Le Testament: Ballade: A S'Amye

F alse beauty that costs me so dear, R ough indeed, a hypocrite sweetness, A mor, like iron on the teeth and harder, N amed only to achieve my sure distress, C harm that's murderous, poor heart's death, O covert pride that sends men to ruin, I mplacable eyes, won't true redress S uccour a poor man, without crushing? M uch better elsewhere to search for A id: it would have been more to my honour: R etreat I must, and fly with dishonour, T hough none else then would have cast a lure. H elp me, help me, you greater and lesser! E nd then? With not even one blow landing? Or will Pity, in line with all I ask here, Succour a poor man, without crushing? That time will come that will surely wither Your bright flower, it will wilt and yellow, Then if I can grin, I'll call on laughter, But, yet, that would be foolish though: You'll be pale and ugly: and I'll be old, Drink deep then, while the stream's still flowing: And don't bring trouble on all men so, Succour a poor man, without crushing. Amorous Prince, the greatest lover, I want no evil that's of your doing, But, by God, all noble hearts must offer To succour a poor man, without crushing.