Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 2.pdf/136

108

When she her voice doth ’gainst you raise,

Or lesser folk bestints of praise,

For so entirely doth mine heart

To you belong that nought shall part

Our love, unless is torn away

That heart from out my body—nay,

I’m yours till death. ’Twas folly great,

Arid grievous wrong ’gainst you, to prate

With her, or list her futile speech,

But your forgiveness I beseech;

And whatsoe’er of penalty

Account you well to lay on me

I’ll welcome, and will nevermore

Listen to Reason, but your lore

Shall be my guide for life and death;

In you I’ll live so long as breath

Remains to me, and nowise loss

It were to me if Atropos

Should cut life’s thread while I engage

In that sweet war that mortals wage

For Venus’ sake, nought else doth bless

Man’s life with so great happiness.

And those who for my death should weep.

When thus they see me fallen to sleep

So sweetly, might with reason cry:

Oh well art thou thuswise to die!

Thy death doth with that life agree,

Thou liv’dst ere soul from flesh was free.

Now, by my head, thou speakest well,

For, hearing thee, ’tis light to tell