Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/42

20

For all alike from age to age

Are they writ down in history’s page.

Forgive me then, fair ladies, nor

Scold me for what men wrote of yore,

Which I but follow, save at times

Some innocent word to help my rhymes

I add, as poets needs must do,

Would they their matter carry through,

By some invention of their own.

For all true poets work alone,

For delectation and delight

Of those who read their work aright.

And if some people grumble still,

And of my work and me speak ill,

Because they keenly feel the bite

Of that sharp tooth wherewith I dight

False-Seeming’s words, and so conspire

And plot to punish me with dire

And grievous chastisement, because

With rage they read my rasping saws,

Then here declare I before all,

I ne’er from out my lips let fall

A word to injure living man,

Who doth his life on virtue plan

Beneath the Church’s holy care,

Whatever robe or frock he wear.

But though a sinner I confess

Myself to be, I ne’ertheless

Catch up my bow, and thence let fly

My arrows, which shall grievously