Poetry 3: François Villon sees dead people

François Villon was a fifteenth-century French poet, a thief, a vagabond, and possibly a murderer. He left us a long poetic 'Testament' where gives his friends many things he doesn't actually possess, several filthy poems about lewd women, and a few heartbreaking ones, of which this is one. Villon saw several of his thieving companions on the gallows, and had reasonable expectations of ending there himself. His death is not recorded, so it's possible that he did.

François Villon, ‘LEpitaphe Villon’

Freres humains qui après nous vivez
N’ayez les cuers contre nous endurcis
Car se pitié de nous povrez avez
Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Vous nous voiez cy attachez cinq, six.
Quand de la chair que trop avons nourrie,
Elle est pieça devorée et pourrie,
Et nous, les os, devenon cendre et pouldre.
De nostre mal personne ne s’en rie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se frères vous clamons, pas n’en devez
Avoir desdaing, quoy que fusmes occis
Par justice. Toutefois, vous sçavez
Que toutes homes n’ont pas bon sens rassis
Excusez nous, puis que sommes transsis,
Envers le fils de la Vierge Marie
Que sa grace ne soit pour nous tarie
Nous preservant de l’infernale fouldre.
Nous sommes mors; ame ne nous harie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vuielle absouldre.

La pluye nous a debues et lavez
Et le soleil dessechiez et noircis.
Pies, corbeauls, nous ont les yeux cavez
Et arrachié la barbe et les sourcis.
Jamais nul temps nous ne sommes assis;
Puis ça, puis la, comme le vent varie
A son plaisir sans cesser nous charie,
Plus becquetez d’oiseaulx que dez a couldre.
Ne soiez donc de nostre confrairie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nouse vueille absouldre.

Prince Jhesus qui sur tous a maistrie
Garde qu’Enfer n’ait de nous seigneurie.
A luy n’ayons que faire ne que souldre.
Homes, icy n’a point de mocuerie;
Mais priez Dieu que nous tous vuielle absouldre.

Brother men who’re living when we’re dead,
Don’t harden in your hearts against us, too,
Since, if you pity us poor men instead,
The sooner God will show mercy to you.
You see us, five or six, strung up to view.
As for the flesh we used to feed too well,
Eaten it was a while back, putrid its smell,
And we bones turn to dust and ash so small.
Let no one make our woe a joke to tell
But pray to God forgive us, one and all.

And if we call you brothers don’t see red
In your disdain for us, although it’s true
That, in the way of justice, we hang dead,
Since, all the same, you know yourself how few
Are born as men of sense in all they do.
Plead for us now, since with the dead we dwell,
To Mary’s son that still his grace may well
And save us from the Hellish bolt to fall.
We’re dead; yet no soul harry us to Hell
But pray that God forgive us, one and all.

The rain has soaked and rinsed us, then once shed,
The sun has blackened us and dried us through.
Crows, magpies gouged the eyes out of each head
And plucked the beard and eyebrows as their due.
Never are we at rest a moment of two;
Now here, now there, as shifts in wind impel,
Swayed on its whim with ceaseless ebbs and swell;
More pricked than thimbles by the birds that call.
So don’t you join our brotherhood as well,
But pray that God forgive us one and all.

Prince Jesus, Lord of all, oh guard us well
Beyond the sovereignty and realm of Hell.
We’ve no business to settle there or call.
Men, it’s no cue for laughter, jeer or yell,
But pray that God forgive us, one and all.

Trans. by Peter Dale

Poetry 3: François Villon sees dead people

François Villon was a fifteenth-century French poet, a thief, a vagabond, and possibly a murderer. He left us a long poetic 'Testament' where gives his friends many things he doesn't actually possess, several filthy poems about lewd women, and a few heartbreaking ones, of which this is one. Villon saw several of his thieving companions on the gallows, and had reasonable expectations of ending there himself. His death is not recorded, so it's possible that he did.

François Villon, ‘LEpitaphe Villon’

Freres humains qui après nous vivez
N’ayez les cuers contre nous endurcis
Car se pitié de nous povrez avez
Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Vous nous voiez cy attachez cinq, six.
Quand de la chair que trop avons nourrie,
Elle est pieça devorée et pourrie,
Et nous, les os, devenon cendre et pouldre.
De nostre mal personne ne s’en rie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se frères vous clamons, pas n’en devez
Avoir desdaing, quoy que fusmes occis
Par justice. Toutefois, vous sçavez
Que toutes homes n’ont pas bon sens rassis
Excusez nous, puis que sommes transsis,
Envers le fils de la Vierge Marie
Que sa grace ne soit pour nous tarie
Nous preservant de l’infernale fouldre.
Nous sommes mors; ame ne nous harie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vuielle absouldre.

La pluye nous a debues et lavez
Et le soleil dessechiez et noircis.
Pies, corbeauls, nous ont les yeux cavez
Et arrachié la barbe et les sourcis.
Jamais nul temps nous ne sommes assis;
Puis ça, puis la, comme le vent varie
A son plaisir sans cesser nous charie,
Plus becquetez d’oiseaulx que dez a couldre.
Ne soiez donc de nostre confrairie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nouse vueille absouldre.

Prince Jhesus qui sur tous a maistrie
Garde qu’Enfer n’ait de nous seigneurie.
A luy n’ayons que faire ne que souldre.
Homes, icy n’a point de mocuerie;
Mais priez Dieu que nous tous vuielle absouldre.

Brother men who’re living when we’re dead,
Don’t harden in your hearts against us, too,
Since, if you pity us poor men instead,
The sooner God will show mercy to you.
You see us, five or six, strung up to view.
As for the flesh we used to feed too well,
Eaten it was a while back, putrid its smell,
And we bones turn to dust and ash so small.
Let no one make our woe a joke to tell
But pray to God forgive us, one and all.

And if we call you brothers don’t see red
In your disdain for us, although it’s true
That, in the way of justice, we hang dead,
Since, all the same, you know yourself how few
Are born as men of sense in all they do.
Plead for us now, since with the dead we dwell,
To Mary’s son that still his grace may well
And save us from the Hellish bolt to fall.
We’re dead; yet no soul harry us to Hell
But pray that God forgive us, one and all.

The rain has soaked and rinsed us, then once shed,
The sun has blackened us and dried us through.
Crows, magpies gouged the eyes out of each head
And plucked the beard and eyebrows as their due.
Never are we at rest a moment of two;
Now here, now there, as shifts in wind impel,
Swayed on its whim with ceaseless ebbs and swell;
More pricked than thimbles by the birds that call.
So don’t you join our brotherhood as well,
But pray that God forgive us one and all.

Prince Jesus, Lord of all, oh guard us well
Beyond the sovereignty and realm of Hell.
We’ve no business to settle there or call.
Men, it’s no cue for laughter, jeer or yell,
But pray that God forgive us, one and all.

Trans. by Peter Dale