Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 48
XLVIII
This notes how ill-bred men will cry
“Out” on their wives through jealousy,
Calling them names I scarce dare tell,
As minx, jade, harlot, Jezebel.8870
Seigniory kills love
And thus ’tis seen that strange conceit
Of wisdom eggs fools on to treat
Their spouses ill, to such degree
That they misuse them brutally,
Saying that too much time they spend
In dancing, or too often wend
In company with some young blade
With whom they’ve assignation made,
And ask them how they love expect
From husbands if they dare reject8880
Their counsels, deeming they alone,
Their wives, both body and goods, should own.
Cries one: Your air is far too gay,
And why this mincing mien, I pray?
Soon as I sally forth to work,
Away you start, with smile and smirk,
Ready for some wild prank or game.
Whereat your cheeks should burn for shame.
Singing aloud like siren sleek—
God curse you with an evil week.8890
A husband’s woes
When business drags me far from home
To Frisia’s shores, or e’en to Rome,
At once you mount coquettish dress,
That leaves but little room to guess
My lot, till neighbours talk thereon.
And when they ask wherefore you don
Such gay attire while I’m away,
With brazen impudence you’ll say
In mocking tones: Oho! oho!
’Tis that I love my husband so.8900
But I, poor wretch, may mope and grieve,
Who careth, whether I forge or weave,
Or whether alive or dead am I?
Then one would hit me in the eye
With bladder reft from goat or sheep,
And all the world but holds me cheap.
Because to beat you I’ve forborne,
Whilst nought I win from you but scorn,
You brag! though well ’tis known you lie.
Alack! alack! a fool was I8910
With such a pair of gloves to cramp
My hands—but I the bit may champ.
Alas! a fool’s cap ’twas I wore
That day when you obedience swore
In church, and I, poor idiot, dreamed
You’d later prove what then you seemed.
How could it be supposed that e’er
A bold and brazen face you’d bear
Towards the lecherous wanton wights
Who follow loose-lived girls o’ nights?8920
For whom, I ask, do you prepare
The chestnuts I’m not asked to share?
’Twould seem indeed that you are fain
Of me as shield against the rain.
And pose you as a ring-dove simple
And soft, beneath your modest wimple.
But how about that ample cloak
’Neath which fine gallants know to poke
Themselves in tête-à-tête? I swear,
Except for shame and kindness ’twere.8930
I’d not for bezants four of gold,
Your trouncing, well deserved, withhold,
But use my stick to bate your pride,
Which sorely hath my patience tried.
For know that vastly ’tis to me
Displeasing that you decked should be
To join in carol, song, or dance,
Without my leave and countenance.