Poems

Je meurs de seuf auprés de la fontaine/I Die of Thirst at the Fountain’s Edge

198 the poems of françois villon 9 Je meurs de seuf auprés de la fontaine Je meurs de seuf auprés de la fontaine, Chault comme feu, et tremble dent a dent. En mon pays suis en terre loingtaine, Lez ung brasier frissonne tout ardent, Nu comme ung ver, vestu en president, 5 Je riz en pleurs et attens sans espoir; Confort reprens en triste desespoir, Je m’esjouys et n’ay plaisir aucun, Puissant je suis sans force et sans povoir, Bien recueully, debouté de chascun. 10 Riens ne m’est seur que la chose incertaine, Obscur fors ce qui est tout evident; Doubte ne fais fors en chose certaine, Scïence tiens a soudain accident. Je gaigne tout et demeure perdent, 15 Au point du jour diz “Dieu vous doint bon soir!” Gisant envers, j’ay grant paeur de cheoir. J’ay bien de quoy et si n’en ay pas ung, Echoicte actens et d’omme ne suis hoir, Bien recueully, debouté de chascun. 20 De riens n’ay soing, si mectz toute m’atayne D’acquerir biens et n’y suis pretendent. Qui mieulx me dit, c’est cil qui plus m’actaine, Et qui plus vray, lors plus me va bourdent; Mon ami est qui me faict entendent 25 D’ung cigne blanc que c’est ung corbeau noir, Et qui me nuyst, croy qu’i m’ayde a pourvoir. Bourde, verité, au jour d’uy m’est tout ung; Je retiens tout, riens ne sçay concepvoir, Bien recueully, debouté de chascun. 30 shorter poems 199 9 I Die of Thirst at the Fountain’s Edge I die of thirst at the fountain’s edge, hot as fire and shivering tooth on tooth. In my native country far abroad, close to the fire I shudder, burning hot, naked as a worm, in a judge’s robe; 5 laughing in tears as I wait without hope, I take comfort again in my same sad despair, rejoicing, without a pleasure in the world; mighty am I without a mite of power, warmly received and roundly rejected by all. 10 Nothing’s for sure but the least-certain thing nor obscure except the self-evident; I’ve no doubts at all apart from what’s certain; knowledge is what you barge into by chance. I’ve won it all and remain a loser, 15 when morning comes I say “Good night to all!” and lying flat I’m terrified I’ll fall. I’m very well off, without a thing, awaiting my estate and heir to none, warmly received and roundly rejected by all. 20 I haven’t a care in my anxious pursuit of riches I’d never presume to own. He who speaks kindly irks me the most and the most truthful seems most like a liar; my friend is the man who tells me straight 25 that a white swan is a black crow, and one who harms me I’m sure is helping. Nonsense, truth, it’s all one to me now; I can grasp it all and I don’t have a clue, warmly received and roundly rejected by all. 30 200 the poems of françois villon L’envoy Prince clement, or vous plaise sçavoir Que j’entens moult et n’ay sens ne sçavoir; Parcïal suis, a toutes loys commun. Que sais je plus? Quoy? Les gaiges ravoir, Bien recueully, debouté de chascun. 35 shorter poems 201 The envoi O clement Prince, may it please you to learn that I understand much without learning or sense, a law unto myself, just like everyone else. What else do I know? How to sing for my supper, warmly received and roundly rejected by all. 35 ...