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
