Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 2.pdf/129

Rh

Digs from the earth roots crude and raw,

With pointed tooth and long-grown claw.

But sparsely roots and herbage strow

Those rugged rocks where wild winds blow.

Should I the crone describe to you,

My words forsooth need be but few.

Her body long, dry-boned, and bent.

With lack of food shows worn and spent;

Ragged her locks; blear eyes deep-set;

Face livid; lips, so thin, they let

Long teeth protrude; her wrinkled skin

Scarce hides the wretched bones wherein

Nor sap nor marrow flows, while she

For belly hath a cavity.

And not more flesh, as I opine.

Hangs on her dugs than on her chine.

Her knees resemble jagged points

Of rock, and all her finger joints

Rude knots deform; such misery lean

Holds her in grip. And ne’er, I ween,

Doth Ceres, foison’s Goddess, come

Anigh this heaven-forgotten home;

Nor doth Triptolemus e’er fly

His dragons through this sunless sky,

For Destiny decrees that ne’er

Shall here be joined that welcome pair.

The fruitful Goddess could not dwell

With Famine in her dreary hell.

For foison can in nowise be

Allied with direful Poverty.

But she it is, forsooth, will lead

You on to curst estate of need