Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/68

46

His foot doth overtake at last,

And though it seem as though he passed

Some few, he turneth him again

To strike them down; futile and vain

Is leechcraft in the end, each one

He catcheth when his course is run.

Nay, even the great physicians he

Doth seize, how skilled soe’er they be.

Hippocrates and Galen eke,

Though strong of wit, ’gainst death were weak.

Constantine, Razis, Avicene,

All bowed ’neath his strong rule, I ween,

For far though men may run. Death will

With tireless foot run further still,

For he, whom nought can satisfy,

Will as voracious glutton try

All to devour, and therefore he

Pursues them over land and sea.

Yet howsoever much he strive.

He ne’er all living things can drive

At once within his net, nor shape

His snares so well that none escape.

For if but only one remain,

That one will soon bring forth again;

And this we through the Phœnix know,

Which, though but one, anew doth grow

Unerringly.

On all the earth

One Phœnix only comes to birth

In five-and-twenty score of years;

And when the wondrous creature nears

Its end, it builds a funeral pyre

Of spices sweet, then setteth fire