Ballad of Villon’s Request to the Duc de Bourbon

Gracious my lord and prince of mickle dread,
Flower of the Lily, Royal progeny,
François Villon, whom dule and teen have led
To the blind strokes of Fate to bend the knee,
Sues by this humble writing unto thee,
That thou wilt of thy grace to him make loan.
Before all courts his debit he will own :
Doubt not but he thy right will satisfy,
With interest thereunder due and grown :
Nothing but waiting shall thou lose thereby.

Of no prince has thy creature borrowed,
Save of thyself, a single penny fee :
The six poor crowns were wholly spent in bread,
That whiles thy favour did advance to me.
All shall be paid together, I agree,
And that right soon, ere many days be flown ;
For if in Patay wood are acorns known
Or chestnuts thereabouts folk sell and buy,
In season thou shall have again thine own :
Nothing but waiting shalt thou lose thereby.

If I could sell my youth and lustihead
Unto the Lombards, usurers that be,
Lack-gold has brought me to such piteous stead,
I do believe I should the venture dree.
In purse or belt no money can I see :
I wonder what it is, by God His throne!
For unto me, save it be wood or stone,
No cross at all appears, — I do not lie :
But, if the true cross once to me be shown,
Nothing but waiting shalt thou lose thereby.

Envoi
Prince of the Lys, that lov'st good deeds alone,
Think'st thou it has not cost me many a groan
That I can not to my intent draw nigh ?
Give ear, if it so please thee, to my moan :
Nothing but waiting shalt thou lose thereby.