Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 2.pdf/60

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And thriving blades, the begging friars,

Who show themselves as rough as briars

In open street, but love to win,

With oily tongues, their way within

The goodmen’s houses whom they cheat

With lying words, while drink and meat

They batten on; and though they sing

Their poverty, they’re gathering

Fat livelihood, and many a heap

Of deniers have they dolven deep

Beneath the earth.

Much more could I

Relate of this fraternity,

But thereby should from bad to worse

Be thrust, and fear their spiteful curse,

For none these hypocrites, forsooth,

So hate as those who speak the truth.

Alas then! I must count me mad

That such blind confidence I had

In treacherous friends, from whom I got

No help, but all alone to rot

Was left, rejected and despised

Of all the crowd which erst had prized

My friendship mightily. Alone

You stood my friend when all were gone,

Your heart with mine fast intertwined,

And both, please God, shall stand combined

In constant love.

But out, alas!

One day our mortal forms must pass

From this terrestrial life, and we

Forego each other’s company,