Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/49

Rh

Popeholy was the name she bore,

And on her face a mask she wore

Of righteousness, for her great care

It is to take men unaware,

And play them some base, shameful trick.

On first acquaintance is she quick

To waken pity by her sad

And simple piteous look, beclad

With simple, sweet, and saintly seeming;

But in this world no evil deeming

Exists, that rolls not through her brain.

The painting gave to her amain.

Kind, gentle semblance; debonair

And simple all her features were.

And both her pose and raiment done

In guise of some good convent nun.

A psalter held she in her hand.

As though the throne of God she fanned

With holy prayers, and saints invoked:

But never laughed she, smiled nor joked.

Good works pretendeth she to do.

As though nought else did she pursue

Since first she donned the shirt of hair.

Her wretched body, lean and spare.

All bloodless looked and deadly white,

Through daily fest and sleepless night.

For her, and those who share her lot,

The gate of Paradise I wot

Ne’er openeth, for the Gospel says:

They fast and make long prayers for praise

Of men, and thus they cast away

God’s Kingdom at the dooming day.