But her in heart, as brenningly desire As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen; So can I folkis heartis set on fire And, as me list, sendin them joy or teen. They that to women ben ywhet so keen, My sharpè piercing strokis! how they smite! Shall feel and knowin, how they kerve and bite! Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly OVID, And many another deceivèd have be Of women, as it is knowin full wide. What! no men more! and that is great dainty So excellent a Clerk as was he! And other more, that couldin full well preach Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach! And trusteth well, that it is no marvail! For women knowin plainly their intent. They wist how softily they could assail Them; and what falsehood they, in heartè meant: And thus they Clerkis, in their danger hent, _With one venom, another is destroyed_! And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed. These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless, Where none of those that wroughtin in this wise; But such women as werin vertueless They quiltin thus, these old Clerkis wise. To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice Than to dispravin women generally; For worship shallin they none get thereby. If that these men, that lovers them pretend, To women werin faithful, good, and true, And dread them to deceive, or to offend; Women, to love them wouldin not eschew. But, every day, hath man an heart new! It, upon one abidin can, no while. What force is it, such a wight to beguile? Men bearing, eke, the women upon hand That lightly, and withoutin any pain They women be; they can no wight withstand That his disease list to them to complain! They be so frail, they may them not refrain! But whoso liketh them, may lightly have; So be their heartis easy in to grave. To Master JEAN DE MEUN, as I suppose, Then, it was a lewd occupation, In making of the _Romance of the Rose_, So many a sly imagination, And perils for to rollin up and down, The long process, so many a slight cautel For to deceive a silly damosel! Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend, That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail For to conquer, and soon to make an end; When men, a feeble place shullin assail: And soon, also, to vanquish a battle Of which no wight may makin resistance; Ne heart hath none, to make any defence.