Ballade: Epistre
Have pity now, have pity now on me,
If you at least would, friends of mine.
I'm in the depths, not holly or may,
In exile, where I've been consigned
By Fortune, as God too has designed.
Girls, lovers, youngsters, fresh to hand,
Dancers, tumblers that leap like lambs,
Agile as arrows, like shots from a cannon,
Throats tinkling, clear as bells on rams,
Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
Singers, singing in lawless freedom,
Jokers, pleasant in word and deed,
Run free of false gold, alloy, come,
Men of wit - somewhat deaf indeed -
Hurry, be quick now, he's dying poor man.
Makers of lays, motets and rondeaux,
Will you bring him warmth when he's down below?
No lightning or storm reach where he's gone.
With these thick walls they've blinded him so.
Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
Come see him here, in his piteous plight,
Noblemen, free of tax and tithe,
Holding nothing by king or emperor's right,
But by grace of the God of Paradise.
Sundays and Tuesdays he fasts and sighs,
His teeth are as sharp as the rats' below,
After dry bread, and no gateaux,
Water for soup that floats his guts along.
With no table or chair, he's lying low.
Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
Princes of note, old, new, don't fail:
Beg the king's pardon for me, and seal,
And a basket to raise me, I'll sit upon:
So pigs behave, to each other, they say,
When one pig squeals, all rush that way.
Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
poem by François Villon
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Related quotes
Francois Villon
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
What would it matter to me how the time might drag or fly?
_He_ would in sweaty anguish toil the days and night away,
And still not keep the prowling, growling, howling wolf at bay!
But, with my valiant bottle and my frouzy brevet-bride,
And my score of loyal cut-throats standing guard for me outside,
What worry of the morrow would provoke a casual sigh
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I?
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
To yonder gloomy boulevard at midnight I would hie;
'Stop, stranger! and deliver your possessions, ere you feel
The mettle of my bludgeon or the temper of my steel!'
He should give me gold and diamonds, his snuffbox and his cane--
'Now back, my boon companions, to our brothel with our gain!'
And, back within that brothel, how the bottles they would fly,
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I!
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
We both would mock the gibbet which the law has lifted high;
_He_ in his meager, shabby home, _I_ in my roaring den--
He with his babes around him, _I_ with my hunted men!
His virtue be his bulwark--my genius should be mine!--
'Go fetch my pen, sweet Margot, and a jorum of your wine!'
* * * * *
So would one vainly plod, and one win immortality--
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I!
poem by Eugene Field
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Le Testament: Epitaph et Rondeau
Epitaph
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 all are gone.
Gallants, now sing his song below:
Rondeau
Oh, grant him now eternal peace,
Lord, and everlasting light,
He wasn't worth a candle bright,
Nor even a sprig of parsley.
Of eyebrows, hair, and beard he's free,
A turnip scraped with a spade, all right:
Oh, grant him now eternal peace.
Exiled with strict severity,
Rapped behind with a spade, despite
It all he cried: ‘Appeal, for me!'
- Which wasn't the height of subtlety.
Oh, grant him now eternal peace.
poem by François Villon
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A Ballad Of François Villon, Prince Of All Ballad-Makers
Bird of the bitter bright grey golden morn
Scarce risen upon the dusk of dolorous years,
First of us all and sweetest singer born
Whose far shrill note the world of new men hears
Cleave the cold shuddering shade as twilight clears;
When song new-born put off the old world's attire
And felt its tune on her changed lips expire,
Writ foremost on the roll of them that came
Fresh girt for service of the latter lyre,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!
Alas the joy, the sorrow, and the scorn,
That clothed thy life with hopes and sins and fears,
And gave thee stones for bread and tares for corn
And plume-plucked gaol-birds for thy starveling peers
Till death clipt close their flight with shameful shears;
Till shifts came short and loves were hard to hire,
When lilt of song nor twitch of twangling wire
Could buy thee bread or kisses; when light fame
Spurned like a ball and haled through brake and briar,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!
Poor splendid wings so frayed and soiled and torn!
Poor kind wild eyes so dashed with light quick tears!
Poor perfect voice, most blithe when most forlorn,
That rings athwart the sea whence no man steers
Like joy-bells crossed with death-bells in our ears!
What far delight has cooled the fierce desire
That like some ravenous bird was strong to tire
On that frail flesh and soul consumed with flame,
But left more sweet than roses to respire,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name?
Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,
A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire;
Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame.
But from thy feet now death has washed the mire,
Love reads out first at head of all our quire,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Le Testament: Ballade: A S'amye
F alse beauty that costs me so dear,
R ough indeed, a hypocrite sweetness,
A mor, like iron on the teeth and harder,
N amed only to achieve my sure distress,
C harm that's murderous, poor heart's death,
O covert pride that sends men to ruin,
I mplacable eyes, won't true redress
S uccour a poor man, without crushing?
M uch better elsewhere to search for
A id: it would have been more to my honour:
R etreat I must, and fly with dishonour,
T hough none else then would have cast a lure.
H elp me, help me, you greater and lesser!
E nd then? With not even one blow landing?
Or will Pity, in line with all I ask here,
Succour a poor man, without crushing?
That time will come that will surely wither
Your bright flower, it will wilt and yellow,
Then if I can grin, I'll call on laughter,
But, yet, that would be foolish though:
You'll be pale and ugly: and I'll be old,
Drink deep then, while the stream's still flowing:
And don't bring trouble on all men so,
Succour a poor man, without crushing.
Amorous Prince, the greatest lover,
I want no evil that's of your doing,
But, by God, all noble hearts must offer
To succour a poor man, without crushing.
poem by François Villon
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romeo & The Lonely Girl
Romeo and the lonely girl
They seemed to hit it off
Till romeo told the lonely girl
I must take my leave, my love
It was these few words I overheard
And thought, I should move in
But before I could
The lonely girl had fallen in love again
Oh poor romeo
Sitting out on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
Romeo he had it rough
The guy youd like to burn
But everything that romeo had
You can bet it was well earned
For all his good looks there were scars that he took
And a lesson to be learned
Never judge lovers by a good looking covers
The story might be spurned
Oh poor romeo
Sitting out on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
Romeo he like to put it around
He was everybodys friend
But in the end even romeo found
On no one could he depend
For all his charms in someone elses arms
Lonely girl safely lay
When the train pulled in it had to leave again
And romeo pulled away
Oh poor romeo
Sitting all on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romeo & The Lonely Girl
Romeo and the lonely girl
They seemed to hit it off
Till romeo told the lonely girl
I must take my leave, my love
It was these few words I overheard
And thought, I should move in
But before I could
The lonely girl had fallen in love again
Oh poor romeo
Sitting out on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
Romeo he had it rough
The guy youd like to burn
But everything that romeo had
You can bet it was well earned
For all his good looks there were scars that he took
And a lesson to be learned
Never judge lovers by a good looking covers
The story might be spurned
Oh poor romeo
Sitting out on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
Romeo he like to put it around
He was everybodys friend
But in the end even romeo found
On no one could he depend
For all his charms in someone elses arms
Lonely girl safely lay
When the train pulled in it had to leave again
And romeo pulled away
Oh poor romeo
Sitting all on his own-ee-o
Oh poor romeo
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tears of the poor
Tears of the poor are
The drinks of the rich.
Shedding of blood
Rich man's headache,
Poor men's justice.
Water is too cool
To bring forth your anguish,
Fire is the only solution
Drink fire to end your injustice.
Silence is lover's desire
Poor men's unbearable pain.
Din is the only right choice
To put forth your demand.
Dew is the conspiracy
Hatched between the rich and the king,
Morning is the 1st step
Of that poor men's sufferings.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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I Pity The Poor Immigrant
I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he wouldve stayed home,
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone.
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with evry breath,
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death.
I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain,
Whose heaven is like ironsides,
Whose tears are like rain,
Who eats but is not satisfied,
Who hears but does not see,
Who falls in love with wealth itself
And turns his back on me.
I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud,
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who builds his town with blood,
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass.
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running To Paradise
As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
For I am running to paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to paradise;
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving-maid and a serving-man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled a old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play
While I must hurty upon my way.
For I am running to paradise;
Yet never have I lit on a friend
To take my fancy like the wind
That nobody can buy or bind:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Sunken Crown
Nothing will hold him longer—let him go;
Let him go down where others have gone down;
Little he cares whether we smile or frown,
Or if we know, or if we think we know.
The call is on him for his overthrow,
Say we; so let him rise, or let him drown.
Poor fool! He plunges for the sunken crown,
And we—we wait for what the plunge may show.
Well, we are safe enough. Why linger, then?
The watery chance was his, not ours. Poor fool!
Poor truant, poor Narcissus out of school;
Poor jest of Ascalon; poor king of men.—
The crown, if he be wearing it, may cool
His arrogance, and he may sleep again.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Poor Honest Men
(A.D. 1800)
Your jar of Virginny
Will cost you a guinea,
Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten;
But light your churchwarden
And judge it according,
When I've told you the troubles of poor honest men.
From the Capes of the Delaware,
As you are well aware,
We sail which tobacco for England-but then,
Our own British cruisers,
They watch us come through, sirs,
And they press half a score of us poor honest men!
Or if by quick sailing
(Thick weather prevailing )
We leave them behind ( as we do now and then)
We are sure of a gun from
Each frigate we run from,
Which is often destruction to poor honest men!
Broadsides the Atlantic
We tumble short-handed,
With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend;
And off the Azores,
Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs
Are waiting to terrify poor honest men.
Napoleon's embargo
Is laid on all cargo
Which comfort or aid to King George may intend;
And since roll, twist and leaf,
Of all comforts is chief,
They try for to steal it from poor honest men!
With no heart for fight,
We take refuge in flight,
But fire as we run, our retreat to defend;
Until our stern-chasers
Cut up her fore-braces,
And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!
'Twix' the Forties and Fifties,
South-eastward the drift is,
And so, when we think we are making Land's End
Alas, it is Ushant
With half the King's Navy
Blockading French ports against poor honest men!
But they may not quit station
(Which is our salvation )
So swiftly we stand to the Nor'ard again;
And finding the tail of
A homeward-bound convoy,
We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.
'Twix' the Lizard and Dover,
We hand our stuff over,
Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when.
But a light on each quarter,
Low down on the water,
Is well understanded by poor honest men.
Even then we have dangers,
From meddlesome strangers,
Who spy on our business and are not content
To take a smooth answer,
Except with a handspike . . .
And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!
To be drowned or be shot
Is our natural lot,
Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end---
After all our great pains
For to dangle in chains
As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Free speech has been cancelled
Hush, my friends, don't say a word,
freedom of speech has been silenced.
Keep it quiet, and under your hat,
leave your words in the bag and all that.
Be thankful they don't yet read minds,
for your thoughts are still free, as are mine.
Not yet will they get us, not yet, not yet
will they stab at our poor troubled heads.
Right now and right here on the page,
don't get rabid or into a rage,
it will do you no good, you'll be misunderstood
and in seconds you'll end up inside.
poem by Ruth Walters
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So It Goes
Life
Life
Roll my die
Roll my die
Change this life
Change this life
You said this movie was mine
You said this movie was mine
But now you go and change your mind
But now you go and change your mind
This is my life
This is my life
So it goes
So it goes
You come in on your own in this life
You come in on your own in this life
You know you leave on your own
You know you leave on your own
cause I dont need no cause
cause I dont need no cause
When my feelings fall
When my feelings fall
You showed me things I didnt want to see
You showed me things I didnt want to see
I dont believe that love is free
I dont believe that love is free
Sure fine way to treat a man
Sure fine way to treat a man
So it goes
You come in on your own in this life
So it goes
And you know you leave on your own
You come in on your own in this life
And you know you leave on your own
Life
This is my life
So it goes
Life
You come into this life on your own
This is my life
You know youll leave on your own
So it goes
Life
You come into this life on your own
This is my life
You know youll leave on your own
So it goes
Life
You come into this life on your own
This is my life
You know you leave
So it goes
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
You come into this life on your own
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
You know you leave
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Another drink and I wont miss her
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Another drink and I wont miss her
Im just a poor little wifeless fella
Another drink and I wont miss her
Another drink and I wont miss her
Another drink and I wont miss her
Another drink and I wont miss her
Another drink and I wont miss her
Another drink and I wont miss her
song performed by by Verve
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Poor Old Heart
I've been a fool for love
Ever since I was a baby
Just a rockin' in a cradle
As a rule I was the kind
That laid his feelings
Up front and on the table.
I gave up my world so many times
Just to see 'em tear it apart
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
--- Instrumental ---
I oughta know by now
After all this debt
And heartache lessons
I could go without
Going through hell
Just to find a little heaven.
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leavin' down to an art
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Hey, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Volcano Girl
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Tell me, tell me what you really want from me
You gotta let me know
Im falling off and I need you terribly
One down, and one to go
Volcano girls we really cant be beat
Warm us up and watch us blow
Now and then we fail and we admit defeat
Were falling off
We are watered down and fully grown
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
A million miles of running
And I hit the wall
I bounce back and I run some more
This is it, Im giving up
Im calling quits
So get down and meet me on the floor
Way to go, way to flip off everyone
I steal your thunder then I try to bolt
But I could stand a little pity now and then
Im falling off, I am watered down and fully grown
Go, I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
I told you about the seether before
You know, the one thats neither or nor
Well heres another clue if you please
The seethers louise
(one, two, three, wow)
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me
Lying here
Cause I dont wanna go
Leave me, leave me, leave me
Go, I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
I dont wanna go
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Little Girl
Poor Little Girl
Nobody cares what she does
She only lives what she was
In her mind reliving thoughts of yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Why can’t she love what she’s seen
People don’t want her to’ve been
Wasting time and living in her yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Her heart will shoulder
Who she’s intended to be
She may never know her
Until she has set herself free
Harboring the darkest nights of yesterday
So until she finds her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
She’s so important to me
I admit I use to be
Runnin’ never knowin’ of my destiny
Blessings in disguise today that end that play
Poor little girl,
Poor little girl
Poor little girl
Little girl’s me
Copyright 1969, Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
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Wendy Time
You look like you could do with a friend
She said
You look like you could use a word
Like first or follow or fly she said
Laughing away as she turned
You look like a poor boy
At the edge of the world
And when i die i said
I leave you it all
Door closes
Poor boy's song
You look like you could do with a friend
She said
You look like you could use a word
Like first or follow or fly she said
Laughing away as she turned
You look just like a poor boy
At the edge of the world
And when i die i said
I'll leave you it all
Door closes
Poor boy's song
It doesn't touch me at all...
You look like you could do with a sister
She said
You look like you could use a girl to call your own
Like fabulous fabulous
Call me fabulous
And laughing away as she turned
You look just like a poor boy
At the edge of the world
And when i die i said
I'll leave you it all
Door closes
Poor boy's song
It doesn't touch me at all...
It doesn't touch me at all...
Throwing moves
(???)
It only goes
(???) comes
Like it always does
The kissing ends
Where wendy was...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New York Times
New york poor new york
New york poor new york
Cars choking your child to death
But you dont wanna see
Cause you only think about yourself
How blind can you be
New york poor new york
Sniper on the rooftop new york
New york poor new york
Not fit for a dog in new york
Everybody bites on the big apple
Leave the hungry in tears
But no one gives a damn no one really cares
How they feel theyre just paper people not real
You need a gun to walk into new york
Now youre broke and youre out on a ledge
Who can help you this time
Now youre down to your very last cent
Still youre askin me who was your friend
I was your friend
New york poor new york
Who turned the lights out in new york
New york poor new york
Just another blackout in new york
Girl dead on the 26th floor
But no one knew her name
Found her body behind the door
Too young for the game
New york poor new york
Devils in the subway new york
New york poor new york
New york poor new york
Talkin talkin talkin - watch out
Harlem touching midtown new york
New york poor new york
Talkin bout new york new york
Moneys getting tighter new york
Theyre burning the bridges to new york
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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