No More Learning

Singers, singing in lawless freedom,

Jokers, pleasant in word and deed,

Run free of false gold, alloy, come,

Men of wit - somewhat deaf indeed -

Hurry, be quick now, he's dying poor man.

Makers of lays, motets and rondeaux,

Will you bring him warmth when he's down below?

No lightning or storm reach where he's gone.

With these thick walls they've blinded him so.

Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?

Come see him here, in his piteous plight,

Noblemen, free of tax and tithe,

Holding nothing by king or emperor's right,

But by grace of the God of Paradise.

Sundays and Tuesdays he fasts and sighs,

His teeth are as sharp as the rats' below,

After dry bread, and no gateaux,

Water for soup that floats his guts along.

With no table or chair, he's lying low.

Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?

Princes of note, old, new, don't fail:

Beg the king's pardon for me, and seal,

And a basket to raise me, I'll sit upon:

So pigs behave, to each other, they say,

When one pig squeals, all rush that way.

Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?

L'Epitaphe Villon: Ballade Des Pendus

My brothers who live after us,

Don't harden you hearts against us too,

If you have mercy now on us,

God may have mercy upon you.

Five, six, you see us, hung out to view.

When the flesh that nourished us well

Is eaten piecemeal, ah, see it swell,

And we, the bones, are dust and gall,

Let no one make fun of our ill,

But pray that God absolves us all.

No need, if we cry out to you, brothers,

To show disdain, if we're in suspense

For justice's sake.
How few of the others,

Are men equipped with common sense.

Pray for us, now beyond violence,

To the Son of the Virgin Mary,

So of grace to us she's not chary,

Shields us from Hell's lightning fall.

We're dead: the souls let no man harry,

But pray that God absolves us all.

The rain has soaked us, washed us: skies

Of hot suns blacken us, scorch us: crows

And magpies have gouged out our eyes,

Plucked at our beards, and our eyebrows.

There's never a moment's rest allowed:

Now here, now there, the changing breeze

Swings us, as it wishes, ceaselessly,

Beaks pricking us more than a cobbler's awl.

So don't you join our fraternity,

But pray that God absolves us all.

Prince Jesus, who has all sovereignty,

Preserve us from Hell's mastery.

We've no business down there at all.

Men, you've no time for mockery.

But pray to God to absolve us all.