Villon—bard of the early times,
Familiarly called Francois—
‘Twas he who juggled so with rhymes
That we regard him now with awe;
His Pegasus knew “Gee” from “Haw”.
He drove with all a jockey’s art
And ran each race without a flaw—
Villon gave these ballades their start.
Must he flee to some safer climes?
Did hunger at his vitals gnaw?
Or was he jailed for varied crimes?
In that he inspiration saw
And, pen held in a grimy paw
Would let his flashing fancy dart
Ofttimes in measures rather raw—
Villon gave these ballades their start.
His purse was ever bare of dimes;
He often felt the grip of law;
Yet he, the jolliest of mimes,
Who slept most nights upon the straw
And wakened to the raucous caw
Of ravens, never shirked his part;
He never stopped at fate to jaw—
Villon gave these ballades their start.
L’ENVOI
Princess, the moral’s here to draw:
When poets go into the mart
The editors say coldly: “Pshaw!
Villon gave these ballades their start.”