Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/48

14

Is reached. ’Tis Time that maketh grow

All new-born things, and Time doth show

How all things change, and wear and waste;

’Tis he that hath our fathers chased

From off the earth. Of mighty kings

And emperors the dirge he sings,

And all, through Time, must pass away,

For he ’tis marks our dooming day.

And Time, who ne’er forgetteth aught,

Hath Eld forgotten not, but brought

His hand to bear upon her so

That feebler doth she surely grow

From day to day, until no more

She hath of strength, or notes of lore,

Than child that on its mother’s knee

Or laughs or smiles unconsciously.

Yet natheless had Eld been in youth

A damsel fair, and sweet forsooth

To my sure knowledge, but I trow

Is sadly metamorphosed now—

Changed to a world-worn doting thing.

A great fur cloak for wrappering

She wore (methinks around her form

I see it yet) to keep her warm,

For aged folk still dread the cold.

By nature’s law, through many a fold.

The image standing next was fit

To show right well a hypocrite.