# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 2

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The Lover here essays to draw The wondrous counterfeits he saw130 Painted along the garden wall. Before our eyes doth he recall, Lifelike, the semblance, form and fame, Of each, and tells thereof the name, And first, with lively pen, portrays Of Hate the direful works and ways.
Short space my feet had traversed ere A garden spied I, great and fair, The which a castled wall hemmed round. And pictured thereupon I found140 Full many a figure rich and bright Of colour, and how each one hight Clear writ beneath it; now will I To you declare from memory The semblance and the name of each, And somewhat of their natures teach. ​
Hate.
Hate described Amidmost stood Hell’s daughter, Hate, Malignant, base, and desolate Of countenance; prime mover she Of quarrel, strife, and jealousy.150 Her very being, as meseemed. With black and treacherous poison teemed Of evil passion, while her dark And frowning visage bore the mark Of frenzied madness. Heavenward rose. As if in scorn, her camus nose, And round her head, as if with will To make her foulness fouler still, A filthy clout had she enwrapped.
Felony.
Left of her stood a figure, capped160 And branded with a legend writ Full large, which well her face did fit. It said: “Behold foul Felony.”
Villainy.
And on her right hand Villainy Stood pictured, and I soothly wot That ’twixt this evil pair is not Disparity of one poor hair. A creature looked she born to bear Within her bosom rancorous pride; Her mouth thin lipped, as formed to chide.170 ​A master ’twas whose pencil drew These portraitures, and throughly knew His hand this face and form to dight As one who little recked of right, A woman who would scorn to do Honour to those to whom ’twas due.
Covetousness.
A picture of Covetousness Next her was painted Covetise, Who eggs men on, for their misease, To gather but to scatter not. And store, when nought they need, God wot!180 She ’tis the usurer doth cause To press, unstayed by pity’s laws. For gain relentlessly. ’Tis she Doth urge to deeds of felony Poor thieves, who, when they fall beneath The hand of Justice, find swift death. ’Tis she that causeth men to take Their neighbours’ goods, and doth awake Desire to rob, deceive, and steal; And ’tis through her that tricksters feel190 Impelled to fraud; ’tis she doth make False pleaders, who, for lucre’s sake. Full many an innocent youth or maid Strip bare, by their unholy trade. Of patrimony. Crooked and bent Her fingers grew, as they were meant By nature all to grip and seize That came anigh her. Covetise Careth for nought except to get Her neighbours’ goods within her net.200 ​
Avarice.
The foulness of Avarice Another image close allied To Covetise stood side by side With her. ’Twas Avarice, and she Looked foul, and stooped most wretchedly. Her wasted figure, lean and weak. Was wan and pale as garden leek. The while her visage, void of blood. Bespoke her languorous wearihood. Her corpse-like body looked as fed On crusts of sour and mouldy bread210 Kneaded with leaven thin and eager; And with intent to hide her meagre Shrunken limbs she’d o’er them cast A tattered threadbare garment, past All hope of mendment, torn and slit, As though fierce dogs had worried it. In such poor wretched rags was she Arrayed, God wot! right beggarly. Hard by, upon a crazy pin, Was hung her cloak, outworn and thin:220 Wrought of good brunette cloth, once fair And soft, but now of ermine bare; And, in the place of costly fur. Poor Avarice contenteth her With heavy lambskin, shag and black; Full twenty years her skinny back Hath borne its cumbrous weight, for shy Is Avarice new clothes to buy. But findeth ever some excuse To spare her clouts due wear and use;230 ​And when outworn, her soul doth rue, Sorely, the cost to purchase new, But grievously the pinch of cold Will suffer ere she spends her gold. With greedy clutch doth Avarice hide Her purse, which ne’er she openeth wide. But keeps the strings drawn close and tight, Consumed with jealous fear lest light Her coin should see. Alas! but small Delight doth hence to her befall,240 For ne’er from out that purse would she Spend one poor penny willingly.
Envy
Envy portrayed Beside her, sad-eyed Envy stood, Who smileth never. Nothing good To her doth seem, and nought can cheer Her soul to joy, or please her ear, Except it be some evil hap Befalls, the happiness to sap Of worthy men, that only she Heareth or looks on joyfully.250 But if perchance some lineage great Cast down should be from fair estate, Above all else such case I deem Would raise her soul to joy supreme. Should some good man perchance arise To honour great, within her dies Her heart; but marvellous delight Awakes therein when hate and spite Spur men to wrath. Such rancour grows Within her breast, that ne’er she shows260 ​Envy spareth no man Love to a friend, nor hath one good Kind thought towards those who share her blood— Yea, sorely ’twould her heart distress Her sire to see in happiness. Right cruel is the price she pays, Who walketh thus in devious ways. And through her cursed spirit she Suffers forsooth most bitterly; For in her villain mind doth rage Torment more rude than thought can gauge270 Whene’er she hears of kindly deed Or worthy act; and sore doth bleed Her venomous heart enduring this. Which God’s most righteous vengeance is Upon her. Envy’s evil tongue Spares no man, be he old or young. And if ’twas hers to know perchance The noblest knight who honours France. Or one whose fame lies over-sea. She’d deal them slander equally.280 And should their names so fair be found As made her villain words redound To eke their praise, then would she try By mean insinuating lie To undermine their fame some deal With venomous wound no balm could heal. I noted how she seemed to glance Sideways, with tortuous peep askance. And furtive leer turned all awry. Half-closed her slanting evil eye.290 Her habit seemed, forsooth, innate That she towards no man cast a straight ​And honest gaze, but one eye closed She kept, as if forsooth she dozed; Then suddenly ’twas lit with ire If some fair thing she saw, and fire Would burn therein, for loves she not Aught good or beauteous, as I wot.
Sorrow.
Heavy-eyed Sorrow Then standing Envy close beside. Was fretful Sorrow, heavy-eyed300 And dismal. By her deadly hue ’Twas clear her wretched spirit knew Unending grief, and thus jaundice Paled all her blood. E’en Avarice Than she doth look less poor and lean. For care and misery, well I ween, And cruel chagrin and distress. That day nor night know never cess. She suffers, and through sickly woe More lean and pale doth daily grow.310 None suffereth martyrdom more dire Than she, and this begetteth ire Within her heart, as seemed to me, And much I doubt if aught could be Or said or done whereby to ease Her rooted grief, or calm or please Her cankered soul, or break the round Of care wherein her life is bound! Alike her face and garments wore Marks of the cruel rage that tore320 Her woeful heart. Her nails had scratched Her cheeks, the while her hands had snatched ​Her rob to rags and plainly spake What cruel passion was awake Within her miserable breast, Outworn with rage, with grief opprest. Sad token both of spleen and hate, That left her thus disconsolate. Around her head hung ragged shocks Of hair in wild disordered locks,330 The which her angry hands had torn, The while she wept her state forlorn, Till every eye that saw her grew Bedewed with tears of pitying rue, For ceased she not to beat her breast As though with madness dire possessed. Her body and soul both seemed to be Encompassed round with misery; No pastime sought she, and the bliss Her mouth ne’er knew of amorous kiss.340 The wight whose being is in woe Immersed hath little will to go Where merry folk dance, laugh, and sing, But closely hugs her sorrowing; For Joy and Sorrow know not how To dwell in fellowship, I trow.
Eld.
The woes of Age To Sorrow next was pictured Eld: Time’s hand all care for food had quelled Within her, and a foot was she Less than in youth she woned to be,350 Bowed down by toil and drearihead. Her beauty, years long past, had fled. ​Age and Time And foul of face was she become. And though old Time had left her some Sparse, straggling locks, her head was white As though ’twere floured: the loss were light If that poor body, worn and waste. The doubtful woe of death should taste; For shrivelled were her limbs, and dry. Faded her once bright lustrous eye;360 Wrinkled the cheeks once soft and smooth; And those once pink-shell ears, forsooth, Now pendent hung; her pearl-like teeth, Alas! had long since left their sheath, And barely could she walk as much As fathoms four without her crutch.
Time speedeth over night and day. No rest he taketh nor delay Of briefest movement makes, but steals So warily along, man feels370 His going nought, but fondly deems Time standeth still; but while he dreams. Half-waked, Time’s foot hath passed, I trow, For none can say that time is—now! Ask thou some learned clerk, while he Maketh response, the time shall be Gone and departed three times o’er, For Time aye passeth, but no more Returneth: e’en as water flows For ever onward, but ne’er goes380 Back to its source. No thing can ’dure Against the force of time, though sure As adamant or iron. Time Each thing devoureth when its prime ​Eld was once fair Is reached. ’Tis Time that maketh grow All new-born things, and Time doth show How all things change, and wear and waste; ’Tis he that hath our fathers chased From off the earth. Of mighty kings And emperors the dirge he sings,390 And all, through Time, must pass away, For he ’tis marks our dooming day. And Time, who ne’er forgetteth aught, Hath Eld forgotten not, but brought His hand to bear upon her so That feebler doth she surely grow From day to day, until no more She hath of strength, or notes of lore, Than child that on its mother’s knee Or laughs or smiles unconsciously.400
Yet natheless had Eld been in youth A damsel fair, and sweet forsooth To my sure knowledge, but I trow Is sadly metamorphosed now— Changed to a world-worn doting thing. A great fur cloak for wrappering She wore (methinks around her form I see it yet) to keep her warm, For aged folk still dread the cold. By nature’s law, through many a fold.
Hypocrisy.
The image standing next was fit To show right well a hypocrite. ​The falseness of Hypocrisy Popeholy was the name she bore, And on her face a mask she wore Of righteousness, for her great care It is to take men unaware, And play them some base, shameful trick. On first acquaintance is she quick To waken pity by her sad And simple piteous look, beclad420 With simple, sweet, and saintly seeming; But in this world no evil deeming Exists, that rolls not through her brain. The painting gave to her amain. Kind, gentle semblance; debonair And simple all her features were. And both her pose and raiment done In guise of some good convent nun. A psalter held she in her hand. As though the throne of God she fanned430 With holy prayers, and saints invoked: But never laughed she, smiled nor joked. Good works pretendeth she to do. As though nought else did she pursue Since first she donned the shirt of hair. Her wretched body, lean and spare. All bloodless looked and deadly white, Through daily fest and sleepless night. For her, and those who share her lot, The gate of Paradise I wot440 Ne’er openeth, for the Gospel says: They fast and make long prayers for praise Of men, and thus they cast away God’s Kingdom at the dooming day.
Poverty.
The sad estate of Poverty Last Poverty, of whom I vouch, No penny lay within her pouch, And buy a rope to hang herself. Naked as any wretched worm, She oft, in direful winter’s term,450 Nigh dies with misery and cold. Nought else her body did enfold Except a sack, from whence hung torn Foul rags, for robe and mantle worn; Therewith alone did she dissemble Her nakedness, her limbs a-tremble, Down in a corner, on the ground Couched, like a beaten, shamefaced hound. Alas! a dolorous fate hath she, Cast out from all men’s company.460 Accursed the hour when man is born To live in poverty forlorn: Far better had he never been Than naked, houseless, friendless seen.
Before these images I stayed Some space; each one was well arrayed In dazzling gold and azure bright. By skilful limner deftly dight. The wall was high, and built of hard Rough stone, close shut, and strongly barred,470 Enclosing round a garden vast. Wherein no swain had ever passed; Beyond all doubt a place most fair. And I most gladly entry there ​The birds’ matin song Had made, and plenteous measure he Of thanks had won who showed to me How, helped by steps or ladder tall, My feet might scale the high-built wall. O joy of joys! O dear delight, If ’twere but given to me that height480 To climb, and such sweet joyance win As surely might be found therein. This garden was a safe retreat For hosts of nesting birds, and sweet Their piping sounded from the trees, The glory of the place; the breeze Was redolent of woodland song, Nor shall I be convict of wrong In saying that it shields perchance Three times as many birds as France490 Contains elsewhere. The harmony Thereof could scarcely fail to be Such as would cheer the saddest wight, And wake his soul to sweet delight. To me more boundless was the pleasure To hear those songs than words may mea­sure. And fain had I an hundred pounds Paid straight to win within the bounds, And see the gathered cloud of these Sweet birds (God save them!) in the trees,500 And list their tireless minstrelsy, Which e’en love’s dancing tunes outvie, All piping clear, from untaught throats. In ever varying wilding notes. While hearkening to the matin chant The small fowl sang, my soul a-pant ​The Dreamer spies a gate Became with longing for some mode To win within this blest abode, And searched, but vainly searched, alas! For means, or fair or foul, to pass510 The wall, but nought to help me found; And then I vainly gazed around For one who might, for love or meed. Within that longed-for haven lead My eager footsteps. Thus I stood, With dire vexation well-nigh wood, Until the thought possessed my mind, That never yet was wall so blind That careful diligence should fail To find some door, or means to scale.520 Hot-foot, the boundary’s full extent I traversed, heart and soul intent Some aperture to spy; at last Mine eye with eager joy I cast Upon a wicket, straight and small, Worked in the stern, forbidding wall, And forthwith set myself to get An entry there, whate’er might let.