Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/41

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A master ’twas whose pencil drew

These portraitures, and throughly knew

His hand this face and form to dight

As one who little recked of right,

A woman who would scorn to do

Honour to those to whom ’twas due.

Next her was painted Covetise,

Who eggs men on, for their misease,

To gather but to scatter not.

And store, when nought they need, God wot!

She ’tis the usurer doth cause

To press, unstayed by pity’s laws.

For gain relentlessly. ’Tis she

Doth urge to deeds of felony

Poor thieves, who, when they fall beneath

The hand of Justice, find swift death.

’Tis she that causeth men to take

Their neighbours’ goods, and doth awake

Desire to rob, deceive, and steal;

And ’tis through her that tricksters feel

Impelled to fraud; ’tis she doth make

False pleaders, who, for lucre’s sake.

Full many an innocent youth or maid

Strip bare, by their unholy trade.

Of patrimony. Crooked and bent

Her fingers grew, as they were meant

By nature all to grip and seize

That came anigh her. Covetise

Careth for nought except to get

Her neighbours’ goods within her net.