As Mary of Egypt's dole he changed to mirth,
And eke Theophilus, to whom befell

Quittance of thee, albeit (so men tell)
To the foul fiend he had contracted been.
Assoilzie me, that I may have no teen,

Maid that without breach of virginity Didst bear our Lord that in the Host is seen. In this belief I will to live and die.

A poor old wife I am, and little worth;

Nothing I know, nor letter aye could spell: Where in the church to worship I fare forth,

I see heaven limned with harps and lutes, and hell Where damned folk seethe in fire unquenchable. One doth me fear, the other joy serene:

Grant I may have the joy, O Virgin clean,

To whom all sinners lift their hands on high, Made whole in faith through thee their go-between. In this belief I will to live and die.

ENVOI

Thou didst conceive, Princess most bright of sheen,
Jesus the Lord, that hath nor end nor mean,
Almighty, that, departing heaven's demesne
To succor us, put on our frailty,

Offering to death his sweet of youth and green:
Such as he is, our Lord he is, I ween!

In this belief I will to live and die.

LAY, OR RATHER ROUNDEL

D

EATH, of thy rigor I complain,

That hast my lady torn from me,
And wilt not yet contented be,
Save from me too all strength be ta'en,
For languishment of heart and brain.
What harm did she in life to thee,
Death?

One heart we had betwixt us twain;
Which being dead, I too must dree
Death, or, like carven saints we see
In choir, sans life to live be fain,

Death!

[End of the Greater Testament.]

H

BALLAD OF VILLON IN PRISON

AVE pity, friends, have pity now, I pray,
If it so please you, at the least, on me!
I lie in fosse, not under holm or may,
In this duresse, wherein, alas! I dree
Ill fate, as God did thereanent decree.
Lasses and lovers, younglings manifold,
Dancers and montebanks, alert and bold,

Nimble as quarrel from a crossbow shot;
Singers, that troll as clear as bells of gold,—
Will you all leave poor Villon here to rot?

Clerks, that go caroling the livelong day,

Scant-pursed, but glad and frank and full of glee; Wandering at will along the broad highway,

Harebrained, perchance, but whit-whole too, perdie: Lo! now I die, whilst that you absent be, Song-singers, when poor Villon's days are told, You will sing psalms for him and candles hold; Here light nor air nor levin enters not,

Where ramparts thick are round about him rolled.
Will you all leave poor Villon here to rot?

Consider but his piteous array,

High and fair lords, of suit and service free,
That nor to king nor kaiser homage pay,

But straight from God in heaven hold your fee!
Come fast or feast, all days alike fasts he,
Whence are his teeth like rakes' teeth to behold;
No table hath he but the sheer black mold;
After dry bread (not manchets), pot on pot
They empty down his throat of water cold:
Will you all leave poor Villon here to rot?

ENVOI

Princes and lords aforesaid, young and old,
Get me the King his letters sealed and scrolled,
And draw me from this dungeon; for, God wot,
Even swine, when one squeaks in the butcher's fold,
Flock around their fellow and do squeak and scold.
Will you all leave poor Villon here to rot?

THE EPITAPH IN BALLAD FORM THAT VILLON MADE FOR HIMSELF AND HIS COMPANIONS, EXPECTING NO BETTER THAN TO BE HANGED IN THEIR COMPANY

B

ROTHERS, that after us on life remain,

Harden your hearts against us not as stone;
For, if to pity us poor wights you're fain,
God shall the rather grant you benison.
You see us six, the gibbet hereupon:
As for the flesh that we too well have fed,
'Tis all devoured and rotted, shred by shred.

Let none make merry of our piteous case,
Whose crumbling bones the life long since hath fled:
The rather pray, God grant us of his grace!

Yea, we conjure you, look not with disdain,

Brothers, on us, though we to death were done
By justice. Well you know, the saving grain

Of sense springs not in every mother's son;
Commend us, therefore, now we're dead and gone,
To Christ, the Son of Mary's maidenhead,
That he leave not his grace on us to shed

And save us from the nether torture-place.
Let no one harry us,- forsooth, we're sped:

The rather pray, God grant us of his grace!

We are whiles scoured and soddened of the rain,
And whiles burnt up and blackened of the sun;
Corbies and pyets have our eyes out-ta'en,

And plucked our beard and hair out one by one.
Whether by night or day, rest have we none:
Now here, now there, as the wind shifts its stead,
We swing and creak and rattle overhead,

No thimble dinted like our bird-pecked face.
Brothers, have heed and shun the life we led:
The rather pray, God grant us of his grace!

ENVOI

Prince Jesus, over all empowered,

Let us not fall into the Place of Dread,

But all our reckoning with the Fiend efface.
Folk, mock us not that are forspent and dead:
The rather pray, God grant us of his grace!

XXVI-964

BALLAD OF THINGS KNOWN AND UNKNOWN

LIES in the milk I know full well;

FU

I know men by the clothes they wear;

I know the walnut by the shell;

I know the foul sky from the fair;

I know the pear-tree by the pear;

I know the worker from the drone,
And eke the good wheat from the tare:
I know all save myself alone.

I know the pourpoint by the fell,

And by his gown I know the frère;
Master by varlet I can spell;

Nuns by the veils that hide their hair;
I know the sharper and his snare,
And fools that fat on cates have grown;
Wines by the cask I can compare:
I know all save myself alone.

I know how horse from mule to tell;

I know the load that each can bear;

I know both Beatrice and Bell;

I know the hazards, odd and pair;

I know of visions in the air;

I know the power of Peter's throne,
And how misled Bohemians were:
I know all save myself alone.

ENVOI

Prince, I know all things; fat and spare,
Ruddy and pale, to me are known,
And Death that endeth all our care:
I know all save myself alone.

BALLAD AGAINST THOSE WHO MISSAY OF FRANCE

ET him meet beasts that breathe out fiery rain,

Even as did Jason hard by Colchis town;

Or seven years changed into a beast remain,
Nebuchadnezzar-like, to earth bowed down;

Or suffer else such teen and mickle bale

As Helen's rape on Trojans did entail;

Or in Hell's marshes fallen let him fare
Like Tantalus and Proserpine, or bear

A grievouser than Job his sufferance,

Prisoned and pent in Dædalus his snare,—
Who would wish ill unto the realm of France.

Four months within a marish let him plain,

Bittern-like, with the mud against his crown;
Or sell him to the Ottoman, to chain

And harness like an ox, the scurvy clown!
Or thirty years, like Maudlin, without veil
Or vesture, let him his misdeeds bewail;

Or with Narcissus death by drowning share;
Or die like Absalom, hanged by the hair;
Or Simon Magus, by his charms' mischance;

Or Judas, mad with horror and despair,—
Who would wish ill unto the realm of France.

If but Octavian's time might come again,

His molten gold should down his throat be thrown,
Or 'twixt two millstones he should grind for grain,
As did St. Victor; or I'd have him drown

Far out to sea, where help and breath should fail,
Like Jonah in the belly of the whale;

Let him be doomed the sunlight to forswear,
Juno her goods and Venus debonair,

And be of Mars oppressed to utterance,-
As was Antiochus the king, whilere,—
Who would wish ill unto the realm of France.

ENVOI

Prince, may winds bear him to the wastes of air,
Or to the mid-sea woods and sink him there;

Be all his hopes changed to desesperance:
For he deserves not any fortune fair

Who would wish ill unto the realm of France.

BALLAD OF THE DEBATE OF THE HEART AND BODY OF

VILLON

HAT is't I hear?-'Tis I, thy heart: 'tis I,

WHA

That hold but by a thread for frailty;

I have nor force nor substance, all drained dry,

Since thee thus lonely and forlorn I see,

Like a poor cur, curled up all shiveringly.—

How comes it thus?-Of thine unwise liesse.