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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391751" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Le Testament: Epitaph et Rondeau</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Epitaph<br> <br>Here there lies, and sleeps in the grave,<br>One whom Love killed with his scorn,<br>A poor little scholar in every way,<br>He was named François Villon.<br>He never reaped a morsel of corn:<br>Willed all away, as all men know:<br>Bed, table, and basket all are gone.<br>Gallants, now sing his song below:<br> <br>Rondeau<br> <br>Oh, grant him now eternal peace,<br>Lord, and everlasting light,<br>He wasn't worth a candle bright,<br>Nor even a sprig of parsley.<br>Of eyebrows, hair, and beard he's free,<br>A turnip scraped with a spade, all right:<br>Oh, grant him now eternal peace.<br> <br>Exiled with strict severity,<br>Rapped behind with a spade, despite<br>It all he cried: ‘Appeal, for me!'<br>- Which wasn't the height of subtlety.<br>Oh, grant him now eternal peace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Fran%C3%A7ois+Villon">François Villon</a><div class=q>
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Here there lies, and sleeps in the grave,
One whom Love killed with his scorn,
A poor little scholar in every way,
He was named François Villon.
He never reaped a morsel of corn:
Willed all away, as all men know:
Bed, table, and basket ..."></div>
</div>
</div>