Original Title: "L'an quatre cent cinquante six (Le Lais)"
Text: François Villon
Music: Lino Léonardi
Year: 1974
Quite a difficult translation, will need a rework
Year Fourteen hundred fifty six
I, François Villon, student
Considered, having stale sense,
The bit between the teeth, being straightforward
That we must advise his work ,
Like Vegetius says
Wise Roman, big conseillor
Or else we are mistaken ...
In those times, I talked about,
Around Christmas, dead seasons,
That the wolves live of the wind,
And that we hold ourself in our home
For the wintry weather, near the brand
Come to me the desire to break
The very loving prison
Which always was unbreaking my heart
I did it in such a way
Seeing her in front of my eyes
Agreeing to my undoing
Without anything being better for her
Of which I mourn and complain to the sky
By requesting vengeance of her
To all the victorious gods
And alleviation of the love grief
And if I took in my favor
Those sweet regrets and pretty pretenses
Of very disappointing taste,
Piercing through me up to the sides
Fine they have their white feet towards me
And fail me when in great need
Seed, I must, other complaints
And hit in another corner
The look of That one took me
Who was perfedious and tough to me
Without this would have any contempt
Wants and commands that I endure
Death and that I do not last anymore
If I see no other assistance but in fleeing
Break up the keen binding
Without hearing my pious regrets!
To obviate to those dangers
The best for me is, I believe, to go away
Farewell! I'm going to Angers
As she does not want to grant me
Her grace, nor abandoning me
By her, die the healthy limbs
Deep inside, I am a martyr lover
Among the loving saints!
