Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/220

Most rare and wondrous, fashioned wings
For Icarus, as Ovid sings,5540
To pass the sea, so merrily
Do free hearts make Pecunia fly.
And they would kill themselves, God wot!
Unless through her some joy they got.
Great souls know not the hideous vice
Of sordid, grasping avarice.
But ever love, with largess grand
And free, to sound from land to land
Their noble deeds, their proud success,
Their valour, might, and gentleness;5550
God hates niggards For unto God a generous heart
Is grateful, but nor lot nor part
Hath Avarice with him; like to a foul
Rank stench he hates a niggard soul;
For when he made the world, with wealth
He plenished it for joy and health
Of man, and therefore loveth he
Freehanded generosity.
But pinching, stinting, griping curs
God damns with vile idolaters,5560
Poor caitiff hounds, insatiable,
Extortionate and miserable,
Who rove the world with whining cry.
That riches only set they by
That they may have, when cometh age,
Sufficing food and harbourage.

But say, sweet Riches, are ye then
So soft of heart ye love the men