Ballad Entitled the Counterblast to Franc-Gontier

Athwart a hole in the arras, father day,
I saw a fat priest lie on a down bed,
Hard by a fire ; and by his side there lay
Dame Sydonie, full comely, white and red :
By night and day a goodly life they led.
I watched them laugh and kiss and play, drink high
Of spiced hypocras ; * * *
* * * * *
* * * Thence knew I
There is no treasure but to have one's ease.

If, with his mistress Helen, Franc-Gontier
Had all their life this goodly fashion sped,
With cloves of garlic, rank of smell alway,
They had no need to rub their oaten bread :
For all their curds (sans malice be it said)
No jot I care, nor all their cakes of rye.
If they delight beneath the rose to lie,
What say you ? Must we couch afield like these ?
Like you not better bed and chair therenigh ?
There is no treasure but to have one's ease.

They eat coarse bread of barley, sooth to say,
And drink but water from the heavens shed :
Not all the birds that singen all the way
From here to Babylon could me persuade
To spend one day so harboured and so fed.
For God's sake let Franc-Gontier none deny
To play with Helen 'neath the open sky !
Why should it irk me, if they love the leas ?
But, vaunt who will the joys of husbandry,
There is no treasure but to have one's ease.

Envoi
Prince, be you judge betwixt us all : for my
Poor part I mind me (so it none displease)
Whilst yet a child, I heard folk testify,
There is no treasure but to have one's ease.