“Sur les tumbeaux de mes ancestres
Les âmes desquels Dieu embrasse,
On n’y voyt couronnes ne sceptres.”
Living the life of the common people, he mingles freely with them, and in his wordly poems many a tavern adventure is told with zest. As a roaming scholar he wanders from place to place and, having rarely a penny in his purse, he acquires easily the art of dining without paying:—
“C’est bien trompé, qui rien ne paye,
Et qui peut vivre d’advantaige,
Sans débourser or ne monnoye
En usant de joyeux langaige.”
And although he arrives at the tavern door riding shank’s mare, poor devil that he is,—
“Il va à pied, par faulte d’asne,”—