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,