| DOUBLE BALLADE | DOUBLE BALADE |
| François Villon | tr. Peter Dean |
|
Pour ce, aimez tant que vouldrez, Suyvez assemblées et festes, En la fin ja mieulx n'en vauldrez Et si n'y romprez que vos testes: Folles amours font les gens bestes; Salmon en ydolatria; Samson en perdit ses lunetes. Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! Orpheüs, le doux menestrier, Jouant de fleustes et musetes, En fut en danger de murtrier Chien Cerberus à quatre testes; Et Narcisus, le bel honnestes, En ung parfont puis se noya, Pour l'amour de ses amouretes ... Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! Sardana, le preux chevalier, Qui conquist le regne de Cretes, En voulut devenir moullier Et filler entre pucelletes. David le roy, sage prophetes, Crainte de Dieu en oublia, Voyant laver cuisses bien faites ... Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! Amon en voulst deshonnourer, Faignant de menger tarteletes, Sa seur Thamar, et desflourer, Qui fut inceste deshonnestes; Herodes - pas ne sont sornetes - Saint Jean Baptiste en decola Pour dances, saulx, et chansonnetes ... Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! De moy, povre, je vueil parler; J'en fuz batu, comme à ru toiles, Tout nu, ja ne le quiers celer. Qui me feist mascher ces groselles, Fors Katherine de Vausselles? Noel le tiers est, qui fut là. Mitaines à ces nopces telles, Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! Mais que ce jeune bachelier Laissast ces jeunes bacheletes, Non! et, le deust on vif brusler Comme ung chevaucheur d'escouvetes, Plus doulces luy sont que civetes. Mais toutesfoys fol s'y fya: Soient blanches, soient brunetes, Bien est eureux qui riens n'y a! |
For all this, making love at will, following crowds and festivals, at last nothing will serve until you’ve lost your head and lost your balls! Insane love makes men animals: for it Samson gave up his eyes; Solomon fell to worship idols. In love’s avoidance happiness lies. The gentle minstrel, Orpheus, playing his sweet pipes in love’s cause, raised up the murderous Cerberus and was in danger of its jaws: and didn’t the beautiful Narcissus then go and drown himself, his eyes enamoured of his own likenesses? In love’s avoidance happiness lies. Sardane that doughty warrior and conqueror of the King of Crete gave it all up, the merrier to be amongst his spinsters sweet: and David, king, wisest of prophets, all promises to God defies at sight of bathing thighs and tits: in love’s avoidance happiness lies. And didn’t Ammon, in pretence of eating tarts, desire his sister Thamar and commit foul offence of incest against a strong resister? Nor no nonsense either it is when Herod John his head denies for sexy dances, leaps and ditties: in love’s avoidance happiness lies. Of me, poor me, I now would speak: for it, like wet towels, I’ve been pounded, stark-naked - I can let this leak. And against whom should this be sounded but that it was Kate de Vauselles? Nor will the charge friend Noel surprise for at their nuptials I played cap and bells: in love’s avoidance happiness lies. But should the lusty lad not play the crowd of pulchritudinous talent? Say - No! and he’s condemned to stay a burning-broomstick-riding gallant! To him they’re sweet as civet’s smell; yet fool he’ll prove before their eyes. Blue be they? Brown? They cast a spell. In love’s avoidance happiness lies. |
Trans. Copyright © Peter Dean 2003