The house of Fortune on a hill is set
Not on a level but a dangerous slope
And it seems ever just about to fall
In crumbling ruin down . . .
One half the hall stands high, the other low.
Man never saw a more ambiguous house.
One part has gold and silver walls that shine . . .
The other part has thick walls of mud
And a roof of straw. If one part proudly rears
Its height and beauty, marvelous and fine,
The other part grovels, feeble and debased.
With perforations making its walls
Five hundred thousand crevices and gaps
In this place ‘tis Fortune makes her home
Unstable, changeable and vagabond.
from “The Romance of the Rose”
The Anticlaudian (Book 8 Chapter 1)