Francois Villon
Epitaph In The Form Of A Ballade
Freres humains qui apres nous vivez, N’ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis… Men, brother men, that after us yet live, Let not your hearts too hard against us be; For if some pity of
The Ballad Of The Hanged Men
Men my brothers who after us live, Have your hearts against us not hardened. For-if of poor us you take pity, God of you sooner will show mercy. You see us here, attached. As
Ballade To Our Lady
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER Dame du ciel, regents terrienne, Emperiere des infemaux palus…. Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,- I, thy poor Christian, on thy
The Ballad Of The Proverbs
So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep. So often goes the pot to the well that it breaks. So long you heat iron, it will glow; So heavily you hammer it, it
The Debate Between Villon And His Heart
Who’s that I hear?-It’s me-Who?-Your heart Hanging on by the thinnest thread I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid When I see you withdrawn this way all alone Like a whipped cur sulking