Ballad of Villon’s Appeal

Garnier, how like you my appeal ?
Did I wisely, or did I ill ?
Each beast looks to his own skin's weal :
If any bind him, to keep or kill,
He does himself free to the best of his skill.
When then, sans reason, to me was sung
This pleasant psalm of a sentence, still
Was it a time to hold my tongue ?

Were I of Capet's race somedele
(Whose kin were butchers on Montmartre hill)
They had not bound me with iron and steel
Nor forced me to swizzle more than my fill :
(You know the trick of it, will or nill ?)
But, when of malice prepense and wrong,
They doomed me to swallow this bitter pill,
Was it a time to hold my tongue ?

Think you that under my cap I feel
Not reason nor ableness thereuntil,
Sufficient to say, ' I do appeal ' ?
Enough was left me (as warrant I will)
To keep me from holding my clapper still,
When jargon, that meant ' You shall be hung'
They read to me from the notary's bill :
Was it a time to hold my tongue ?

Envoi
Prince, had I had the pip in my bill,
Long before this I should have swung,
A scarecrow hard by Montfaucon mill!
Was it a time to hold my tongue ?