# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 45

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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.