The Complaint of the Fair Helm-Maker Grown Old

Methought I heard the fair complain
— The fair that erst was helm-maker —
And wish herself a girl again.
After this fashion did I bear :
' Alack ! old age, felon and drear,
Why hast so early laid me low ?
What binders but I slay me here
And so at one stroke end my woe ?

' Thou hast undone the mighty thrall
In which my beauty held for me
Clerks, merchants, churchmen, one and all :
For never man my face might see,
But would have given his all for fee, —
Without a thought of his abuse, —
So I should yield him at his gree
What churls for nothing now refuse.

' I did to many me deny
( Therein I showed but little guile)
For love of one right false and sly,
Whom without stint I loved erewhile.
Whomever else I might bewile,
I loved him well, sorry or glad :
But he to me was harsh and vile
And loved me but for what I had.

' Ill as he used me, and howe'er
Unkind, I loved him none the less :
Even had he made me faggots bear,
One kiss from him or one caress,
And I forgot my every stress.
The rogue! 'twas ever thus the same
With him. It brought me scant liesse :
And what is left me ? Sin and shame.

' Now is he dead this thirty year,
And I'm grown old and worn and gray :
When I recall the days that were
And think of what I am to-day
And when me naked I survey
And see my body shrunk to nought,
Withered and shrivelled, — wellaway !
For grief I am well-nigh distraught.

' Where is that clear and crystal brow ?
Those eyebrows arched and golden hair ?
And those bright eyes, where are they now,
Wherewith the wisest ravished were ?
The little nose so straight and fair ;
The tiny tender perfect ear ;
Where is the dimpled chin and where
The pouting lips so red and clear ?

' The shoulders gent and strait and small ;
Round arms and white hands delicate ;
The little pointed breasts withal ;
The haunches plump and high and straight,
Right fit for amorous debate ;
Wide hips * * *

' Brows wrinkled sore and tresses gray ;
The brows all fallen and dim the eyne
That wont to charm nun's hearts away ;
The nose, that was so straight and fine,
Now bent and swerved from beauty's line ;
Chin peaked, ears furred and hanging down ;
Faded the face and quenched its shine
And lips mere hags of loose skin grown.

' Such is the end of human grace :
The arms grown short and hands all thrawn ;
The shoulders howed out of their place ;
The breasts all shrivelled up and gone ;
The haunches like the paps withdrawn ;
The thighs no longer like to thighs,
Withered and mottled all like brawn,
* * * * *

' And so the litany goes round,
Lamenting the good time gone by,
Among us crouched upon the ground,
Poor silly hags, to-huddled by
A scanty fire of hempstalks dry,
Kindled in haste and soon gone out ;
(We that once held our heads so high !)
So all take turn and turn about.'