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Came nigh to ending. Not so great

Her grief was at the cruel fate

Of her Adonis, when the boar

His ivory thigh with death-wound tore.

Nought then could comfort or assuage

Her grief, yet fiercer did it rage

When died Tibullus; nought can stay

Our tears, till time hath passed away.

Catullus, Gallus, Ovid sweet,

How perfectly they knew to treat

Of Love’s fair science, well bestead

Were we of them—alas! they’re dead.

William of Lorris next regard,

Who certainly must meet a hard

And cruel fate through Jealousy,

Did he not chance to find in me

A saving hand. With loving heart

Doth he sweet counselling impart

To help our need, which is but right;

For he is mine, and I have dight

For him the mote assembled here

Of barons, who, despising fear,

Will save Fair-Welcome from the snare

He lieth in: he doth declare

Himself all powerless, but ’twould be

Disgrace and injury to me

To lose a liegeman who hath served

Me loyally, nor ever swerved

From duty’s path. To him I owe

Right worthy recompense, and so

Have now invoked your mighty power

To ruin and lay low the tower.

VOL. II.