Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 2.pdf/97

Rh

To all the rascal friends you meet,

Who will with scorn and laughter greet

The tale you tell, and thus through you

May I win blows, nor light nor few,

My head to bruise, my legs to break,

And jelly of my back to make,

Should I permit you hence to go.

But if perchance I come to know

That you have blabbed one word, I’ll let

You hear of it. Unless they get

Hold of my arm and from me take

This club, such play with it I’ll make

That neither neighbour, friend, nor sire,

Nor gallant, shall abate my ire.

Alas! that e’er we should have met!

’Neath what unhappy star was set

My birth, that you on me should bring

Such shame, disgrace, and suffering?

But to these scoundrel villain curs,

Because they’re smooth-tongued flatterers,

Do you accord full seigniory,

While I it is who ought to be

Your well-loved lord, by whom you’ve been

Fed, clothed, and shod long years, I ween.

All shamelessly am I by you

Associate made with this base crew

Of scurvy scoundrels, villain scum,

From whom nought else to you can come

But shame, dishonour, and disgrace;

For while they praise you to your face,

But cheaply they esteem your charms,

E’en while they revel in your arms.