Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 45
XLV
How Poverty doth make her plea
To Dame Richesse most ruefully,
Who listeth not her piteous word,
But turns away as nought she heard.
The miseries of poverty
Alas! drear Poverty must be
The shamefaced spouse of Misery;
Her heart with sore affliction bruised,
Her eyes with scalding tears suffused,
While answering her sad plaint is heard
No sweet response, no pitying word,
To heal the wounds that tear her heart.
Her wretched fate it is to smart8370
With blame for every worthy deed,
How great soe’er her grief and need.
O ne’er consort with Poverty,
For nothing than her grip can be
More direful, as those find who get
Entangled in the coils of debt,
Through scattering wide in youthful days
Their substance, for old age oft pays
A heavy score, and many have stood
Therethrough beneath the gallows’ wood.8380
What pains untold those wretches know
Who driven by Poverty must go
Hither and thither to obtain
The little ease whereof they’re fain!
The lover nowise should forget
That Poverty doth sorely let
And hinder love, as Ovid saith:
With poor men love scant pastureth.
Poverty weds a man to hate,
Maddens and makes him desperate,8390
Until well-nigh he’s reft of sense.
Alas! fair friend, experience
Hath taught me this; too well have I
Tried it and found its misery
In proper person: I have known
What ’tis ’neath Poverty to groan,
And therefore can set forth to you,
As scarce another man could do,
The vengeances it hath in store;
Therefrom, God guard you evermore!8400
Fair friend, that you may suffer ne’er
The woes it hath been mine to bear,
List well the fair advice I give,
And, warned by my example, live
A joyous life.
A spend-thrift pictured
In days long past,
Among a merry crew was cast
My lot, and I the foremost shone
(As he who ne’er would be out-done)
Among a hundred, whilst that I
Scattered my substance recklessly.8410
As, all unheeded, sped along
Sweet amorous days, ’mid wine and song.
Esteemed of lordly wealth by all:
Alack! from wealth to need, my fall
Was lightly wrought by Mad-Largess,
Whose hand hath plunged me in distress
To that degree that meat and drink
I oft-times lack, and tread the brink
Of dire starvation. Weed and shoes!
Alas! my needs their state excuse;8420
Friends flee poverty
And worst of all, my friends are gone.
Grim Poverty hath spared not one.
Ah yes! dear friend, when Fortune spent
Her spite on me, my friends all went,
Nay, all went not, one still remained.
Whereof my woe-worn heart was fained.
When Fortune chose my goods to take,
Poverty followed in her wake:
I lie—nought Fortune took from me,
All that she took most certainly8430
Was hers; for had those friends been mine,
I had not seen them all decline
Acquaintance when she left; thus she
In nowise acted wrongfully,
For hers were they, and, like a fool,
I thought I’d bought them, and could rule
Their hearts as they were mine. Alas!
All suddenly beheld I pass
Those worthy friends, whene’er they found
That of my coin, bright, smooth, and round,8440
No piece remained. Each well-known face
Departed with a wry grimace
Soon as a-top of Fortune’s wheel
My head they saw not, but my heel.
An ingrate were I should I scold
Her who hath shown me good untold
And undeserved.
She now, forsooth,
With tender care and loving ruth
Hath on mine eyes bestowed a calm
And perfect vision; gentle balm8450
Hath she prepared to salve my sight
And if some twenty friends took flight
When Poverty arrived, I now,
Unless I lie, can see, I trow.
Four hundred and a half. Ne’er lynx
(Whose piercing eyesight never blinks)
Could see more clear. In my disgrace
Kind Fortune hath revealed the face
Of perfect love in one dear friend
Through Poverty. I ne’er had kenned8460
His sweet and gentle tenderness
Had he not spied my deep distress;
But forthwith busy haste he made
To bring me kindly help and aid,
And proffered without hope of gain
His all, my woe-worn heart to fain.