Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/280

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“Nay, nay!” I cried, “that would but be

To treat my master treacherously,

Who hath the power to make me rich

With wealth that monarchs’ palms might itch

In vain for. His kind hand will give

To me the Rose if I but live

True to my oath, and if I gain

That prize, I count all else but vain.

Your Socrates, and all his riches,

I value not three bodkin stitches;

I pray you speak of him no more;

My master, Love, I prize before

Aught else, and joyfully confess

His might, his love, his tenderness.

Nay, though he led the way to hell

I’d follow him and cry ‘’tis well.

My heart belongs no more to me,

’Tis his to deal with utterly,

And past persuasion am I loth

To make to any other oath

Of fealty; my testament

Fair-Welcome hath, wherein I’ve spent

My very soul; my fate is sealed

By law that ne’er can be repealed.

My precious Rose I would not change

For all your promise, nor estrange

My heart therefrom.

It seems to me

You lack the flower of courtesy,

For erstwhile did you cullions name,

A word no maid, with sense of shame,