Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/64

42

Until I have my vengeance spent,

And they avow them penitent,

Or sink beneath my hate and scorn.

A curse on those of Adam born

Who dare to cross my sovereign will,

Their very life-blood will I spill,

Should they reject my dear delight!

Yea, should some show me such despite

As fell me to the earth with blows,

They’d do me no more hurt than those.

I am not mortal, mother mine,

But if it were so, I opine

That ’neath such misery soon should I

Wither and perish utterly.

For if my pleasures men gave o’er

To me were left then nothing more

Saving my body and attire,

My bow and chaplet; all the fire

Of love extinct, then were men’s power

Of joyance dead, woe worth the hour!

For counting me of none avail

They must beneath life’s burden fail;

For where could mortal happier be

Straightway that oath, the host all swore.

And, that it might be made more sure.

In place of relics brought they rows

Of quivers, arrows, pikes and bows,