Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/268

234

Bestow it where you dream not. Hear,

While yet I make my rede more clear:

God Jupiter, who you did wash,

Is air and cloud, whose rains shall lash

Your corpse; and Phœbus, who bedried

Your body, clearly typified

The sun; the high beech tree,

What should it but the gallows be?

This cruel path you needs must tread,

Dear father; on your glorious head

Will Fortune wreak her wrath as one

Whose arrogant pride hath vengeance won:

No man, whate’er his dignity.

More than an apple counteth she.

High loyalty or treachery base,

Lordly estate or pauper case,

Are one to her. As shuttlecock

Which playful damsels lightly knock

Hither and thither, so doth she

Toss gifts and favours recklessly,

Without a thought whereso they fall,

On mansion proud or cobbler’s stall.

For good or bad hath she no care,

All, all alike her giftings share;

She valueth none above a pea,

Saving her child Nobility,

Misfortune’s cousin, and her friend,

Who doth in Fortune’s balance pend.

But Fortune, though she take away

Nobility from whom she may,

Will deal it forth to none except

Such as through every change have kept