grim

But what strong Love hath conquered him.

Except I those of vile estate,

Cast out and excommunicate

By Genius, insomuch that they

Have given their lives and souls away

To such-like crime as none may name,

Of sense bereft and lost to shame.

Now if it be thy wish, above

The joys and pains alike of love

To set thee—flee—take not one sup

From out that sweet but venomed cup.

For thy disease there is but one

Complete and perfect guerison:

Flee Love, and Love from thee will flee,

Embrace him, and he’ll master thee.”

When heard I Reason beat the air

With many a word she well might spare,

I cried: “Good Lord! I know no more,

For all your talk, than heretofore,