No
lightning
or storm reach where he's gone.
Villon
Exiled with strict severity,
Rapped behind with a spade, despite
It all he cried: 'Appeal, for me! '
-Which wasn't the height of subtlety.
Oh, grant him now eternal peace.
Ballade: Du Concours De Blois
I'm dying of thirst beside the fountain,
Hot as fire, and with chattering teeth:
In my own land, I'm in a far domain:
Near the flame, I shiver beyond belief:
Bare as a worm, dressed in a furry sheathe,
I smile in tears, wait without expectation:
Taking my comfort in sad desperation:
I rejoice, without pleasures, never a one:
Strong I am, without power or persuasion,
Welcomed gladly, and spurned by everyone.
Nothing is sure for me but what's uncertain:
Obscure, whatever is plainly clear to see:
I've no doubt, except of everything certain:
Science is what happens accidentally:
I win it all, yet a loser I'm bound to be:
Saying: 'God give you good even! ' at dawn,
I greatly fear I'm falling, when lying down:
I've plenty, yet I've not one possession,
I wait to inherit, yet I'm no heir I own,
Welcomed gladly, and spurned by everyone.
I never take care, yet I've taken great pain
To acquire some goods, but have none by me:
Who's nice to me is one I hate: it's plain,
And who speaks truth deals with me most falsely:
He's my friend who can make me believe
A white swan is the blackest crow I've known:
Who thinks he's power to help me, does me harm:
Lies, truth, to me are all one under the sun:
I remember all, have the wisdom of a stone,
Welcomed gladly, and spurned by everyone.
Merciful Prince, may it please you that I've shown
There's much I know, yet without sense or reason:
I'm partial, yet I hold with all men, in common.
What more can I do? Redeem what I've in pawn,
Welcomed gladly, and spurned by everyone.
Ballade: Epistre
Have pity now, have pity now on me,
If you at least would, friends of mine.
I'm in the depths, not holly or may,
In exile, where I've been consigned
By Fortune, as God too has designed.
Girls, lovers, youngsters, fresh to hand,
Dancers, tumblers that leap like lambs,
Agile as arrows, like shots from a cannon,
Throats tinkling, clear as bells on rams,
Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
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.
