Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/82

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The man who trusteth to his wife

His secrets, risks both fame and life,

For never man of woman born,

But sot, or one of wit forlorn,

Would to a woman e’er reveal

A thing ’twere prudent to conceal,

Lest he should hear it back again.

Much better had one flee to Spain

Than trust unto a woman’s care

A secret, e’en though debonair

And loyal she be. Nor any act

That best were hid, if he have tact,

Will any man perform and do

In woman’s presence, or he’ll rue.

For though it peril his estate

Or life, she will or soon or late,

However long she may delay,

His secret counselling betray

And tell, though no one should demand

Or seek the matter at her hand.

Nought can a woman’s silence buy,

For surely she’d expect to die

If she her tongue should curb, yea though

She knew great peril thence must grow.

And whoso tells some deadly thing

To any woman, soon will bring

Vengeance upon him if he dare

His hand lift in chastising her

Once only, soon as e’er the blow

She feels, she’ll let the whole world know

His secret, and loud-voiced proclaim

Her knowledge, though it blast his name.