Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 2.pdf/72

44

Soon as I sally forth to work,

Away you start, with smile and smirk,

Ready for some wild prank or game.

Whereat your cheeks should burn for shame.

Singing aloud like siren sleek—

God curse you with an evil week.

When business drags me far from home

To Frisia’s shores, or e’en to Rome,

At once you mount coquettish dress,

That leaves but little room to guess

My lot, till neighbours talk thereon.

And when they ask wherefore you don

Such gay attire while I’m away,

With brazen impudence you’ll say

In mocking tones: Oho! oho!

’Tis that I love my husband so.

But I, poor wretch, may mope and grieve,

Who careth, whether I forge or weave,

Or whether alive or dead am I?

Then one would hit me in the eye

With bladder reft from goat or sheep,

And all the world but holds me cheap.

Because to beat you I’ve forborne,

Whilst nought I win from you but scorn,

You brag! though well ’tis known you lie.

Alack! alack! a fool was I

With such a pair of gloves to cramp

My hands—but I the bit may champ.

Alas! a fool’s cap ’twas I wore

That day when you obedience swore

In church, and I, poor idiot, dreamed

You’d later prove what then you seemed.