| LE GRAND TESTAMENT - XLII-XLVI | THE TESTAMENT - XLII-XLVI |
| François Villon | tr. Peter Dean |
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XLII Puisque pappes, roys, filz de roys Et conceuz en ventre de roynes, Sont enseveliz mors et froys - En autlruy mains passent leurs regnes - Moy, povre marcerot de regnes, Morrai ge pas? Oy ... se Dieu plaist! Mais que j'aye fait mes estraines, Honneste mort ne me desplaist. XLIII Ce monde n'est perpetuel, Quoy que pense riche pillart; Tous sommes soubz mortel coustel: Ce confort prens, povre viellart, Lequel d'estre plaisant raillart Ot le bruit, lors que jeune estoit, C'on tendroit a fol et paillart Si, viel, a raillier se mestoit. XLIV Car s'en jeunesse il fut plaisant, Ores plus riens ne dit qui plaise - Tousjours viel singe est desplaisant, Moue ne fait qui ne desplaise -; S'il se taist, affin qu'il complaise, Il est tenu pour fol recreu; S'il parle, on lui dist qu'il se taise Et qu'en son prunier n'a pas creu. XLV Or lui convient il mendïer, Car ad ce force le contrainct; Regrectë huy sa mort et hier, Tristesse son cueur si estraint! Se, souvent, n'estoit Dieu qu'il craint, Il feroit ung orrible fait, Et advient qu'en ce Dieu enffraint Et que lui mesme se deffait. XLVI Aussi ces povres famelettes Qui vielles sont et n'ont de quoy, Quant ilz voient ces pucellettes Empruncter elles a requoy, Ilz demandent a Dieu pourquoy Sy tost nacquirent n'a quel droit. Nostre Seigneur se taist tout quoy, Car au tancer il le perdroit. |
XLII Therefore since Popes, kings, sons of kings within the wombs of queens conceived, once dead and buried, frozen things, of crowns and sceptres are relieved, won’t I, poor pedlar that I am from Rennes, die too? Ah, yes, God willing! Wild oats sown, I don’t give a damn; an honest death is worth the killing! XLIII This world will not go on forever, whatever the rich plunderer thinks. The sword above every life will sever its thread; take comfort, old man, as yours sinks, risk obloquy for doing just as you did young - ogling the fillies - which they’ll condemn as senile lust, letting your heart free where your will is. XLIV And so he takes to beggary, for this is what he’s forced to take: today and every day is he resigned to death, his heart could break; and were it not God’s voice he heard he’d carry out an evil deed: it happens though, despite God’s word - some top themselves in hour of need. XLV For if in youth he laughed a lot, nothing now said can give him pleasure. An old monkey amuses not a jot, not one expression you can treasure: if he is silent he displeases, it’s taken for decrepitude: he speaks? They order that he ceases: and say his apples aren’t quite stewed. XLVI The one-time ladies of the street, who’ve now grown old and haven’t a bean, seeing the new girls ply, retreat into retirement from the scene, demand God how it comes about they’re born too late, it isn’t right! Because he doesn’t stand a shout Our Saviour keeps his mouth shut tight! |
Trans. Copyright © Peter Dean 2003