I WILL BE NEITHER PRIEST NOR MONK.
Between the prairie and the grassy hill,
There is a bridge, I know it to my will.
No one can pass at eve along its planks,
Because of scholars rude, who play their pranks.
When at prayers I should be at grand mass,
No pater nor ave from my lips does pass.
Across my shoulder I only fix my glance
On the young girl, who causes my mischance.
I see my sweet beneath the shadowed nave,
As the lily fair, and as the red gold brave.
A cambric cap upon her head sets well,
Which cost, at least, six ecus for an ell.
And underneath a fine coiffure of lace,
That like a lily's margin frames her face.
Her petticoat, so rounded and so gay,
Shines with a double silver cord's display.
A robe she wears as red as any coal,
And, oh, I love her in my inmost soul.
—Put money in your pocket, little fool,
And to Treguier take your way to school.
Go to Treguier, and there study well,
Become a priest and follow the church bell.
—Keep your money in your own purse for me,
For, by my faith, no priest nor monk I 'll be.
My books throw in the fire, and let them burn,
Or give them to my brother in his turn.
No priest or monk I ever shall be made,
My heart demands the love of a fair maid.
A lovely maid of Cornouaille, I ween,
With eyes of blue and locks of amber sheen.
And if I cannot have that golden head,
Prepare the mass, for soon I shall be dead.
In The Secrets of the Clerk there is a more delicate fancy, and the gracious avowal has all the charm of a natural and touching imagery:—