No More Learning

And being bent and wrinkled, in a form That hath no perfect limning, when the warm Youth dew is cold
Upon thy hands, and thy old soul,
Scorning a new, wry'd casement,
Churlish at seemed misplacement,
Finds the earth as bitter
As now seems it sweet,
Being so young and fair
As then only in dreams
Being then young and wry'd,
Broken of ancient pride,
Thou shalt then soften,
1 7. e. in illumed manuscript. IO
2 Reincarnate.
? Knowing I know not how Na
Audiart
Thou wert once she,
For whose fairness one forgave, Que be-m vols mal.
VILLONAUD FOR THIS YULE HTOWARDS the Noel that morte saison
-L (Christ make the shepherds' homage dear! ) Then when the grey wolves everychone Drink of the winds their chill small-beer And lap o' the snows food's gueredon,
Then maketh my heart his yule-tide cheer (Skoal ! with the dregs if the clear be gone ! ) Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
Ask ye what ghosts I dream upon? (What of the magians' scented gear? )
The ghosts of dead loves everyone
That make the stark winds reek with fear
Lest love return with the foison sun And slay the memories that me cheer (Such as I drink to mine fashion) Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
Where are the joys my heart had won? (Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!
) Where are the lips mine lay upon,
1
1
Audiart, Audiart,
Audiart, Audiart
Signum Nativitatis* II
? Vittonaud Aye ! where are the glances feat and clear
J Yuie
That bade my heart his valour don?
I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere (Who knows whose was that paragon? )
Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
Prince: ask me not what I have done, Nor what God hath that can me cheer, But ye ask first where the winds are gone Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
A VILLONAUD, BALLAD OF THE GIBBET OR, THE SONG OF THE SIXTH COMPANION
SCENE: "En cest bourdel ou tenoms nostr estat. "
It being remembered that there were six of us with Master Villon, when that expecting presently to be hanged he writ a ballad whereof ye know :
"
Frtres humftins qui aprls nous vivez" NK ye a skoal for the gallows tree !
me, Who said us, "Till then" for the gallows tree!
Fat Pierre with the hook gauche-main,
Thomas Larron "Ear-the-less," Tybalde and that armouress
Who gave this poignard its premier stain Pinning the Guise that had been fain
To make him a mate of the "Haulte Noblesse" And bade her be out with ill address
As a fool that mocketh his drue's disdeign.
DRI Fr
an
cois and and thee and
Margot Drink we the comrades merrily
? Drink we a skoal for the gallows tree ! Francoi-s and Margot and thee and me,
A Vi%tton-
fjf
lad of the
Gibbet
T^
Drink we to Manenne Ydole,
That hell brenn not her o'er cruelly.
i
.
TVT TT-J i
Drink we the lusty robbers twain,
Black is the pitch o' their wedding dress, Lips shrunk back for the wind's caress
As lips shrink back when we feel the strain Of love that loveth in hell's disdeign
And sense the teeth through the lips that press 'Gainst our lips for the soul's distress
That striveth to ours across the pain.
Drink we skoal to the gallows tree!