# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 56

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LVI
The Lover findeth Dame Richesse, Who guards the path with carefulness By which the fortress may be ta’en Of those who scatter golden rain.
The Lover finds Richesse Hard by a fountain fresh and clear (While musing on my Rosebud dear)10510
I found a sweet sequestered spot Where sat a dame, whom all would wot Of lovely form and joyous face, Beneath a leafy elm her place. A gallant stood beside the dame, (Of whom I wist nor rank nor name) But her I knew for Dame Richesse, By all men held of great noblesse, And o’er a pleasant pathway guard She kept, and all intrusion barred.10520
Soon as I saw them I inclined My head, and well was pleased to find Return thereof, but that was all My welcoming. In accent small And soft I gently asked if they Could to Much-Giving point the way; And Richesse, speaking first, replied. In tones that savoured scorn and pride:
Richesse.
The Lover.
Ah! lady, God preserve, I pray,10530 Your life, but prithee suffer me To wend towards that high fort I see Yonder, which Jealousy hath reared For purpose that my heart hath seared.
Richesse.
The woning of Richesse Not yet, O vassal, to that spot May you approach, I know you not; Those only by this path can go Who know me, and I please to know. As stranger you must ten years wait Ere, as my friend, you pass this gate;10540 Although from Paris straight one came Or Amiens, ’twere to me the same. My friends may freely enter here To dance and sing throughout the year, And live a joyous life and free, Whereof no sage need envious be, Nought passeth here but frolic play Wherewith to wile the time away, Light dances set to gleesome tunes, On viols, tambours, and bassoons,10550 Sweet songs that savour amorousness, And games of tables, dice and chess, And many another for delight Of merry hearts. And there are dight Delicious meats that never cloy, And soft amours fulfilled of joy, There loving swains with ladies sweet, By schemes of skilled duennas meet, ​The home of Richesse And wandering stroll ’neath shady groves And gardens, where they tell their loves,10560 Gaily attired as popinjays, And leisure-footed wend their ways Towards dulcet baths right well prepared For soft delight, and having shared This joyance, then hard by are found Luxurious chambers, where they, crowned With flower-twined chaplets, idly lie Within Mad-Largess’ hostelry, Where they at every pore are bled, And long ’tis ere their cure is sped.10570 Right dearly do they pay for what Their host affordeth them; so hot And ruthless his rapacity, That all their goods and lands must be To him made o’er. I lead men in That they a joyous time may win. But Poverty doth drive them thence, Naked and shivering, reft of pence. I guard the entry, she the gate Of exit: men of all estate10580 Accept I, ignorant and wise May enter, but when they arise To travel forth, they’re paupers. Yet I will not say but they may get Permission to return (but this No small or light won favour is) If they with good provision come, To make with me once more their home, Nor that I would not many a time Receive them till they had no dime10590 ​Of that great wealth they once possessed. Scatterlings fall to Poverty But know thou, even more distressed Are they the oftener they return New store of bitter woe to earn, Till that they shun my gaze for shame And, taking on their heads the blame, Cast off their lives of misery. I flee from those who flee from me. I warn you well, ere yet you pass This barrier, you will cry, alas!10600 When you return, for never Bear, Hand-led, and muzzle doomed to wear, Was wretcheder than you will be At going hence. If Poverty Cast you on bed of hay or straw, You there mid sighs and groans must draw Your breath till you of hunger die.
Hunger, who unto Poverty Was chamberer, by her bitterness Reduced her dame to dire distress,10610 And then corrupted her, till she Became the nurse of Knavery; From her own breast with milk she fed; The varlet, who no other bread E’er tasted. And if ye desire To hear of her, this caitiff dire, Fierce Hunger, dwells on stone-strewn ground, Where nought of herb or grain is found, A land which north of Scotland lies, Whose frozen atmosphere outvies10620 The marble’s coldness. Hunger, who Wones where no tree or grain e’er grew. ​Digs from the earth roots crude and raw, With pointed tooth and long-grown claw. But sparsely roots and herbage strow Those rugged rocks where wild winds blow. Hunger portrayed Should I the crone describe to you, My words forsooth need be but few. Her body long, dry-boned, and bent. With lack of food shows worn and spent;10630 Ragged her locks; blear eyes deep-set; Face livid; lips, so thin, they let Long teeth protrude; her wrinkled skin Scarce hides the wretched bones wherein Nor sap nor marrow flows, while she For belly hath a cavity. And not more flesh, as I opine. Hangs on her dugs than on her chine. Her knees resemble jagged points10640 Of rock, and all her finger joints Rude knots deform; such misery lean Holds her in grip. And ne’er, I ween, Doth Ceres, foison’s Goddess, come Anigh this heaven-forgotten home; Nor doth Triptolemus e’er fly His dragons through this sunless sky,
For Destiny decrees that ne’er Shall here be joined that welcome pair. The fruitful Goddess could not dwell With Famine in her dreary hell.10650 For foison can in nowise be Allied with direful Poverty. But she it is, forsooth, will lead You on to curst estate of need ​Hunger and Poverty If you through slothfulness once get Your feet within her close-meshed net, And unto Poverty’s dim den A man as surely cometh when That path he takes, as though he trod This road, of which I guard the sod;10660 For men of idle life and base Soon meet the beldame face to face. And if you deem that well ’twill suit Your turn to follow out the route Towards treacherous Poverty accurst In hope thereby the gates to burst Of this strong fort, you easily May fail. But Hunger, credit me, Will be your fellow and bedmate Soon as you fall to poor estate,10670 For better Poverty by heart The road knows than by parchment chart. And wretched Hunger doth expend Such pains and carefulness to tend Her dam (for though she loves her not, Yet through her only hath she got Wherewith to live, though she herself Is naked, and devoid of pelf). That ever comes she day by day, And sits beside her in the way,10680 And kisseth her with much misease. Theft’s ear she suddenly doth seize, And wakes him if she sees him sleep, Inclines her towards him in her deep Distress, consulting how they may By some means Hunger’s pangs allay. ​Faint-Heart with Hunger doth agree, Who of the rope thinks tremblingly, And on her body every hair Stends stiff and straight with mortal fear10690 And dread, lest Theft, her child, amain Red-handed in the deed be ta’en. By this path seek then not to go. But find some other road, for lo! If you should persevere to choose This way, you all your wealth must lose, And have not served me so that I Should love you unreservedly.
The Lover speaks to Richesse.
Lady, I swear by God above That gladly would I win your love,10700 And by your grace would fain essay Along your path to make my way. And rescue from his durance dire Fair-Welcome—grant my one desire.
Richesse.
Richesse warns the Lover I understand, quoth she, that all Your store of wood both great and small You’ve sold not, but one stick kept back; ’Tis well, and ne’er the world will lack Of folly till men rise above The thraldom known to fools as love,10710 But each who in this madness lies, Deems himself natheless wondrous wise. ​The madness of lovers ’Tis foolishness to call that life Which is but fury, rage and strife. Reason saw well your folly, but To all her wisdom did you shut Your ears, and madly you deceived Yourself when nowise you believed Her words. Before Dame Reason came. No power could you from Love reclaim,10720 And now, forsooth, you still despise My words, since Love alone you prize. From lovers gain I small esteem, Meseemeth that alone they dream Of scattering wide my goods, but whence Can come the wealth that fools dispense. When, slaves to Love, they play his game? That rede you, in the devil’s name! But hence, and leave me here in peace.
The Lover.
I saw ’twere well my prayers to cease,10730 And sadly thence betook my way. But, though I went, with her did stay Her friend arrayed in raiment rich.
I took a path, scarce noting which, Across that close past all compare, Filled with delights most heavenly fair,. The tale whereof ye erst have heard. But now, alas! no more it stirred Joy in my heart. I dreamed alone What manner way might best be done10740 ​That service whereto I was bound. Not of freewill would I be found False to my word and solemn oath, And, into crime so base, were loth To be betrayed. My heart was filled With thought of that my friend instilled Therein with so great care: That I By every mode and means should try To honour Evil-Tongue, nor swerve From his advice to please and serve10750 My cruel foes. The Lover’s perplexities Should I get aught Of thanks thereby? That knew I nought, Yet wist I not what else to do, Not daring to approach unto The enclosure, as I quickly should If I but wrought the thing I would. And thus, God knows, did I debate These doubts, with conscience desolate. For one course duty sternly bid, The while another thing I did,10760 And so towards the course of right A traitor was I (though despite Of sore temptation up till now Had I been faithful), and did throw My lot with treason, seen I could No other way attain that good My being longed for—I who ne’er Ere this the cloak of leasings ware.