The Request of Villon, Presented to the High Court of Parliament in Ballad Form

All my five senses, in your several place,
Hearing and seeing, taste and touch and smell,
Every my member branded with disgrace, —
Each on this fashion do ye speak and tell :
' Most Sovereign Court, by whom we here befell,
Thou that deliveredst us from sore dismays,
The tongue sufficeth not thy name to blaze
Forth in such strain of honour as it should :
Wherefore to thee our voices all we raise,
Sister of angels, mother of the good!'

Heart, cleave in sunder, or in any case
Be not more hardened and impermeable
Than was the black rock in the desert-space,
Which with sweet water for the Jews did swell ;
Melt into tears and mercy cry, as well
Befits a lowly heart that humbly prays :
Give to the Court, the kingdom's glory, praise, —
The Frenchman's stay, the help of strangerhood,
Born of high heaven amidst the empyreal rays :
Sister of angels, mother of the good!

And you, my teeth, your sockets leave apace ;
Come forward, all, and loudlier than bell,
Organ or clarion, render thanks for grace
And every thought of chewing now repel.
Bethink you, I was doomed to death and hell,
Heart, spleen and liver palsied with affrays :
And you, my body, (else you were more base
Than bear or swine that in the dunghill brood,)
Extol the Court, ere worser hap amaze ;
Sister of angels, mother of the good!

Envoi
Prince, of thy grace deny me not three days
To bid my friends adieu and go my ways :
Without them, I've nor money, clothes nor food.
Triumphant Court, be't as thy suppliant says ;
Sister of angels, mother of the good !